One Perfect Day

By Steve Messman

I did something really fun today. I didn’t fly. I tried—sort of. I studied the weather forecasts quite closely during the morning as I always do, but none of my normal sites looked exceptionally appealing. I asked my wife what she was thinking. She thought that spending the day shopping at Cannon Beach, Oregon sounded like fun. Hmmm. That was an interesting twist, not exactly what I was expecting, so I looked at the forecasts again. The winds at Cannon Beach were supposed to be southerly. Ecola State Park is right next door, and south winds are close, but not great. There’s always the “maybe” factor.

When we arrived at Cannon Beach, my sight squirmed north a little to check out Ecola. Not a pilot to be seen. Always a bad sign for flying, or a good sign if your wife wants to spend the day shopping. I checked the winds, subtly, of course. The flags, the birds, the clouds all said that winds were definitely not good for flying. In only a few minutes I resigned myself to shopping. My focus changed; Carol and I walked the streets of Cannon Beach. We went from store to store. We bought a couple of gifts for relatives. We ate a late lunch. We had a wonderful, very enjoyable time together. And then, we went to Ecola.

Surprise of surprises, a fellow pilot/friend was actually there watching the winds just like I intended to do. The winds were actually a little southeast and not good at all for flying this site. In fact, as my friend pointed out, they were probably dangerous. The two of us did what pilots often do. We sat, we watched, and we waited.

There were so many things to watch. We watched the seagulls soar the same bluff that we wanted to fly. That was quite strange. The birds were laughing at us, flying in a southwesterly wind that didn’t show up on launch. We watched the smoke from a fire that was some miles away. It seemed to be blowing from the west. We watched the texture on the water that said we should be in the air. But, we weren’t. It was one of those totally enticing non-flying days that offered both hope and frustration at the same time.

We watched the rain that moved through the skies some miles to the south. It painted the entire sky with great brushstrokes that streaked from sky to earth. An army of gray-mist soldiers overwhelmed the distant shore, then silently marched inland to drench the town that stood in defiance to its onslaught. The clouds showed off their own cynical personalities. Sometimes they clung to the cliffs’ edges and mocked the crashing waves from above. Often, they touched those waves as if to say “you’re it,” then rose quickly in a damp game of tag.

We watched breaking waves crash relentlessly onto the rocky shores, watched them tear rock and stone into grains of sand. We watched small amounts of spray released from the tops of the waves, only to be recaptured by unending rows of waves that lined up behind.

And again, we watched those birds soar while we silently complained of our inability to join them. The longer we watched the wonders around us, the closer we moved toward the reality of this flying portion of our day. It was time to go home. I had spent the early part of the day with my wife, and together we enjoyed the beach, the weather, the shops, and each other. I spent the later part of the day with a friend, and together we watched the best parts of nature: the mystery, the art, and the power.

It was a wonderful, non-flying day. I thought as I threw on my pack, “There is no place else in the world I would rather be. I was blessed to be given this day.” My wife and I drove home with smiles on our faces. It was a beautiful end to a perfect day.