5/31/2024 Crossing the Bar

We stayed in a condo 20 feet from the sand on Siletz Bay. At high tide, the bay filled up right to the edge of the beach, but at low tide, most of the bay was exposed to the deep channels of the Siletz River and Schoonover Creek. 

I had walked the short distance from the condo to Siletz Beach, facing the open ocean, stretching out from the bar between bay and sea for miles to the north. I planned to catch the sunset, my favorite time of day, to pray evening prayer and be lucky enough to see some natural colors to inspire me as I wander the path of Watercolor art. I was rewarded with a typically incredible view of the sun as it settled into the marine layer, lying far out on the horizon. No colors are as vibrant as those radiating from the Pacific Ocean sunset. 

When the colors faded from brilliant to mostly drop, I walked back to the end of the water on the bayside of the bar. Blue-gray dominated the landscape; the only natural variations were in the shades left when the white light was gone. It was just after slack high tide, and the tide ran out hard. I guessed the current speed to be 5-6 miles per hour because I could walk quickly enough to keep up with flotsam headed out to the bar, but it was a pace faster than I like to keep. 

This stretch of water is called Crab Alley because even at low tide, the water was deep enough that the bottom was out of sight despite the clear water in the channel. The bay is very narrow here, and the water runs in and out, maybe 100 feet. I guessed I could throw a rock from my side of the channel and have it land in the sand on the spit across from me. 

Even while the tide was running hard, it was running head-on into the incoming surf that was rolling at a height of 4-5 feet. The collision of the tide and the surf created chaos for the 100-yard length of the entrance channel. While the outgoing water flowed strongly down the center of the channel, the incoming surf pushed back against it. The surf will always win because the outgoing tide will eventually lose its strength, while the surf will always be driven by the flood tide and the prevailing wind. Tongues of current pushed into the bay along each of the channels. The water's surface was confused and chaotic, but it still had a result in mind. The outgoing waters would rush into the surf, where they would be snuffed out by the rolling waves of the open ocean. 

While not as formidable as the one across the Columbia, the bar formed by the exit of Siletz Bay still commanded respect. Its unpredictable nature and hidden dangers reminded us of the need for caution and guidance when attempting to cross it without prior knowledge. 

Since we first took to the sea in boats, we know it makes sense to sail out on an ebb tide and sail in on a flood tide. Even non-sailors know this if they have ever watched a movie or read a book about taking to the water. Those of us who have never sailed don't understand the importance of running with or before the tide to cross the bar from one side. Crossing the bar, either coming in or going out, is easy and straightforward. It is simple and easy. I sat on a drift log and watched the tide for a few minutes, and I realized crossing the bar was a metaphor for life itself. We want to let the current carry us, but if we raise the oars and let go of the rudder, the current will drive us into chaos where we might be lost if we don't set the course for the V-shaped opening that leads us from one side of the bar to another. 

Ancient Irish spirituality informs that life is about thresholds, the crossing over from one side of a place to another. We long to live in a quiet time after crossing over one threshold, but before we are challenged by the next threshold, awaiting us around the corner down the path. Those quiet times don't define us; they don't challenge us to become more of what we are called to be. From where I sat, I could see through the threshold flooded into the water by the bar, but only so far. The falling darkness of night and the misting of the night fog obscured my vision just a few yards to the west. It struck me that I might travel hundreds or even thousands of miles in open water before reencountering land. Sometimes, what lies beyond the threshold of life is equally obscure and hidden. I am still determining, sometimes, what to expect when I cross over. It is then that faith comes to my aid, faith that whatever lies beyond is meant for me to reach and that I am not alone in my travels. My boat will always be enough to carry me through; the navigator will always guide me safely. I don't want to drop sail and try to wait out the tide. It would not work even if I tried to heave and wait. Wait for what? I don't know. All I know is that the ebb tide will take me across the bar. I best get ready and rely on the help there for the asking. 

Crossing the Bar 

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
Sunset and evening star,
      And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
      When I put out to sea,
   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
      Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
      Turns again home.
   Twilight and evening bell,
      And after that, the dark!
May there be no sadness of farewell,
      When I embark;
   For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
      The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
      When I have crost the bar.