Our Wandering Ways

Our Oregon Coast Adventure continues. We ended our week at Winchester Bay RV Resort in Winchester Bay, OR by exploring the coastline from Coos Bay in the south to Heceta Beach in the North. We also made a semi-scenic drive to Eugene. On top of all that, our daughter had surgery back in Galveston and is home recuperating. (she is doing very well.) This made for an exhausting week. The coming week will be more relaxed. As always, please check my FB Page, where Marlene posts our day-to-day activities, to see a complete trip list. But here are some things that stand out from last week.

 

Our semi-scenic drive to Eugene took us along the Umpqua River. This river flows out of the Cascade Mountains and was a vital path for the Native Americans and the Russian, French, and English Mountain men who hunted in the area. Loggers used the river to bring logs out, while traders carried goods and people into the gold fields. As people began to settle the Willamette Valley, the river became an important highway for the lumber mills, fisheries, farms, and dairies to get their goods to San Francisco. The Umpua, named for a Native tribe that settled along its banks, is a slow-moving river carrying sand from the distant mountains. Sand bars builtup along the length of the rivers and at their mouth to the Pacific. This photo is of a bar called Brandy Bar. The first ship that tried to travel up the Umpqua ran aground on this bar. The crew had no choice but to wait until the tide from the Pacific would lift it free. With a long night ahead, they broke out the Brandy they had onboard (likely destined for a store upriver) and spent the night drinking. From that night on, the sailors would tell the story of being stranded on their maiden voyage, and Brandy became an essential part of the story. Thus, storytellers christened it the Brandy Bar.

 

These sandbars are among the greatest dangers of the Oregon Coast. When they form at the mouth of the rivers, they shift with the wind and waves, creating unpredictable conditions for shipping and fishing. Therefore, lighthouses dot the Oregon Coast, some of which sits at the mouth of the rivers, to warn approaching ships. (Others were built on the headlands of the rivers to warn sailors of the rocks and sea stacks scattered around through the immediate area.) This is a picture of the Umpqua River Lighthouse and Lifeboat Station outside Winchester Bay. This one is exceptional. I took this shot from the ocean side of the Lighthouse. The Pacific Ocean was ¼ mile behind me, making this Lighthouse nearly a ½ mile from the ocean. The guide told us that the water was at the base of the dune when it was built. But the jetties that were built to prevent the sand bars caused the sand to collect along the shore behind the jetties. This pushed the beach farther and farther from the lighthouse. Previously, the lifeboats would be rolled out directly into the water from a boat house next to the light. But now they would have to lug the lifeboat a half mile through soft, shifting sand to reach the water. The Pacific Ocean moved and left the Lighthouse high and dry. The Coast Guard transferred the lifeboat Station to Winchester Bay Harbor, but he Lighthouse still shines on an ocean that sits in the distance.

 

Coos Bay, a lumber port south of Winchester Bay, has a Maritime/Regional Museum that does an excellent job of telling the area's story. We found the usual stories of lumbermen, women, and children making homes out of logs and the meager resources at hand. It told of growing prosperity and the growth of the town. But then I came across this display. It is a child's baseball bat and ball with Japanese writing. The card in the exhibition noted that these washed up on the shore two years after the Tohoku Earthquake that knocked out the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant in 2011. The ball and bat came onshore after another tsunami pushed it out of the Central Pacific. A child in Japan lost their favorite bat, and I could feel their disappointment. That happened on a distant shore and caused another on this isolated shoreline thousands of miles away. We are connected by the ground beneath our feet and the common humanity that we share with those in distant lands. This little display reminds me that there is no such thing as parochial, only global, and our world is very small.

 

One of the afternoons that stands out for us is our wandering along the coast just south of Winchester Bay. The headlands and beaches were impressive. But the place that offered the greatest joy was Simpson Reef at Cape Arago. The rocks of the Arago Headland are a favorite haul out for Sea lions, Harbor Seals, and Elephant Seals. The sea life gathered to sunbathe, scratch various body parts, turn over to warm their colder parts and bark at their neighbor when they got too close. But, as with any family that spends a day at the beach, the teenage Sea Lions played in the crashing surf, challenged one another, and barked insults at each other. (I guess they were insults, but my understanding of Sea Lion is limited.) I cranked out the telephoto lens and clicked away as the young Sea Lions played in the surf. They were part of a tapestry of life displayed on that glorious afternoon. We were privileged to be part of it for a short time. 

