Like so many mornings when we stay at Cannon Beach, I quietly dressed, grabbed my camera and slipped out the door of our room.  Out on the beach, I kicked off my shoes, leaving them near the stairs and wandered passed Ecola Creek. When we first stayed here, I ran with the speaker's wife.  While she was jumping and skipping the rest of the day, I was in pain slowly walking up and down the stairs, over to the dining hall.  I was early 30s she was early 60s.  Lately though, instead of reaching for my running shoes, instead I reach for my camera since I never know what will inspire me on my daily walk to Haystack Rock.  This particular morning, I was treated to a usual sight for me.  I hear that this is a common occurrence for the residence of the town as the herd of elk will strip gardens and landscaping on their way oceanside.  In the predawn hours, I noticed a stag step tentatively out from a group of tall evergreens lining a street.  Nose in the air and swinging his head back and forth searching for signs of danger. Moving slowly down the sandy dune, the rest of the heard emerged.  He stopped as if he was a crossing guard while the cows and their calves meandered towards the waves.  The young practiced their fighting skills on their hind legs. They moved slowly and the stag, on guard.  Suddenly a cow breaks from the heard with her calf trying to keep up. The stag gives chase, passing and then turning her back towards his herd.  Tries again and again and each time, he gives chase, trying to keep them together.  Slowly they  worked their way to the tall wild grass growing on the dunes and disappeared.  Later towards evening, they made their way back across the beach while families flew kites, children splashed in the water and wood was being stacked for late night bonfires. But there was something magical and almost personal watching them in the early morning hours that made getting out of bed worth it.















 

 My bare feet were covered in sand as I trudged along the beach when I heard the telltale shriek of an eagle.  I am used to that sound along the Nooksack River at home but not here.  Instantly I picked my head up, looking around trying to spot it in the tall pines.  Then I turned a different direction and squinting towards the waves. There is where I spotted it.  Just out of reach of the waves.  I used to run these shores and now I walk them with my camera in hand and so quickly brought up my camera to photograph this unusual sight.  Every morning, I walked the shore with camera in hand and was rewarded with another encounter of eagles, not just the one, but two along the beach.  Slowly, I edged my feet into the small fast flowing creek that cut across the beach, holding my camera high above the water as it crept higher and higher, and covering my knees.  Hoping it wouldn't get any deeper, the cold water swirled around my legs, I kept crossing, switching my view between the eagles and the creek bed.  I walked at a diagonal towards the pair of eagles.  Stopping to photograph them, hoping that I could get closer and not scare them into flight.  The combination of morning mist, predawn colors of the sky, rolling surf upon the beach, haystack rock and eagles became almost magical.