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Saturday August 6

Susan said that if I got to a place up the road called Strawberry Hill, I could see seals on the rocks. So, after breakfast I headed out, and after parking up, made my way down the cliffs to the beach.

There were indeed seals on the rocks; there were also other people, most of whom had brought dogs. And the dogs were being allowed to run free; which in turn scared the seals. Thankfully someone said something; dogs were supposed to kept on leads anyway, and the dogs were ruining it for others. I am not blaming the dogs, it’s the owners. A couple of guides came down to answer any questions we might have; and they tried to reason with the dog’s owners. The tide was coming in, and the people and their dogs were on the rocks; the dogs could tell the tide was coming in, and were getting freaked, causing more unrest with the seals.

After getting a couple of shots of the seals, I explored the rock pools, away from other people. The one thing to see was something called the sunburst starfish, which has what looks like dozens of legs. But, it is rare, and I was unlucky, so did not see it. One thing I did see were dozens of starfish clinging to a small rock just above the water line; I think it made a good picture.

I had been told that there were great views to be had above the Cape Petetua visitors centre. Also, you could pay for one ticket that covered all sites along the coast, instead of paying individually.

Further along, where the coffee shop was from last night, was a place called The Devil’s Churn. It was a deep cut made into the rocks by wave action. In the rocks, the drying spray had made salt-lined patterns. The churn was not as exciting as it sounds, but the sea was not too rough that day; I imagine it’s different in a storm.

I drove on back to the northern side of Newport. On a Saturday morning, Newport was very busy, its entire four land road jammed. I was glad to get passed it. I stopped at the lighthouse to the north where I also stopped yesterday; thankfully, the views were much better on a clear day. I met a couple from Germany, and was able to talk to them in German, which I think surprised me more than them. I got talking to one of the rangers; he had just transferred from the Adirondacks, and was pleased that I had visited them. On the rocks below the viewing platform, were seals; and there barking could just be heard above the crashing of the waves.

Further up the coast at Lincoln, the traffic was horrendous. A main road from Portland joined 101 to the north, and its four lane road narrowed back to a two lane. I was stuck there nearly an hour, inching forward. However, after the junction to Portland, 101 became quiet again. I decided to go where I went yesterday, really to see what I had missed.

Pacific City, which is not a city, though is on the ocean, is really a beach town; there are cafes and other seaside shops, and little parking. Beyond the dunes, a massive rock could be seen, and the kites of the sailboards. But, I guessed it was not my kind of town, and drove on. At the point where I gave up yesterday, I was presented with stunning views of a wide sandy beach stretching for miles. Behind it was a lagoon, which I saw later was dotted with people in boats dropping lobster pots over the sides. At the far end of the beach, were three large rocks; the Three Arch Rocks and it was there where I would go next. The nearest town to the rocks was Oceanside. Oceanside was a surfer’s town, judging from the dudes in the coffee shop I went in to.

I thought I would go to the headland to get a shot of all three rocks; amazingly, there was no overlook, just a private house with a really cool view.

A few miles further on was Cape Mears; a stunning headland and lighthouse. The views from the cliffs were amazing; I now I have used that word and great, stunning; but no other words seem to fit. Beyond the headland, several rocky islands sat, surrounded by surf and home to thousands of seabirds. The bottom layer of the cliff was volcanic basalt, with hexangular shaped blocks like the Giant’s Causeway. As I looked over, out of a crystal clear sky, drops of water fell on me. I looked around to see if kids were playing around; but no. At another point, I looked back to where I was standing, and there was a small stream tumbling into the sea below; but the up draught was lifting most of the water back up onto the cliff.

A short walk away, was the lighthouse; as lighthouses go, it was small and unspectacular. But, what was great was that the path descended right behind the lens, giving this unique shot.

I was shocked to discover that I had come almost 150 miles that day; and I of course had to do the same distance to get back to the hotel. Thankfully, both Lincoln and Newport were much quieter once I got there; all the shops were closed. The trip was uneventful, but with the roof down, and music on loud it was still fun.

Once in Yachats, I stopped at different place to eat. Although it was crowded, the maitre’d managed to find me a table, and nothing was too much trouble. I had intended to have steak, but the lure of the salmon was too strong. It’s healthier, I guess.

Sunday August 7

So, it was time to leave Ambrosia Gardens, and head further down the coast nearer to California. The experience of the crowds in Newport meant that I wished I was staying in Oregon.