 

The next day we drove north along the coast and enjoyed exploring Thor's Well, the Spouting Horn, tidal pools, sea caves, and another lighthouse. However, this Lighthouse was a challenge. Unlike the Umpqua River Lighthouse, which could be seen from all sides, the Heceta Head Lighthouse could not be seen from any angle except for a viewpoint on the next headland. Instead, the only way to see it from the Heceta Headland was to walk up to it on a short ½ mile walk. I snapped this picture on the way up without thinking much about it. When we reached the top, I took several photos of the Lighthouse and the building around it. I remember thinking, that's nice, another lighthouse. When I went through my pictures that evening, this shot was the one that stood out. The way it framed the upward perspective tells a different story than a full frame shot of the Lighthouse itself. This photo tells the story of the hike up the hill through the surrounding forest. It speaks of shade and sun and the scent of wildflowers that filled the humid air. It gave me pause as I considered the long trek that the lightkeeper had to make to keep the light turning night and day, including rewinding the mechanism every 40 minutes. It shrouded the Lighthouse in the mystery of a time far removed from my present day. After I posted the shot on FB, one of my friends remarked on how the image was framed, and I saw that all our wanderings are a matter of framing and perspective. It reminds me that if I have trouble finding joy in a particular moment, perhaps I need to reframe and look for a new perspective. I suspect this will work more times than not!

 

We moved up the coast to our next stop at Premier RV Resort in Lincoln City, OR. I remember booking this site on the phone last year and asking for an ocean view. I was assured I had one of the best ocean views in the park. Of course, I was paying for the privilege. Well, here is a shot of the site and the ocean view. Look between Koko and the big tree. Above the top of the trees in the distance, you will see a tiny sliver of ocean. Framing and perspective came into play, and I had to laugh at myself. We are not in Southern Oregon any longer. The Central Coast is a different place where hype and marketing are part of the tourism culture. 

 

There was a simple honesty about life on the southern coast. They did not have as many tourists to impress and the folks who did show up did not need a lot of hype to get them to lay down their phones. It was a What-You-See-Is-What-You-Get place. WYSIWYG, for short. Tastes were more straightforward, and there was less marketing! The small town we were in was Langlois, where they advertised a World-Famous Hot Dog. We noticed the sign and bought a couple. But now that we have entered a more touristy part of the coast, that sign would not be noticed. It would blend into the background noise of a tourist of noise. We could see the ocean from our site. (As long as the fog had lifted.) But not all Ocean Views are equal. But my differing perspective on what constitutes an ocean view was not the Resort's fault. So, we settled in and enjoyed our pricy ocean view whenever we made our way around behind Koko.

 

We were tired after arriving in Lincoln City and needed a break. We took in the old downtown, all three blocks, and watched a Glass Blower at work making Glass Floats. We had just toured the local museum and seen a Glass Floats display. The museum pointed out that this display was a small part of their collection. We did see another three cases filled with them. I knew nothing about glass floats, so this piqued my curiosity. I sought out Google and discovered that they are an important part of the history and culture of the Central Oregon Coast. 

 

Glass Floats are not unlike the bobbers I used on my fishing pole as a kid. They started out as sticks or twigs tied to a fishing line that held the hook off the bottom and signaled when a fish had taken the bait. These bobbers, or floats, have been around for thousands of years. But in the middle of the 19th Century, the Japanese started recycling their old sake bottles and blowing glass balls to use as floats for their fishing fleets. They were cheap and easily replaced when lost or broken. They have fallen out of use in the last 75 years, but they still carry the romance of the sea for the people of the Central Oregon Coast. However, since Japanese fishermen no longer use them, very few wash ashore. So, the city's glass blowers make and place thousands of them on the local beaches throughout the summer. The city encourages people to pick them up and take them home as a memento of their visit. (I told you they are good at marketing!) But, adding to the mystique, a few are still washing in from the Pacific after having spent many years circling in the currents. These are treasured, collected, and put in the museum. They tell the story of a way of life slowly slipping away. They speak of the unique place this area holds in the world. A place of self-reliant fishermen making the most of what they have, pulling a living out of the sea. They speak of hard-learned skills and global neighbors who share more than an ocean. The globes are part of the romance of a way of life that is quickly fading. I will never look at a glass float the same!

