La Push First Beach

Author's Comments

The first time I came to First Beach I arrived too early, in the flat middle of an August afternoon, and I almost convinced myself the place was overrated. Then I waited. The Pacific does not give itself up at noon. By seven in the evening the light had turned, and James Island had gone from a dark lump offshore to something that looked carved out of the sky itself, and I understood why people drive all the way out here. The crescent of the beach is what makes the photograph work. The curve holds the sea stacks in relationship to one another, and at low tide the wet sand becomes a second sky, doubling everything. I have seen sunsets here that ran orange into magenta into a deep bruised blue, all of it mirrored at my feet, and I have seen evenings where the marine layer rolled in early and gave me nothing but gray. Both are worth the drive. The gray days are quieter and stranger, and the long exposures come out looking like graphite. This is Quileute land, and that matters. The signs are clear about where you can and cannot go, and the village is a working community, not a backdrop. I tend to park, walk straight to the beach, and stay there. Camping at the tribal campground is the easiest way to be in position for both the last light and the first, and the first light here, with the stacks backlit and the surf still cold from the night, is the photograph most people miss because they came only for the sunset. Bring a tripod. Bring patience. The Pacific takes its time.

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