After being stuck at the house for an entire week, I finally managed to find some time to escape the endless projects and unpacking and do a little exploring. I did a little research using Google Maps and figured I’d check out a little place called Sunrise Beach. It appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, but according to reviews, was a beautiful beach with great views of the Puget Sound, teeming with wildlife and wild blackberries. 

I got in my Xterra and carefully drove down my ridiculously steep driveway (about a week ago, a truck carrying some packages got stuck at the bottom of it and had to be towed out), and then listened to my GPS’s instructions. I was rather nervous. The thick wilderness makes it harder for me to navigate since I can’t see very far, and the woods were shrouded in a thick mist when I left. But, despite my fear I headed out anyway. After all, I am an adult, damn it! And, I wasn’t about to waste the couple precious hours I had to leave the house. 

The GPS took me through the little town of Gig Harbor, which to me felt rather familiar. At first, I couldn’t put a finger on it, but looking back, Gig Harbor is very similar to Lake City, Minnesota. Like Gig Harbor, Lake City is a small, waterfront town. Both towns have less than 10,000 residents, and both towns are surrounded by thick woods and steep blufflands. Of course, the towns are very different too. But, I felt a little bit more at home as I drove through Gig Harbor, and saw just how aesthetically and geographically similar it was to the little town of Lake City, which I grew up visiting year after year thanks to my Minnesota relatives.

Within five minutes, I’d driven across the little town of Gig Harbor. I drove up a steep hill back into the thick, misty woods, and followed a few backroads that led me past horse properties and beach houses. The closer I got to Sunrise Beach, the more rural the landscape became. The houses became more spread apart. The trees seemed to grow closer and closer together. The mist seemed to thicken. The roads gradually became more unkempt and narrower. Soon, I could see no houses, and I passed no vehicles. It was just me and my Xterra in those eerie, misty woods, and I was getting increasingly on-edge. 

Still, I was less than a mile from the beach. I had to press on, although I was beginning to second-guess myself. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea…” I silently pondered as the road narrowed even more, and began to weave down a steep cliffside, all while the mist only got more dense.

I could only see a few yards ahead through the fog even with my brights on, and the road was getting increasingly treacherous. The only difference between it and the many off-road trails I’ve driven on back home in Colorado, was the road leading to Sunrise Beach was paved. Otherwise, it was just as steep, narrow, and dangerous. The horrendously thick fog didn’t help. 

I seriously considered turning around at some points, but didn’t because I couldn’t see. I had to wait to arrive at the beach before I could safely turn around. So, I kept going, clenching my teeth and clutching the wheel with white knuckles. Miraculously, after what felt like hours (but was probably less than ten minutes), I arrived at the beach in one piece. Well, I couldn’t see the beach yet. But there was a clearing off the road with a sign pointing to it that read “Sunrise Beach Parking”. At least I could get off that scary road and park. 

There were no other vehicles parked in that gravel clearing, which was actually exciting. It meant there was nobody else around. I could immerse myself in the wilderness undisturbed. As I stepped out of my truck, I could hear birds of all kinds chirping in the misty woods around me. I couldn’t identify most of their calls like I could back home, but I liked the sounds of their calls regardless of what they were. I didn’t feel so nervous since I could hear the birds. As long as they didn’t fall silent, I knew I was safe. 

I could also smell salt in the air. While the mist and the woods were dense, I knew the beach had to be close thanks to the scent of salt in the wet air. Along with the salt, I picked up on the sweet scent of wild flowers and, of course, wild blackberries. In fact, there was a small patch of ripe blackberries right by my Xterra, but as I got closer to the blackberry bush, I realized that cluster of ripe blackberries was being guarded by a large European Cross spider. While the spider was harmless, I was too much of a wuss- I mean. Out of great respect for the spider and its delicate web, I chose not to harvest the blackberries. 

I figured there would be plenty of other much more harvestable blackberries along the trail that led to the beach, and headed out in search of the beach. I must admit, I was still a little nervous about venturing off into the mist alone. Typically, I go hiking while listening to quiet music through my earbuds. But, this time, I figured I’d better listen fully at my surroundings. 

I kind of felt like I was on the set of a horror movie, so of course, all of my senses were way more sensitive than usual. But, I figured as long as I heard the birds chirping and nothing else, I was safe. However, if the birds suddenly shut up, I’d get the fuck out of dodge faster than a jackrabbit on cocaine. I’m not sure if the legend is true or not, but I recall my great uncle Courtney telling me that if the woods fall completely silent, something sinister is going on, which means you either need to lock ‘n load, and/or just get the fuck out of there.