 

Before closing, I have a few thoughts to share on our trip planning for 2024. Most of you know that we plan our trips well in advance. RV sites are hard to find in the short term, and good RV Sites are nearly impossible. However, our experiences on this trip have underscored the importance of not planning the joy out of a trip. We plan just enough to secure a place to stay and a route to get there. But I am consciously limiting the amount of research I do for a particular location. I prefer to make decisions with just enough information that allows us to wander without creating self-defeating expectations! I decide where and how long to stay based on a quick look at the things to do and sights to see in an area. More planning builds expectations that are easily thwarted by weather, construction, and a hundred other factors beyond my ability to anticipate. By minimal planning, I allow space to frame and reframe our experiences on the road. I allow room to creatively change perspectives that kindle, sustain, and rekindle our joy rather than depending on extensive, overdone planning. Your mileage will vary in how much you prefer to plan, but for now, our full-time life gives us the luxury of planning a little and wandering as much as our hearts and budget can take.

 

Our next stop will be at Kampers West RV Park in Warrenton, OR, just across the Columbia River from Washington. But first, we have several more days here in Lincoln City to wander and explore. Glad you are along for the ride.

 

Bob

  

Beyond the Rickety Stairs

Before I get into this week’s travels, I have a bit of housekeeping for Wanderlusting. Since early February, I have been attempting to chronicle our travels with this blog. I started by sharing how we found our way to the road and have shared many of our adventures. This blog, itself, is a journey, and I am learning a great deal through it, as well. Marlene does a great job by sharing daily updates on what we are doing and seeing with her FB posts that she shares on my page. If you read her posts, you will have a pretty good idea of what we have been up to. I sometimes do the check-ins, but Marlene is better able to get the pictures and updates out much quicker than I am.

 

Therefore, I will refocus Wanderlusting from being a chronicle of our adventures into a place where I will share pictures and stories you might be interested in seeing and reading. I want to respect your time and only share new pics and insights, so I will not repeat things we posted on FB. Each Sunday, I will review my week's pics and pick out a few for comment. I hope you find this new format more entertaining and enjoyable. Keep following us on FB. It is your seat for our journey. But each week, I hope to give you a little extra as we sit down and talk about our week together.

 

Enough of this tedious housekeeping, time to get on with the travels.

 

We started our week at Bandon / Port Orford KOA in Langlois, OR. This was a beautiful campground. It is an older campground, but the manager and staff are working very hard to make it an even better place to explore the Southern Oregon Coast. It sits between two very old fishing and shipping villages on striking headlands, Cape Blanco on the South and Coquille River Headlands on the North. Toward the end of our week, we moved on to Winchester Bay RV Resort in Winchester Bay, OR. This is a fishing, oystering, ATVing, and tourism village at the mouth of the Umpqua River. Here are a few of the things I found interesting along the way.

I found this tidal pool sitting about 10 feet above low tide at the foot of the Coquille Lighthouse. When I first saw it, I thought it was filled with tadpoles. They were darting and hiding in the small pool of seawater. But I had never heard of ocean frogs, so I thought I would look closer. It turns out that they were not tadpoles at all. They were baby fish stranded high above the surf by a low tide. After returning to Koko, a quick Google search said they were young Salmon. They were trapped in a tidal pool on their way to the Pacific. These tiny creatures have already run the gauntlet of freshwater streams in the mountains. And just as they were at the edge of freedom in the Pacific, a wave dropped them on this reef. They must now wait for another wave to come along and liberate them for the new life in the open ocean. They will return in a few years, but until then, this little pond may be the last time they see another Salmon and until their childhood home to spawn and die in these same waters. Life is quite fragile on these rocky shores. But its fragility increases my respect for it and the creative ways that it finds to survive and thrive in a world filled with giant waves and small tidal pools of experience.

