Early explorers described this stretch of coastline with words like “forbidding,” “graveyard coast,” and “primeval.”
Some landscapes don’t comfort you first. They confront you first.
It terrified them.
And honestly, standing atop the 800-foot cliffs at Cape Perpetua, looking down into the dark Pacific, I understood why.
The sun was setting. Low light. Ominous clouds drifting overhead began picking up shades of pink. I stepped toward the edge and peered down—800 feet above the Pacific—as cold wind screamed across the cliffs.
The height and wind were dizzying.
So I stepped back a couple feet.
Far below me, whitewater exploded against black basalt shelves in a flurry. It looked less like surf and more like a full-scale war zone.
Even from that height, the spray was enormous.
Deep booming reverberations echoed upward from below.
Bam.
Bam.
Bam.
At Thor’s Well, waves vanished underground through collapsed volcanic tunnels before erupting seconds later through holes in the rock.
The surf that evening was probably only eight or ten feet.
That is nothing here.
During major winter storms, waves along this section of coast can exceed sixty feet. Storm energy travels thousands of miles across the Pacific before colliding with reefs, cliffs, sea caves, and narrow basalt channels that compress and amplify the force.
That is why even moderate surf here can feel apocalyptic.
Cold Pacific water surged through the basalt channels like the coastline itself was breathing.
Captain James Cook charted parts of the Pacific Northwest in the late 1700s, and sailors feared this coastline for good reason. Storms, reefs, cliffs, fog, shipwrecks, vanished crews.
Standing atop Cape Perpetua, I understood why Cook once wrote:
“The very aspect of the country was sufficient to fill us with astonishment.”
For all its violence and storms, the Oregon Coast also knows how to be unbelievably gentle.
The place is beautiful.
But it does not feel interested in becoming safe.
And honestly… that mattered to what I learned about prayer this week.
THE REALIZATION
So, this is where the “living laboratory” for studying prayer was set up this week.
I hiked.
I studied.
I prayed.
I pondered.
I logged the results.
And this is what I saw:
My prayers are changing.
Less control.
More alignment.
Cape Perpetua helped me see that.
The old-growth Sitka spruce forests carried the same feeling as the coastline itself—beautiful, ancient, and slightly mysterious.
You do not control this place.
You observe it carefully.
You respect it.
Sometimes you step back.
WAY back.
You align yourself with reality.
And I think prayer may work more like that than I realized.
Sometimes we cling tightly to a preferred outcome while pretending to surrender.
But there is another way to pray:
“This is what I clearly want. But if not, show me how to serve where I am, even if it requires changing my plans.”
I’ve heard that principle my whole life.
But somewhere between the cliffs, the surf, and the wind, it stopped feeling theoretical.
That shift mattered this week.
I started Ocean to Ice wanting heavier trail miles and smoother progress on the storytelling side of the project.
Instead, the storytelling side has proven far more difficult and time-consuming than expected.
At first, I viewed that as interference.
Then something clicked.
Lewis and Clark originally believed their mission was primarily movement westward. But over time, they realized documenting the discoveries WAS the mission.
That thought hit me hard.
Maybe the storytelling is not distracting from Ocean to Ice.
Maybe it is more central to the mission than I realized.
And strangely enough, that realization connected directly to what I was studying in 1 Nephi 11.
Nephi had serious questions.
And his approach was surprisingly simple.
He wrote:
“I sat pondering in mine heart…”
That’s it.
No elaborate ritual.
No dramatic performance.
No attempt to force revelation or force HIS way.
He sat.
He thought.
He desired to understand.
He believed God would answer.
Then revelation came.
One thing that stands out in 1 Nephi 11 is how often the angel says:
“Look.”
Again and again:
“Look.”
Not:
“Control.”
Not:
“Force.”
Look.
Observe correctly.
Pay attention.
I felt a shift this week from:
“If I pray hard enough, maybe I can make Ocean to Ice unfold according to MY preferred vision.”
Toward this:
“You are where you need to be. Learn the work in front of you. Get better. The miles will come.”
Wild foxglove overlooking the Pacific at Cape Perpetua during the final light of day.
And one final thing stood out to me.
Nephi’s vision centers on Christ very quickly.
The answer becomes a person.
Not just information.
Not merely direction.
Not simply outcomes.
Christ.
Sometimes I pray for a solution…
…and God responds by redirecting my attention.
More looking.
Less controlling.
More alignment.
More Christ.
Morning fog drifting past Heceta Head Lighthouse in the Cape Perpetua area.
As I stepped back from the ledge at Cape Perpetua, I realized I was beginning to do the same thing with my plans for Ocean to Ice.
Note
Ocean to Ice (OTI) is a six-month, thousand-mile backpacking expedition through the Pacific Northwest and Canadian Rockies—used as a living laboratory.
I already know prayer works. This experiment is whether I can operate at a higher level with it—more consistently, deliberately, and in real time—as the world grows faster, louder, and more unpredictable.
Each week I’m sharing notes from the trail.
This week has been on the Oregon Coast.