A couple at breakfast were doing the trip I was on; but backwards. And they were going to be in Port Townsend in two night’s time; I recommended the James House; they seemed pleased. For breakfast we had fruit salad, and a Dutch baked pancake with more fruit, and finishing with cinnamon scones. Mary gave me a list of places all the way to the Californian border to visit, which might be interesting.

I set off; a few miles down the road was a picnic area in a sheltered bay; overlooked by a simple lighthouse. I stopped to take pictures and explore; as well as catching up on my postcards. It was really good to be sitting at the picnic table, sun on my back, seagulls wheeling above my head; it really felt like I was on the road.

The road, instead of being on the edge of cliffs, swept down to the level of a wide beach.

The first town of any size I came to was Florence; a couple of guys who sat with me at the lighthouse earlier said that it was a great place to look around. As it was only just past eleven, I thought it too early to stop, so pushed on.

Beyond Florence was the Oregon dunes; the dunes are as the name implies a sandy area. But that really does not do them justice. At one overlook, the beach must have been a mile wide, and stretched to the horizon. People on the beach looked like dots. Further on, the dunes were moving, eating copses of trees; the dunes being higher than the tree tops.

Further on, was Reedsport. I guess at some point, it was a trading post; a long abandoned railroad passed through. The town stands on a major river, and like most towns in the North West seems to survive on logging. It also has the usual tourist traps, shops and the like. It also had signs to an area famous for its elk. The signs pointed to a side road. About 5 miles further on, it came to a wide marsh. There were parking spaces galore; and many people training binoculars on nothing. I pulled in, looked some; had some fruit for lunch; looked some more. Decided that the chances of seeing elk with screaming kids around was slim; so I got back in my car, elkless.

Coos Bay is the main working town on the coast; and it’s ugly. It’s all logging plants and strip malls. I have to say there really is not a lot to praise the town other than it was good once through.

Further on, beyond Coos Bay was Brandon. Brandon was once a thriving fishing port; but now relied on tourists. I was hungry, and fancied a burger. Places to eat were thin on the ground; there was a great looking place on the first floor of what was once probably the harbourmaster’s house. But, there was a queue, and I was not in the mood to queue. The mist had come down again, and a keen breeze was blowing; I even bought a thick top to wear.

I found a canteen type place; and sat at the counter. The burger was ok, not brilliant; but better than at the hungry bear; which is not a ringing endorsement. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a leaflet for jet boats in the town of Gold Beach. A quick look at the map revealed Gold Beach to be just north of the state line, and not too far away.

South of Port Oxford, 101 ran beside the ocean, giving spectacular views of wide bays, with more large rocks; before sweeping inland in the Humburg Park along the Bush Creek valley.. The thick forests had thinned out, and the hills lower; instead farmland was the order; with neatly padlocked fields.

At Charlotte, a turn in the road revealed a wide bay, which was absolutely peppered with these large rocks. I parked up, and explored. The beach was wide and shallow but the sand was dark grey; and some of the rocks were right on the shore line. A seam of incredibly green rock appeared in the low cliffs; giving the impression of it being alive. The rock nearest the beach had an arch, and I tried to get a picture as the wave rushed through; without getting my feet wet; I just succeeded.

I drove into Gold Beach, and found the Jet Boat offices; as my luck would have it, I got one of the last two seats on the long trip, 104 miles, first thing in the morning. The downside was it left at half past seven!

Driving down Main Street there were an abundance of motels, and other places to stay. I chose one on the edge of town and checked in. I picked a room with a beach view; but the view was in fact of the sea wall and sand dunes; but it will do,

That night, I went to a bar just a few hundred yards down Main Street; once again I sat at the bar to eat. I got talking to some people; including Ray: he had lost his wife a few years before, and now has to carry an oxygen bottle with him all the while. But, he was a really nice guy. For once, I had the steak, which was good.

Monday August 8

For the first time since leaving Seattle, I can feel that the air is drier here, and the land is different; we are only a couple of dozen miles from the Californian border here. And so I can sense that the trip is coming to an end. In 12 days I will be with my friends in Arkansas, and then the summer will really be coming to an end.

The alarm went off at half six, bleary eyed, I packed and loaded the car. When I pulled open the curtains; I was greeted by the sight of thick, thick fog: I was really worried that the trip would not go ahead. I drove down to their offices, and already quite a crowd had gathered; but it turned out two trips were leaving at the same time. We boarded first, as were going the furthest, all the way to where the river becomes un-navigable. It was still foggy, but the secretary said that a few miles inland, it was bright and sunny.