 

As we walked through several museums this week, we heard many stories of shipwrecks and the brave crews that went out to rescue the passengers and crews of those unfortunate vessels. The Southern Oregon Coast is a dangerous place for shipping. One of the reasons is the number of rocks like these that lay just off the headlands of Port Orford. These are close to the shore, but many extend far out from the coast. They line the Northern California and Southern Oregon Coast. These rock formations result from the Cascadia subduction zone that stretches the entire length of the Oregon and Washington Coasts. The Juan de Fuca Plate under the Pacific slides beneath the North American plate. This movement causes the signature earthquakes and volcanos of the area. However, the subduction also causes the softer soil of the inland that overlays the volcanic rocks beneath to march into the ocean at roughly one inch per year. Waves and other tidal forces erode the softer rock, leaving huge seas stacks of basalt rising up out of the water or, more menacingly, sitting just beneath the surface. In addition, the sand that washes off these coastal rocks becomes sand shoals that shift around and are impossible to chart. Ships, if they wander off the sea lanes, can end up stranded on rocks or sand. The frequent fog and howling winds drive these ships into dangerous waters, and lives are lost. The Coast Guard and their predecessors at Life Boat Stations along the coast are the last chance for these men and women to survive the dangers of sea travel in this area. Life is fragile, and sometimes all we can do is rescue those whose lives have been stranded on the rocks and shoals of life.

 

 

Bandon Beach sits just below Coquille River headland and is home to many amazing creatures. One of the most entertaining is the Harbor Seals that lay on the rocks, protected from the wind and surf. These seals have body fat to protect them from the cold waters of the Pacific, but they still need to get out and warm up after several hours at sea, feeding in the depths off the coast. They travel in family groups, and when everyone is well-fed, they find rocks such as these to lay around and sleep, scratch, fuss, and bark for hours on end. These two were unimpressed with the bull Sea Lions battling it out for a bit of nearby rock. But they did keep an eye on all the people on the shore across the tidal pools. Their girth would lead me to believe they were slow and clumsy on the rocks. But if they need to, they could move quickly and be gone instantly. Their most endearing quality is their faces, which simultaneously seem actively attentive and acutely disinterested. My camera lens kept returning to these two the whole time we stood on the edge of that tidal pool. Unlike the salmon fry, they are not stranded on these rocks; they have made them home.

 

In Bandon, the cliffs above the beach are lined with houses, some of which are weekend rentals and second homes. I saw stairs such as these for beach access. They climbed the sand dunes and had to weather the storms of life on the coast. We came down one such set at the headland visitor parking area. I'm not too fond of heights, and stairs such as these scare the bejabbers out of me. My 69-year-old knees do not work as well as they used to, making my walking stick a necessity. But these stairs are a necessary evil, a choice that must be made occasionally. They lead to wondrous places where sea stars and other oddities live in small tidal pools for a brief portion of the day. Sea Lions and Harbor Seal serenade one another, with the occasional Elephant Seal sounding the bass notes of the symphony. Towering sea stacks with romantic names like Wizard’s Hat, Face Rock, and Elephant Rock surround us as waves pummel the rocks and raise soaking mists. The sea fog sometimes creeps in from the ocean and cloaks everything in mystery. Yep, I would never consider a trip down those stairs were it not for the unknown wonders that await a walk in the sand. Wonders abound, and sometimes I have to overcome my fears and let my wonder come out and play on the beach. Traveling these rocky shores is dangerous business. But an open spirit and a mind brimming with curiosity will make the danger a small part of the decision to seek out and be enfolded in this magic.

 

While walking on Bandon Beach, a local man called me over and asked if I had a telephoto lens on my camera. I said I did. With great excitement, he led us to a place just a few yards away. He had been coming to this beach almost weekly for 35 years and had never seen anything like what he was about to show us. We stopped, gathered around, and he pointed down and said, “Can you believe it?” I looked down and must have had a “What-the-H&*#-are-you-talking-about” look on my face. Then he said, “The ladybugs! The ladybugs!”  I looked down, and sure enough, there were Ladybugs on the sand. We had noticed them before but did not see anything interesting about them. But our new friend went on, saying that this was very strange. You never see these or the other bugs scattered around on that beach. He believed we saw a significant part of natural history unfolding at our feet. He wondered if they resulted from the enormous winds caused by the climate change storms pounding the shoreline for the last week. He thought they might have been blown out to sea, died, and washed up on the beach. "Imagine how many pollinators must have died this week?" He then suggested that wines and flowers, fruits and vegetables might suffer because of the catastrophic die-off of the essential pollinators of the Oregon and California Coasts. I documented the bugs we saw, and there were quite a few. He wandered off, muttering to himself about the significance of this discovery. It was not until I had time to think about it and began to wonder, "How much more dangerous have we made this world because we disregard the needs of the least among us.?" We only saw bugs that may have been stranded by the recent storms and washed ashore after perishing in the sea. Perhaps I am just not bright enough to see the real significance of this event. I wonder?

