The weather was grand and the beaches were nearly absent of people.  This made my heart happy as I wanted Amber to experience the peace and space that the sandy beaches seldom provided in the summer months.  The miles were easy with so much to gaze at along with many visual distant goals that seemed easily reachable.

After passing haystack rock, Amber started the "Daddy?" questions, asking about everything that we passed lying on the beach.  My feeble attempts to appease my daughter's curiosity arose frustration as I just wanted to listen to the waves while gawking at the endless blue.  We quickly passed Jockey Cap rock, marking Silver Point, as I was astounded how different it was here than in February.  I came at high tide then, knowingly mind you, as things looked much different now.  The walk around the point was easy as the tide was at it's lowest of the day.

Approaching Foot Rock, I pointed out the old roadbed that led around Hug Point.  She seemed only marginally interested by the history of this place as any eight year old would be.  Digging our feet in the soft sand, we glanced around for the auto chassis that I discovered in February.  It was no where to be found.

Amber was so happy to be here, I felt a sense of pride as times like this are so rare and precious.  She loves the beach, mostly because of the endless wonders that wash up on shore.  As she hugged me, we glanced down and saw a rock between us, buried in the sand, perfectly resembling a heart.

We made out way past the point that stopped me dead last time.  In February, while taking this next picture, I would be under nine feet of water.  Now just sand, allowing us to explore the few caves that are at this side of the point.  We took our time, gazing and taking pictures.  I looked around for a place to camp, but found nothing safe from the rising tide.

We continued on and found a not-so-private spot at the base of a waterfall.  Although we thought the top of the falls perfect for pitching the tarp, it was already overrun with people not interesting in sharing such an idyllic spot.  In fact, the rude, obnoxious inhabitants were quite the opposite of what I was used to on my journeys.  I suggested to Amber that we head out as she started to weep.

From February's trip, I knew of the perfect site so clandestine.  It was complete with logs for sitting, a camp fire ring, and a soft duff-covered area in the trees for sleeping.  Still she wept.  I tried to comfort her the best I could as I promised that this site would be even better than Hug Point.  Amber was simply home sick. 

Tears rolled down her face in endless droplets.  I should have comforted her.  I should have hugged her.  Instead, I clammed up, containing my anger as I felt betrayed.  My weekends are precious and my time with her more so.  She convinced me to take her this weekend and now she was cutting my weekend short.  We hiked back to the car, pushing our way through the now packed beaches, playing in the sand occasionally, letting the waves push us around in the rising surf.  The child hiked 10 miles this day, as I was very proud of her, but still, all I could think about was what the night would have looked like with such a clear sky.

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