In fact, when that thought crossed my mind, I was still by my Xterra. Out of an abundance of caution, I went back to it and retrieved my tactical knife. Then, as I made my way to the trailhead, I think I pressed the lock button about a hundred times, just to make absolute sure that my Xterra was locked, and anything malicious within a five mile radius of me would hopefully get scared off by the horn. There were no signs at the trailhead telling me I could not venture into the mist while armed with a six-inch blade, so I knew I was legal. 

Up ahead, not too far from the trailhead, there was a dilapidated building that upon further inspection was an abandoned house. I let out a nervous chuckle as I passed by the abandoned house. While it was comical to stumble across something like that in some foggy, spider-infested woods miles away from civilization, it took nearly every ounce of courage I had to keep heading down the trail to the beach. My laughter was merely a way to tame some of the panic that was beginning to course through my veins. It wouldn’t take much else to send me sprinting for my Xterra like my life depended on it. 

There was a narrow gravel trail shaded by trees that led down to the beach itself. The birds were still chirping as I wandered down that gravel trail, so I felt safe enough to go see the beach itself. There were also lots of blackberries growing alongside the trail. However, each patch of ripe blackberries that were within arms reach of me was guarded by a spider of some sort, most of which were those harmless Cross spiders. In fact, the bushes, trees, and even the ground everywhere I looked were blanketed in wispy spider webs, most of which had spiders living in them. It was very creepy, but nothing that really spooked me. If anything, I found it fascinating. Still, like the respectful (totally not cowardly) person I am, I didn’t disturb any of the webs, which sadly meant I couldn’t try any of the ripe wild blackberries those woods had to offer. 

Finally, after about a half mile of hiking downhill, I made it to the beach. However, I couldn’t see much more than a few yards ahead of myself. The Puget Sound was shrouded in some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen settled on the water. It was a very strange sight, almost like I’d reached the edge of a video game world. It was just a white wall several yards or so from the shore where I stood.

It was clear it was low tide. The sand and rocks below my boots were wet and covered in fresh, green seaweed and bloated kelp. I took out my knife and used it to poke one of the bloated kelps that were washed ashore, and it made a bit of a noise as my blade punctured it. But, it didn't deflate completely, since it was very stiff and rubbery. I also used my knife to dig up a relatively large rock with a bunch of barnacles stuck to it, only to be startled by a tiny, fast moving crab. Thankfully, the little guy was way too fast to be crushed by the rock I'd balanced on my knife's blade. I went looking for him, but he was very well hidden. I gave up after I overturned a few other rocks I suspected he was hiding under. 

That’s when I noticed it. I couldn’t hear the birds anymore. Not even the tiniest peep. There wasn't any wind. The water was completely still. My ears were beginning to ring. The silence was absolutely deafening. I was instantly reminded of my great uncle Courtney’s horror stories about what happens when the woods become dead silent, and my blood ran cold. I took a good look all around me to ensure that I was alone (at least, to the best of my ability since I couldn’t see more than several yards in front of me), and then hauled ass for my Xterra. 

Now, I’ve kind of fallen out-of-shape in recent days, but that didn’t stop me from running full speed a half mile up the hill then across a large open clearing towards my Xterra, without even breaking a sweat. I didn’t stop to breathe until I was locked inside my truck with the engine running. But, even then, I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Looking back, perhaps it wasn’t the smartest move to sprint away from the beach like that. While they are rare, bears, moose, and mountain cougars have been seen in the Sunrise Beach area. 

However, at the time I got spooked, I wasn’t thinking about the possibility of there being a predator nearby. In fact, I was thinking about nothing at all. I was just running on instinct. And instinct told me that since I was basically unarmed and alone in a secluded part of the wilderness, and there was no sight of the danger yet, my best bet was to just get to my Xterra. If there happened to be a predator or a serial killer after me, I could just charge at them with over 4,000 pounds of metal and steel and likely be safe. But, without my Xterra, there wasn’t much I could do to defend myself with just a knife and a pair of very long shoelaces. 

In the future, I vow to return to the place I’ll now call Silent Beach, since it looked more like the setting of a scene from Silent Hill than of a peaceful, serene sunrise. However, I’ll make sure to only go there in the afternoon when it’s much sunnier, or at least, with a group of people. Call me a wuss, chicken, or any number of insults, but I’ll never go there alone again when it’s dark and misty. I’ve seen too many horror movies and true crime shows to stick around when those dense, foggy, spider-infested woods go silent. 

Especially during the spookiest month of the year.