The first time I ever saw the Pacific Ocean was on a trip I took to California the summer I turned 17. Some old friends of our family had moved to Acadia, and they invited me out for several weeks.
Of course we did Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm, but by far my favorite memories were of a week of Girls' Camp on Catalina Island. We took the ferry, then piled into open trucks with all of our gear, drove for several hours on a dusty road to a remote beach, and pitched our tents.
The beach was wild and our camp was perpetually encircled by buffalo who eyed us suspiciously. We braided our hair and laughed and built huge fires when the sun went down.
Pacific. They got that right.
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