Catching Memories

“And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?"

– Dr. Graham (Burt Lancaster), Field of Dreams

Sixty years ago in Seattle, when the tide pulled back on a crisp, calm winter night, my dad would round up my two brothers and me to hunt crabs at the beach below our house near North Beach in Ballard.

Sea pen (not my photo)

In our hip waders and winter coats, armed with two large buckets, a fishing net, and a bright Coleman lantern hissing away, we waded into the sandy flats. Careful not to step on the bright orange sea pens growing in the sand, we scanned the shallows for Dungeness crabs. When one scurried sideways into our circle of light, we would scoop it up with the net, and drop it into one of the buckets if it was a keeper.

As I stood in the sea where I would otherwise never get to stand, I was mesmerized by the dead quiet at this hour; the hundreds of house lights reflecting on the water from our neighbors above; the icy crystal starlight blinking with such intensity out here away from streetlights; while I stood knee-deep in the cold dark stillness of Puget Sound stretching to Whidbey Island and the Olympics.

I miss those rare late-night adventures with my dad, and the magic of those nights, the thrill that we were in a secret, sacred place the rest of the world was missing.

When I saw the forecast for this weekend — low tides, moonless nights, freezing temps, no wind — and the chance of northern lights, I couldn’t resist. I gathered up a headlamp and headed to Rosario, not to hunt crabs but to see if I could catch a glimpse of that old enchantment.

Could I recreate my sixty-year-old memories in the place I now call home?

The park is closed to visitors at this hour, unless you have permission from park staff to be there. Two others were getting out of their car at the gate at Rosario, headlamps blazing like floodlights. It looked like they had serious research to do.

I kept my headlamp off to walk ahead of them, preferring the starlight filtering through the dark woods and meadow leading to the beach, the heavens feeling so close I could almost walk with Orion, albeit without a sword.

Silent waters under starry skies with northern lights at Rosario Beach

I stepped onto the gravel beach, and there was the magic: the hush, the dark heavy waters reflecting the lights of houses and the starlight, the winter cold that wakes your soul, the Maiden watching over, the feeling of being alive and in awe as sane people in their houses were falling asleep. An owl hooted from over on Sares Head. A ribbon of northern lights floated above.

A log on the tidepool rocks with Rosario Head and Orion in the background

I clambered over tidepool rocks to the water’s edge, finding marine critters becoming dry at this low tide, an experience they rarely have, while I stood next to them, having an experience I too can rarely enjoy. No sea pens or Dungeness crabs among the rocks this time, but I found several large gumboot chitons looking like someone had left their galoshes behind. A bright red anemone hung limply, and a smaller chiton tightened its grip on the rocks.

Climbing up Rosario Head in the dark, with no depth perception, is an eerie experience, made safer by Kath’s voice in my head saying, “Please be careful out there, Jack.” I hadn’t fallen in the barnacled tidepools (yet), so I had better not slip up here either.

North from the top of Rosario

south from Rosario Head, Deception Island and the naval base below Orion

From the top, well, you know the view, Sares Head silent above Rosario Bay, Lopez Island and the lights of Victoria to the west, the Olympics rising above the Strait of Georgia, the naval base on Whidbey lit up brightly, and then the sky above glistening with the choir of constellations putting on a show. Then came the encore: streaks of pink from the northern lights. Now I have a new magic to remember.

Just before my headlamp died...

But then my headlamp faded out. Oh-oh. The flashlight on my phone guided me back to the Maiden, where I turned it off to dwell in naked starlight for the rest of the evening. I walked around her slowly, listening to the Maiden’s silent sermon, which she shares every night, speaking of love and respect for all life.

With Orion lighting my way, I followed my faint shadow back to the entrance. A cold fog began to roll in, and the curtains closed on the night.

Saying goodnight