 

As we were walking the beach, we kept reading references to Face Rock in the signage. One man, who, like us, was new to the beach, stopped and asked us which rock was Face Rock. After looking around looking for a face in the rocks, we had to shrug our shoulders and say we did not know. Later, the man, fascinated by the bugs, pointed us in the right direction to the face in the rock. At his suggestion, we could finally see it. We had been looking at it all along and never saw the face. All it took for the mystery to be revealed was the word of someone who we believed was a credible guide. From a particular point of view, the Face Rock appears to be a human head rising out of the water. Did it exist before the bug man pointed us in the right direction? Yes. Then why didn’t we see it? How did the first person looking at this rock see a face? This is the way of magical, mysterious places. Most of us require a guide to help us to even know that they are there. We depend upon those special people who can see them all on their own. We came to see Face Rock because one man asked us about it, and another pointed us in the right direction. But they are tiny links in the chain of the human awakening that leads back to one solitary soul who opened their eyes and said with astonishment, "Look, there is a face in that rock!" We all need more people around us who ask these  questions and point us toward wonders. This is especially true for those prone to look down on these magical places from our comfortable abodes above those rickety stairs.

 

This is a Song Sparrow. They are a very common North American Song Bird. But something about this own did not fit our expectations. The color and the patterns were not right. We knew Song Sparrows. We have seen them in Texas. But this one’s differences haunted us. Marlene, being the bird expert of the family, finally determined that her best guess is that it is the Aleutian sub-species of the Song Sparrow. I sometimes overlook the wonder and mystery of life because I have seen it before. I disregarded the bird until I noticed the differences. By paying attention to that nagging feeling that something does not fit, we may realize that the world is far more complex than we previously believed. Mystery and wonder await any inquisitive mind that encounters things it is willing to admit that it does not understand. Such questions will lead us down the dangerous stairs and onto the rocky shores of new experiences and learning.

 

But, as much as I enjoyed the bottom of those stairs, I must admit that there were great moments to be embraced on the cliffs that rose from the beach. This bench was one of those places. It sat on the cliff's edge that overlooked the sea stacks north of Bandon Beach. The surf was a faint rhythm that supported the wind's gentle melody. From this bench, I could see the horizon's edge, a thin place where the real and the imagined seem to hold on to one another. I could have sat there for hours, enthralled by a reality that became all too real. But I didn't. I walked on, looking for another picture. What magic did I miss by walking on by and refusing to yield to the invitation to sit and stay awhile? 

 

The next day we made our way to Cape Blanco. As we were walking to the lighthouse on the headland, I saw a storyboard that pointed out that we had just walked over two cracks in the earth's surface, fault lines that were part of the complex of cracks and fissures that made up the Cascade subduction zone. The earth is in constant motion in these places, albeit very slowly. We all count on the ground staying where it is. But these faults are proof that our trust is ill-founded. The ground beneath us is on the move, and there is nothing we can do to stop or control it. This picture shows that these faults are only noticed by lay people like me once they move. The Cape Blanco Headland is a bit of basalt that juts out from the mainland and is surrounded by seas stacks. It is cut off from the mainland by two faults that look like drainage ditches in the soil. But they were not caused by erosion from above. Instead, they are caused by the earth's crust breaking beneath our feet and opening a growing void between the lighthouse and the mainland. Popular wisdom says that this is the westernmost part of the US Mainland. But nothing lasts forever, and in some distant future, that crack will open up, and that bit of land that holds a lighthouse will become another sea stack off the coast of North America. Such insight is only possible when we can rise above our day-to-day life and it from a much broader perspective, geologic time.