I got a seat on the side of the boat; a good and bad thing as I was to find out later. Setting off, my glasses repeatedly misted up thanks to the mist; they gave us blankets to wrap ourselves up with. After a few miles, the fog cleared, and all that was left where a few wisps over the river. As I was to find out in a few days, the river we were on, The Rogue, flowed from the centre of the state, and has been the setting for many books; the pilot did mention authors’ names, but they have since slipped my mind. I got some great shots of successive layers of trees receding into the distance.

The pilot had far better eyes than we passengers; soon he spotted a pair of mink frolicking on the bank. Due to the boats’ construction, he was able to get within a few feet of the mink. The boat has a type of jet engine, and coupled with a shallow draught, the boat could get into water only a few inches deep. It was also very responsive, which enabled the boat to fly past rocks a few feet away; which really did feel very close. Early on, the views of the distant hills and mountains were partly obscured by mist and smoke from the forest fires that had broken out that week; The jet boats’ piece de la resistance was it could pirouette on a sixpence, whilst soaking anyone near the front of sides; see why where I was sitting was a double edged sword?

All manner of birds were pointed out; including an amazing amount of ospreys. Really, they were everywhere, and soon one got quite blasé about seeing another bird or nest. We came round a bend in the river, and came to a pair of American Bald Eagles on the stony bank. The juvenile soon flew away, as the boat manoeuvred closer; the eagle was eating a salmon, and did not pay us any attention at all. Turkey Buzzard, or Buzzards as the locals called them, circled around looking for a feast.

At the town of Agnes we stopped for a toilet break, and the chance to get something to drink. We had been on the water for some two hours already. Once back in the boat we had to put life jackets on; as the river was going to get much rougher from now on. We saw a pair of otters, splashing around in the shallows; but they were too quick to get a picture.

The pilot skipped us through numerous rapids, selecting the route that would soak us the most. I had wrapped both my cameras in plastic bags, so as not to get them wet. It also meant that I did not take that many pictures. We came across another boat stationary in the river, obviously looking at something; it turned out to be a brown bear. The bear was walking along the bank, ignoring us completely; sometimes pausing to strip berries from a bush. We watched it for 5 minutes, until the bear decided that it wanted some privacy, and headed up the valleys’ side into the forest.

We passed many rafts, loaded with provisions and people; the children were armed with water cannon, and tried to soak us as we went past. However, in retaliation, the pilot would point the back of the boat at the raft, and rev the engines to full, and the whole raft would be soaked by the blast; after that, we did not get attacked all that much. But the truth was we were already soaked from running the rapids. Near to where we turned around, we came across a group of swimmers, who were drifting down the river; needless to say, we had to go slowly past them.

At last we came to the biggest rapids so far, and we were told that not even this boat could go further upstream; and so we headed back. Running the rapids this way meant that the prow of the boat dug in, sending great plumes of water over the whole boat. At the best of these, the pilot turned around so we could get soaked again.

We stopped at Agnes again, this time for a meal. We got a buffet, which was good and healthy, and then time enough to look around. In truth there was not all that much to see; a collection of wooden cabins, an old post office (now closed). We stayed in Agnes long enough to dry out some; but the pilot thought we should be wet again. The weather all day was glorious, well into the high 80’s, and once the rapids finally faded out, we did dry out a little. We passengers passed around supplies and drinks; and I got some sun block from the family sitting next to me.

Back at Gold Beach the sun was shining; it was such as shame that the day had ended. I thought I could go back to the motel I stayed at last night; but the family next to me had mentioned a cove a few miles away, where there was a triple arched rock. Looking at the map, I saw there was one more town in Oregon before the state line, Brookings, and I thought I would look for a place to stay there.

101 went along cliffs once more, giving ever more stunning views out across the bays of southern Oregon. Eventually, I came to the bay with the arches, it was poorly signposted, and if I had not been told there was something worth seeing, I would have driven right past. There was no way down to the cove, unless you broke through the fence; I saw that many people had, and indeed the people who had told me about this place had climbed on the rock itself. I did not, and contented myself with taking pictures.

Brookings was depressingly familiar; an endless line of strip mall, car parts places and fast food joints. I booked into a Best Western, and made myself comfortable.

That night I walked along 101 to find a place to eat; it looked like the strip mall continued unbroken. I noticed an Italian restaurant behind an insurance office, and decided it was that or nothing. As it turned out, it was a great place; I had anti-pasta followed by stuffed ravioli; even the house Chianti was good. Breaking the habit of the trip, I had dessert, Tiramisu and Sambuca to round off with. As usual, I got talking to people; a family sitting on the next table heard my accent, and wanted to know where I was from, and what I was doing here, etc.