That Time I Learned We're All on Different Paths (Even When We're on the Same Path)

I took a hike with a friend. Did he take the same hike?

Mar 02, 2024

For the audio version of this article, read by the author, go here.

Years ago, one of my best friends, Laura, fell for a guy named Danny.

Danny seemed like a great fellow, but he and I didn’t have a lot in common. He was left brain — good with his hands, very straightforward and practical. Meanwhile, I was an artsy, verbal intellectual with my head always in the clouds.

Since Laura and I were so tight, I was determined that I was going to be good friends with Danny too. But how?

I soon discovered that Danny and I both loved to hike — something that Laura had no interest in whatsoever. So Danny and I began hiking together.

I also discovered that at the end of a hike, Danny loved to strip down and skinny-dip in any nearby water.

The first time it happened, I remembered that Danny sometimes worked as a nude model in art classes. No wonder he was so uninhibited! I’d never done anything like this. A self-conscious dork like me? But I loved the idea of doing something so spontaneous and primal, so I quickly joined him.

Soon we were skinny-dipping in alpine lakes and forested rivers throughout Washington State.

Danny was winning me over. Now I liked how different he and I were. Before I knew it, the three of us had all moved in together — a tight trio all through our twenties.

*Me at age 26, front, with Laura and Danny in back.*

Soon Danny and I also started doing overnight hikes. There was one hike I’d long wanted to do: the “coastal strip” of Washington’s Olympic National Park — dozens of miles of secluded coastline, only accessible by boat or by hiking in.

Since the strip is so long, you needed to camp overnight to see the whole thing. I’d already done an overnight hike up from the south and seen half of the strip. Now I wanted to dip down from the north and see the rest.

I told Danny, and he was all in. Before I knew it, we’d packed our gear and set off.

When we got to the trailhead, I saw a strange sign I’d never noticed before.

Norwegian Memorial, it read. 12 miles.

“The Norwegian Memorial?” I said to Danny. “What the hell is that? And what’s it memorializing? When were there Norwegians on the Washington coast?” This was back before you could look up anything on your phone — when there was more mystery in the world.

“I have no idea,” Danny said. “But I guess we’ll find out.”

It was a three-mile hike through some forests and swamps before you even reached the beach, and this part of the trail was fairly crowded with day-trippers.

We finally reached the ocean, and it was just as breathtaking as I remembered.

a view of a beach with many rocks and trees — *This is the actual beach. Glorious! Photo by Joris Beugels on Unsplash*

Here the trail split. You could head north, hiking along the beach itself, until you reached another three-mile trail through the forest that led back to the parking lot. This route, which is very popular, is called the Ozette Loop.

But you could also head south, also along the beach, to the much more remote part of the coastal strip. In this direction, there was also another sign, this one reading, Norwegian Memorial: 9 miles.

“This way,” I said to Danny. And I added with a laugh, “To the Norwegian Memorial.”

Since most of the day-hikers were doing the Ozette Loop, we soon found ourselves almost entirely alone.

And by the time we reached the spot where we were going to set up our tent for the night, we were completely on our own.

We set up the tent in the trees above the beach, made a small fire, and talked into the night. Was there really a time I thought we didn’t have anything in common? The words between us flowed easily now.

silhouette of rock formation on sea during sunset — *More of this stunning beach. Photo by Andrew S on Unsplash*

The next morning, we considered our plans. We only had enough food for three days, and we planned to leave our tent and packs here, and then return to the campsite that night. But could we make it all the way to the Norwegian Memorial? We’d probably only hiked a total of five miles the day before, but that meant seven more miles to the memorial, and another seven miles back again — a total of fourteen miles in one day.

Then again, now we wouldn’t be bogged down by our backpacks and supplies.

We strung our food up in the trees to keep it away from animals and set off down the beach.

“To the Norwegian Memorial!” I said. I added, “Whatever the hell that is,” and Danny laughed.

But to our surprise, the beach here was much rockier and more rugged than the trek so far. The headlands were impassable even at mid-tide, so we had to hike around — or sometimes even over the jagged outcroppings. A few were only passable using old, knotted ropes to climb up the steep rocks, then down again on the other side.

a foggy day at the beach with rocks in the foreground — *The Coastal Strip. Photo by Trevor Vannoy on Unsplash*

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We still didn’t see a single other person.