 

One final tidbit from our week takes me to the Lighthouse Museum in Winchester Bay. Among the artifacts of the Coast Guard Lifeboat station is this small item that was recovered from one of the wrecks. It is called a Tea Brick. This highly compressed brick of English Tea was used to satisfy the needs of English Men and Women as they sailed around their global empire. Tea was a necessity for English Culture to thrive in far-off lands. The creation of the tea brick allowed the Brits to adapt to change while ensuring that the important things did not change, like tea time. Life in the realm of mystery and wonder can be very dangerous. It threatens the things we believe are vital to self-understanding. We can do our best to adapt, like making tea bricks. But given the broader view from the top of the cliff, we know that change will overtake us. We need to remember those tiny Salmon in that little tidal pool. Life finds a way to survive, even when, in the depths of geologic time, everything we believe is permanent will be changed. Life finds a way. That is our ultimate hope!

 

We will be here in Winchester Bay for another few days before we move on to our next stop at Premier RV Resort in Lincoln City, OR for six nights. What does tomorrow hold? I can’t say, but I look forward to seeing where our road takes us. Adventures await us. Mysteries abound. There are even some rickety stairs out there inviting us to travel to those magical places. I hope these stairs do not quell the curiosity and questions that bubble up from the depths of each new day.

 

Welcome to the adventure,

Bob.

Traveling with Much to Learn

We began our week at Village Camper Inn RV Park in Crescent City, CA. This is a small and beautiful park in the Redwoods, about a mile from the coast. Unfortunately, 4 of the 7 days we were there were cold and cloudy; we started out the week staying in and chilling out. (Maybe I have jinxed our weather by having Chores and Chillin' days. May need to change them to Chores and Relaxin’ days.) To be honest, I started my week with a nap.

Fortunately, the Sun made a 24-hour appearance the next day. We headed out to find elk. No elk was to be seen, but we wandered into the Jedidiah Smith State Park and found a River Trail leading to the Stout Grove of Redwoods. The River Trail provided some excellent views of forest life. This pic is of a small stream we crossed. The green was almost overwhelming. Every hue imaginable lined the trail and the creek. There were tiny flowers scattered all around. The air was filled with the scent of blooming vines throughout the forest. Birds skittered through the canopy singing their songs of joy. But no sight was more welcome than the Trillium.

 

The Trillium is a native of California and thrives in damp Redwood Forests. We first encountered them in the forests of Ontario. There, they served as harbingers of Spring. These blooms are formed by three petals backed by three leaves. The flowers at white when they first appear and begin to change color to lavender and a deeper purple as they age. They do not cover the ground like poppies. Instead, they pop up from time to time in the forest litter and add sparkle to the varied green landscape. They are welcome reminders of the unique nature of this wondrous place.

 

Stout Grove is an old-growth grove of Redwoods that have thrived alongside the Smith River for many thousands of years. They were left undisturbed during the massive logging 125 years ago by the efforts of a lumberman named Frank Stout. The grove is named for him. The park is named for the Mountain Man named Jedediah Smith, the first European Fur Trader in the area. But it has been inhabited for at least 10,000 years by the native people of the area. These trees are genuinely majestic. This one reaches over 250 feet and is not the largest we saw. There is no way a picture can do justice to the scale of these remarkable plants. I will say more about them a little later. The grove was a delight to the senses. This grove's scent, sight, smell, and feel made the hike a joy beyond measure!

 

We went to Trees of Mystery the next day to see another old-growth grove protected by a touristy attraction along HWY 101. After experiencing these magnificent creations from the ground, we wanted to see them up close in the canopy. Marlene wanted to walk the catwalk through the canopy, which she did. I volunteered to stay on the ground and take pictures of her way up there. (Volunteer is a somewhat self-serving word to use. You could not have gotten me up there for anything.)  But she reported that the walk was great. I completely trust her judgment on this matter.

 

We found this interesting stump alongside the path when she rejoined me on the ground. It is called the Devil's Inferno. Lightning struck this tree several decades ago. Instead of starting a forest fire, the tree absorbed all the energy and burned on the inside, leaving the outside relatively unscathed. Several days later, observers reported that the inside glowed with a devil's fire, but the rest of the trees were shielded from the heat by the damp, thick bark and outer growth layer. These Redwoods have wisdom that exceeds most people. They know the secret to the greatest love, to lay down one’s life for a friend. Trees of Mystery was a fascinating afternoon. Eventually, I got into the canopy on a Gondola Ride to the park's top. From there, we saw the forest canopy at our feet and the Pacific Ocean in the distance. The colors and aromas are just as intense as the forest floor.

