The Accidental Olympian

PROJECTIONS

If all is right in the world, today I will spend my day sitting in a beach chair, watching Oly run crazed circles around two dogs who want nothing to do with her, while also drinking a cold beverage. Ah hell, many many cold beverages. Considering I actually wrote this post before I even left for vacation, at this very moment I very well could be so unhappy I'm seconds away from giving the dog to the campers next to us and hitching a ride south with a local trucker. He'd be a nice trucker though, with a really cliché trucker hat that says something obnoxious like, "America ROCKS!" He'd tell wonderful stories and probably call me 'little lady'. We'd promise to keep in touch, but he'd never reply to any of my letters. You really never know how it will turn out when you're camping.

As our beach camping vacation rolls on through the weekend I will leave you with some pictures I took from out last camping trip on the coast.

Can you smell that? That's the sweet smell of ocean, sweat, campfire and dog hair all rolled into one. Glorious.

 

My biggest regret about that trip was that we didn't sit on this log and watch the sun set. I guess there's always next time.

I love that the beaches in Washington are composed mostly of shells and rocks instead of sand. I've always hated sand. All you have to do is spend one too many times as a child in a wet bathing suit with your ass full of sand to never want it near your orifices ever again. 

Oly's weird about dirt. If it's not an over priced dog bed, or a piece of furniture Oly doesn't want to lay on it. She'll always default to the crumpled BBQ cover in our backyard before even venturing to the grass. I was pretty sure I adopted a dog, but apparently I actually adopted a preteen with an attitude. Camping with a Christmas quilt for my dog, it's just how I roll.

I hope your weekend is equally glorious, and mostly sand free. Unless of course your the sort of person who likes sand in your orifices. I don't judge.

BECAUSE I LIKE GREY SKIES

I grew up thinking 'beach' and 'sunshine' were synonymous to one another. Then I moved to Washington and I met another type of beach. This is a whole new style of ocean meeting the sand, and I was instantly in love. The kind where sunshine is optional, where my beach attire is a windbreaker and pants, a land where pine trees grow right to the edge of the rocky cliffs, and where I couldn't be happier. Since you can't simply lay in your bathing suit all day and get a tan here, you're actually forced to walk, explore, learn, and find enjoyment in a whole different side of the ocean. For Washingtonians, a trip to the beach has to be about more than tan lines.

Today we're headed back to the Washington coast for a long weekend full of camping, clamming, and clouds. I'm just tickled. 

FAMILY PHOTO

I want this one framed, and sitting on the mantle ASAP. Or, maybe we can just use it as a Christmas card or something...

TURNS OUT I'M A MASTER CLAMMER

I'm a meat eater. I don't discriminate against certain types of meat either. I'm an equal opportunity consumer of all protein. So when I got a chance this weekend to try my hand at clam digging, I said HELL'S YES and dug in with visions of a clam dinner in my future.

When it comes to hunting for my own dinner the most I'd tried my hand at so far had been fishing. I've been many, many times in my past, usually without any actual luck. As Adam likes to pipe in when I'm feeling especially frustrated, "It's called fishing, not catching Ashley." And each time I hear that phrase, it takes all my will power to restrain myself from using Adam's big toe as my bait.

I assumed clamming would be as equally frustrating as fishing. I mean, think about it. Miles of low tide sand that ALL LOOKS ALIKE. I assumed it would be impossible to figure out where the tiny little clams live in all that sand. At least as equally hard as trying to hook a little fish in tons of dark deep water. But no worries kids because turns out it's not only easy to find those little clammies, but I have super clam skills! I found clams with a flick of the rake, with my bare hands, and I even found a few with my feet. It was so fun even Oly got in on the action and found a clam. You'd assume that clamming can't be that hard if the dog can snag one. But it turns out Adam isn't as talented at clam detection as the ladies in this household. We mostly brought home the dinner, and Adam became our bucket bitch. In the end I like to think of his clam inadequacy as payback for all those damn "fishing not catching" comments. 

Oly's first clam!

WE SEEM TO ENJOY THE PAIN

Adam and I clearly have short memories. A week ago today we were packing the car, and heading south on a road trip that almost killed us. So, obviously the smartest thing to do is pack the car back up, hitch up the boat that recently traveled through three states, and head back on the road. This time though it's the WA coast we're after, and seeing how Oly is 700 times a better dog while camping than at home, it's enough to encourage me to go through with it while the memories of last weekend are still fresh in my mind.

 

Wish us luck.