I walked on the beach today at Dungeness Spit, the longest natural spit in the country. I always love looking down to the end of the spit, five and a half miles to the lighthouse, and then looking the other way to the snow covered Olympic Mountains above the town of Sequim. The spit is covered in enormous driftwood logs, and the waves are often rough, so it takes a long time just to travel a few hundred yards. Today I was the only hiker, and I stopped to watch the froth from the surf and the wind creating patterns on the beach. I thought I’d find shelter behind a log to eat my sandwich, but the wind was too fierce, and bitterly cold for the first day of spring. Even though the weather forecast said it was 43 degrees, the “real feel” was cited at 33 for the town of Sequim, and I’d say it really felt like 22 on the spit.