 

Our next stop was the mouth of the Klamath River, the home of the Yurok People. Their land follows the river 43 miles upriver from this point. These people have lived along this river for at least 10,000 years. If you look closely, you will see that the river has formed a natural breakwater across the mouth, offering protection for their dugout canoes which were their primary way of transportation. They did not have to venture out to sea. The river and surrounding forest provided everything they needed, and they had the wisdom to take care of their home so that it would take care of them and their children’s children. They have been doing this for 10,000 years. The river protects them, and they protect the river. Hmmm… we have something to learn from them.

 

The next day arrived with clouds and a cold, damp wind. The highs were in the mid-50s, and the lows were in the lower-40s. The forest is naturally humid, and the winds penetrated the grove where we were camping. All I could say about that day was, “I’m Cold!” This was January weather for this area, and the locals were also complaining. But the weather is beyond human control and demands that we adapt, though we do not have to like it. So, I took the opportunity to look ahead to our 2024 travels while enjoying Koko’s warmth.

 

Our original plan for 2023 was to see the national parks of the West and then take 2024 to explore the national parks of the Midwest. The extraordinary weather of 2022 and 2023 required that we pass up on visiting Sequoia, King's Canyon, Yosemite, and Lassen Volcanic National Parks. The snow buried the parks under ten to twenty feet of snow, and the plows could not clear the parks in time for us to visit. The flooding Spring rains washed out many of the roads to the parks, and some were not passable until late April or May. So, we diverted to HWY 101 and followed the Pacific Coast for 6 weeks. We have another three weeks before we turn inland. So, I spent the cold, dreary day working up a new plan for 2024. We will travel through the western part of the Midwest and return via California. I don't know if this will be the final plan, but I have plenty of time to make changes.

 

We spent our last full day in Crescent City and California, driving into Oregon and visiting Brookings. (Hey, we wander. What can I say?) This is the home of Harris Beach, where some of the most iconic pictures of sea stacks and tidal pools have been taken. The day was cool, but the Sun shone, so we enjoyed our afternoon exploring. I took all the same pictures that everyone else had taken. (Feel free to see them on my Flickr account.) We then drove up the Boardman Scenic Drive and found some beautiful overlooks, including a beach shot at Arch Overlook. It was an enjoyable day, but I am ready for more variety in our travels. I hope the next few weeks will offer us this opportunity.

 

The next day we set out for our two-hour drive to our next stop, Bandon/Port Orford KOA Journey in Langlois, OR. The cable connecting the brake lights to the Jeep stopped working, so Marlene drove Nakai, and I took Koko up the 101 to another beautiful campground. It was a nice drive, and we set up in a forested campsite. Looking forward to a quieter, drier, and warmer week. Hoped for more camping and less touristing. That night, we went into Port Orford, and I had some of the freshest seafood I have had in a long time. I could taste the sea in every bite.

 

The next day we drove into Old Town Bandon alongside the harbor. The old downtown was destroyed by a fire some years ago. They rebuilt it into a quaint and touristy shopping area. We walked through the shops, took in the sights, and stumbled onto the workshop of Washed Ashore, where the artists create sculptures from the trash that is recovered from the ocean. We saw the traveling exhibit last February in Galveston. This is one of the sculptures on display outside of the workshop. Yep, we have a lot to learn from the Redwoods who place the welfare of their neighbors ahead of their own. We have much to learn from the Yurok People who put the needs of their children's children ahead of greed and power. And we must listen to those who gather our trash and make art out of it.

 

We returned to our campsite and enjoyed the warmer weather by sitting outside and grilling a small tri-tip. It was a glorious way to end a week of ups and downs. We even found that the campsite came with empty bird feeders. We filled them and hoped for a warmer, drier, and birdier week. I live in the hope of the variety my soul craves as we continue our journey up the 101 in Oregon.

 

I look forward to the journey and hope you will travel with us. We all have much to learn!

 

Bob