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“The Lost Coast Trail” is a reflective short narrative that explores the tension between human optimism and the indifferent power of nature. Through restrained humor, personification, and a carefully structured journey arc, the piece examines how humility is learned not through instruction, but through sustained exposure to forces beyond human control.

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THE LOST COAST TRAIL

By Harry Arabian

A Short Story About Optimism, Gravity, and the Ocean’s Opinions

We chose the Lost Coast Trail because it was described as “remote” and “untouched,” which we interpreted as relaxing. This was our first mistake.

At Mattole Beach, we posed for a photo. Our backpacks were new. Our boots were clean. Our confidence was offensive. The ocean watched quietly, like someone who had seen this before and had notes.

Within twenty minutes, one of the boys asked how far we’d gone.
“About half a mile,” I said.
He nodded, the way people do when they receive bad medical news.

The trail was not a trail so much as a suggestion. Sometimes it vanished entirely, forcing us to walk on rocks the size and temperament of loose bowling balls. Each step required balance, faith, and the willingness to fall in a way that wouldn’t be photographed.

By day two, we learned about tides. The trail, it turned out, had a part-time schedule and worked around the ocean’s availability. We sat on a rock waiting for the water to move, which it did—slowly, smugly, and on its own terms.

We saw bear tracks. Large ones. Fresh ones. We spoke in whispers and handled our food with the seriousness of bomb disposal experts. One son asked what to do if we met a bear.
“Make yourself big,” I said.
He looked at me and replied, “You first.”

Black Sands Beach arrived on day four and immediately began draining our souls. The sand was black, the wind was sharp, and the walking was endless. No one spoke. Even the ocean lowered its volume, as if observing a moment of silence.

Somewhere around day five, something shifted. The complaints stopped. We shared snacks without negotiation. We walked together, not fast, not slow—just…forward. The trail hadn’t gotten easier. We had just stopped arguing with it.

On the final day, Shelter Cove appeared like a rumor that turned out to be true. Cars. Pavement. Civilization. We stood there, sunburned, sore, and strangely proud.

Would we do it again?
Absolutely.

Just not soon.
And never during high tide.