I’m not a beach person. That statement usually shocks people because so many folks are into “going to the beach.” The ocean. The sea. Tons of ink have been poured out over the ages about the wonders of the beach, the sea, the ocean.
Not…from me.
I’m not sure why. Maybe it has to do with being raised in a family where sunbathing was something you did while hoeing thistles in the garden. Or picking crops. Or perhaps it has to do with the nearest ocean being the northern Pacific, where you’re not gonna venture into it without a wet suit, even in the middle of summer (ever wandered into the ocean off the Oregon coast? Let me tell you…it’s COLD). Or perhaps it has to do with the way my allergies go nuts on the coast. Or traffic. Something.
This inclination holds even when I’ve been around more pleasant beaches. Something about me just can’t relax in the sand or sun. I get seasick easily, so boats aren’t a thing, either. Never learned to snorkel or scuba. Oh, I’ve dug clams and done some beach fishing, did some crabbing but…just not my thing.
The mountains, however….
I am firmly a mountain person, more specifically the inland mountains of the West on the edges of desert country. Mountains and canyons, that’s my song. Pausing to catch my breath as I hike up a trail, hopefully with a nice vantage point? Oh yeah. Wandering through a shelterwood cut and hearing the soft whisper of great gray owl wings? Definitely so. Watching a herd of Rocky Mountain elk in a grassy gulch? You bet I’m there. Gazing across the distance–yes.
While my family thrilled to going out in the boat at Crane Prairie Reservoir to catch fish when I was a kid, I was more into wandering around the woods around the campground. There were lots of little spur roads–those days marked with metal signs nailed to a small white board announcing FIRE ROAD 9 or some such number–to investigate, along with my Sheltie Mike, sometimes also with his sister Sissy. Or I’d admire South Sister, Broken Top, and Bachelor’s reflections in the water.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t catch fish–oh, I could, and sometimes I’d go fishing off of the bank. It was just that my family had a single-minded obsession with catching as many fish as possible. A subsistence mentality. I don’t think it was as much enjoyment of fishing as it was a carryover from my parents’ Depression upbringing, where recreation needed to possess utility.
Whatever the reason, it wasn’t one I share. These days, married to someone with a degree in economics who is well aware of the expense of boats, fishing, and so on, I focus more on the enjoyment of foraging activities and…most of the ones I prefer tend to be located in the mountains. Mushrooming. Berry picking. Occasional bird hunting. Maybe dipping a line occasionally into a river.
But water skiing? Boating?
Just not my thing, along with swimming.
Doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally enjoy looking at the ocean but given the choice…you’ll find me in the mountains.