The scenery was stunning, but we were making terrible time. How far had we come? No more than five miles, maybe not even that.

“We’re not going to make it to the Norwegian Memorial,” Danny said. “Not at this rate.”

“But we have to!” I said. “Don’t you want to see it? Don’t you want to know what it is?”

I’d never even heard of the Norwegian Memorial before this trip — I didn’t know anything about it except I’d seen references on those two signs. But now I wanted to see it — desperately.

And Danny was still completely game.

We picked up the pace, fighting with the rocks on the beach, scurrying over those jagged headlands. But it was already mid-day.

“It’s going to be mid-afternoon by the time we get to the memorial,” Danny said. “We’ll won’t back to the tent until after dark.”

I nodded to our day-pack. “But we brought flashlights. I’m game if you are.”

Danny laughed again. “Oh, you know I’m in.”

So off we trudged.

It was actually late afternoon by the time we reached the Norwegian Memorial.

Which was a slab of concrete with the words, Norwegian Memorial.

Danny and I busted up. We couldn’t stop laughing! All this way, all that effort, just to see a piece of concrete. How completely random was this stupid memorial, just stuck here out in the middle of nowhere?

But the late afternoon sun was warm, and we were in a deserted little cove where the water off the Washington coast was suddenly as lazy as I’d ever seen it in all the years I’d lived in this state.

Without a word, Danny and I both stripped off our sweaty clothes and ran down the pebble beach to the water. It was just as ridiculously cold as it always is on the Washington coast, but for once in my life, I didn’t care.

silhouette of person standing on body of water during sunset — *Photo by Gary Meulemans on Unsplash*

Eventually, we climbed out, shook ourselves dry, and dressed again. But the summer sun was still warm, and between the ridiculously strenuous hike and the frigid swim, I felt weirdly calm.

The calmness stayed with me as we started back for our tent. It’s true, the sun eventually set, and we did have to maneuver over the last of those headlands with our flashlights. Even so, the hike wasn’t as strenuous as I remembered from earlier in the day.

When I finally crawled into my sleeping bag, I was exhausted, but I also felt as sharp as the cut of the moon.

I fell asleep instantly and had the best night’s sleep I’d had in ages.

I never did learn what the Norwegian Memorial is all about, what it memorializes, not until I started writing this article: it commemorates a ship wreck.

Then again, that’s not really the point, is it?

Danny and I made it back home to Seattle, and he and Laura kept dating, but I felt much more connected to him now.

“Hey,” I’d say, “remember the Norwegian Memorial?”

And he’d laugh and say, “We really made it, didn’t we?”

We’d shared this common experience: we’d done this thing that was simultaneously totally pointless and incredibly meaningful.

Eventually, Laura and Danny got married and had three kids. But it didn’t work out, and after a few decades, they divorced.

In August of last year, I visited Laura. She and Danny aren’t on good terms now, but I wanted to see my old hiking buddy, who still lives nearby. I called him up and took him out to dinner.

It was really nice to see him after all these years, and one of the first things I said to him was, “Hey, remember the Norwegian Memorial?”

His eyes crinkled into confusion. “The what?”

“The Norwegian Memorial! Don’t you remember? Our hike on the coastal strip?”

His face stayed completely blank.

Seriously? How could he not remember the Norwegian Memorial? It had made such a big impact on me at the time, and he and I joked about it for years afterward.

I started telling him the story of our three-day hike on the coast, and I kept expecting his face to light up in recognition.

But it never did. “I have no memory of any of this,” he said. “I wish I did — it sounds like a fantastic time.”

“It was. Trust me, you loved it.”

At least I think he did. Now I’m not so sure.

Honestly, I’m also not sure what the point is to this ending of my story. That despite our efforts, Danny and I were never really in sync after all? Or is it that you can’t really ever know exactly what another person is thinking and feeling, but that doesn’t matter, because what’s real to you is still as real as it gets?

Years ago, on an absolute whim, Danny and I spent a whole day absolutely killing ourselves hiking to something called the Norwegian Memorial, which turned out to be nothing more than a slab of inscribed concrete.

And it’s still one of the best memories of my life, and if you asked me to do it all over again, it would take me about a tenth of a second to say yes.

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