Arthur Hull story..Journey Across Dark Waters

August 18, 2025

Journey Across Dark Waters.

Here is a profound story from my personal journey that has helped me get to the other side of some tough situations. I have shared this personal story metaphor with other close friends who were going through some tough times.

At this time in my life I have a number friends scattered through our international community of rhythm care givers, whom for different reasons, are currently taking that Journey,.

Including me!

So Im posting this story on my Facebook page for anyone struggling with a personal challenge.

Im doing this in hopes that the story metaphor helps them get to the light on the other side of their situation.

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Over the eons, the Pacific ocean has eaten away the Western US continent, leaving a beautiful line of cliffs running all the way up the coast of California, Oregon, and Washington to Canada.

In my late 20s and early 30s, I would hitchhike the small two-lane Highway, Hwy 1, that ran up and down the rugged northern California coastline. I would visit friends in the little coastal college town of Arcadia near the border between California and the state of Oregon. The treck up the coast could take 3 days to a week, depending on how much I walked or hitchhiked.

At times Highway 1 would veer off of the coastline and head inland, returning to the coast five to ten miles further up the road. That is where I would get off the highway and go for a hike with my backpack and sleeping bag along the cliffs.

There was never a direct beach path along the coastal shoreline. In many places the ocean had washed out the beaches and come right to the base of the cliffs, chewing away some more of the Western Content. Many times I had to walk along the top of the cliffs, looking down at the ocean and beaches one hundred to two hundred feet below me.

In my hikes, I rarely met another person on these Northern California coastal trails. The land was beautiful, rugged and mostly empty of people.

Every mile or two there would be a break in the cliffs as a coastal mountain stream carved a canyon through the land and found it’s way down to the sea.

This is where the big beautiful white sand dunes and beaches were, and where I would find plenty of driftwood to make a windbreak lean-too, a fire, and camp for the night.

Many times there was a backwash where the stream met the beach. Sometimes the water in the stream would back up into a pool until it would break through the sand-dunes and run down to the sea. But most of the time the stream would end in a large pond of water at the beach sand dunes between the canyon cliffs. These ponds are called backwashes, where the water would leach underground through the beach sands into the ocean.

I have transversed around and waded through these backwashes many times to get to a secluded beach to camp at night.

The water was always fresh and clear. While wading through the backwash, I could see and avoid the deepwater areas, and not trip over the underwater rocks and driftwood in the pond.

While walking along the cliffs on one of my coastal “Walk-Abouts,” the sun was low in the sky with about an hours worth of daylight left.

I looked down from the cliffs to see a big beautiful beach below me. Someone had come before me and had left a camp. There was a well-constructed driftwood lean-too windbreak built in front of a fire pit surround by round rocks, with a stack of wood next to the fire pit. I could also see a pile of pine needles snuggled up against the lean-too that had served as a mattress.

There was no one on the beach. The last person to camp there had “Paid It Forward,” and I was to be the next recipient.

I saw a trail that I believed would quickly lead me down the canyon to the stream, the backwater and to that beach, before the sun set into the sea.

I love watching the Pacific Ocean sunsets from a secluded beach.

So I decided not to camp on top of the cliff, but to head down the trail into the canyon.

I was wrong about the trail. It did not offer me an easy descent into the canyon. With a heavy backpack on my back, I had to carefully work my way down through some pretty scary and steep, skin scraping situations. By the time I had gotten down to the canyon floor, through the woods and then along the stream to the beach backwash, the sun had long ago kissed the sea and the night sky was full of stars.

A large pond of dark water blocked my path. The full moon had risen over the coastal mountains behind me. It illuminated the white sand beach waiting for me on the other side of the backwash pond. I could see the driftwood lean-too peaking above the top of the sand dunes framed by the canyon cliffs. The song of the ocean waves pounding on the shore of the beach beckoned me.

There was no way around the backwash pond to get to the beach. The small lake went from one steep cliff to the other one on the other side of the canyon.

The trail back up to the top of the cliff was too dangerous to climb back up in the night, so my choice was to;

#1, camp by the stream, on the damp ground and reeds. The beach dunes blocked the sea breeze, so the air was full of mosquitos.

Or #2, take my chances and wade through the dark water, across the backwash pond to get to the pristine sparkling moonlit beach.

The water was pitch black and scary. How deep the water was and what underwater rocks and driftwood awaited to trip me was a mystery.

I debated with myself for a long time, in deep consternation and distress as to which option to choose.

Camp with the mosquitos in the reeds or take my chances and cross the black water to the beach.

I finally found myself naked, except for my sneakers. I held my backpack above my head and started to walk into the backwash pool.

If the water was too deep or I tripped on a rock and dropped my backpack, it would be a wet disaster.

Five minutes later I found myself standing on dry sand on the other side of the dark pool, still naked and holding the backpack over my head looking back at the backwash that I had just crossed.

I was laughing and crying at the same time.

My feet had found the underwater rocks and driftwood hidden in the black water as I inched myself one step at a time across the wet darkness. But I did not I trip or fall into the pool.

I was laughing because the water was never more than knee deep as I waded across holding the backpack over my head.

What a funny sight I must have been for the pond frogs to see.

The laughing and crying were from experiencing, in a physical way, a metaphor that reflected a number of situations in my past life, where I had to make a journey through a dark, mysterious, and scary set of circumstances to get to the other side.

What is the metaphor?

As you start out on your journey across dark waters, know that the darkness and danger are never so vast and so broad as you think.

Walk away from the mosquitos, cross the dark waters, face the mysterious unknown, follow your bliss and find the light on the other side.

You are the one who has been “Paying It Forward” for the community you have already built. Continue building that camp.

Life is a dance - when your sharing your spirit..

Uncle Arthur {]]’;- )

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