Seeing the last of Oregon

Saying thanks and farewell to Oregon, heading to California

31 January 2014

Walk with Jason and his camera on Harris Beach.

We have stayed for nine nights, our longest stay so far.  A full month out and we are more settled into “the life”.  Soundtrack:  Robert Earl Keen, The Road Goes on Forever.  The road goes on forever and the party never ends.

From a backwater behind dunes where the Pistol River meets the ocean.

 

Both of the photos above are his. We are both shooting most of the time.  Seems odd that the same language is used for guns and for cameras.  Frame it up, get the shot, waiting for light—it’s about hunting somehow.

“Composition.  Where optics are in space.  Leading lines. Color and contrast.” Jason’s answer when I ask him what he is thinking about with the photography. “What I am trying to do is take better pictures today than yesterday.” He chuckles at his own vagueness.  He is visual not verbal.  Jason doesn’t photograph stories and narratives.  He teaches us to see.

The Chetco River by Jason

by Nancy

The rain broke yesterday but for 2-3 days had been steady, then heavy, then wet air, then back to steady.  The rain is what we expected, and mostly we’ve had sun.  Locals along the coast lament lack of moisture.  The governor has put the state on voluntary water restriction.  The Oregon rivers look seriously dewatered—NPR says they are running at 10% of normal.  Heard a story out of California public radio this morning saying that wine growers are cutting back veins because available moisture won’t support them.

 

 

Old stories.  The ones we tell over and over again because they shape us.  Gramma saying, “In this family, we never complain about rain.”  The homestead was lucky with 11 inches a year on average, especially if came at the right times.  This coast by comparison depends on 11 inches in January.  My photos are more narrative.  Like this one--you could all tell the story.

The Northern Most Redwood Grove follows.  We are moving to Redwood National Park tomorrow.  Found this next hike in the Chetco drainage on forest service land.  Poorly maintained structures, and fabulous walking. 

These last two are mine.  Jase is teaching me processing.

Jason’s of course!

Morning coffee sweet spot, my photo.  This is where the visual folks can move on.  No more photos beyond this point.  Truxton, recognize the coffee pot? Thanks!  Canisters are good too.

What I miss from home:                                                                                                                      

1)    A clothes dryer, even our crummy inefficient one.  We never want to stay in a laundromat long enough to get things really and truly dry.  In our climate they dry out anyway.  Here they don’t.  With rain the condensation in the trailer requires management.  Our security windows make it easy to leave air circulating when we are gone and we vent well when cooking and when we are warm. 

2)  Our shower.  The shower in our trailer is small and we don’t need more humidity here anyway.  We trundle off to the camp showers.  They are adequate to the job, have good warm water and are sort of heated.  I remember the bathroom at home as being bigger than this entire space.

The Duke referenced our DTI and Jason had to tell me that it meant domestic tranquility index.  Of course we have our moments.  All in all tho I feel like I am being courted.  Jason doesn’t court constantly.  Paulie advised me in our first weeks together to enjoy Jason’s full attention.  He told me I wouldn’t have it all the time because he then would turn is full attention to something else—most of all his art.  That was great advice and I don’t think I would find continual courting sincere.  So when it does happen it takes my breath away all over again.  We are really enjoying this together.  We like the daily chores, sweeping, laundry, cooking, dishes—the whole deal.  And the times on the beaches, rivers and trails are spectacular.  Our intimacy deepens with our aging.  One scientific writer, David Schnarch, suggests that we become more capable of great intimacy in our 50s and 60s.  It’s a nice way to think about it.

We had a laugh this morning about sincerely thinking that we are younger than the other people in the campgrounds.   Probably we’re not.

Thanks for tuning in.  Comments and feedback are welcome.  Tomorrow on to the “real” redwoods.

Cape Blanco and Gold Beach

Cape Blanco

Castle Rock above the mouth of the Sixes River in late afternoon.

This from a low tide walk where the Sixes calmly meets the ocean.  The high tide rolls in, over and completely obscures this sand bar and river mouth.  The river pushes in; the ocean pushes back.

 

The afternoon before this photo, we walked the trail from Hughes House along the river. The tide deeply penetrates the estuary. We were on the sanctioned trail and then found a less developed opening through the dunes to the beach.  We clamored up, over and the ocean was right at our feet.  You can see our footprints, which I photographed the next morning.  The huge big highest tide was crashing just below this embankment.  I didn’t need Jason’s warning not to go closer.

We stood together marveling wordlessly at the power.  A moment later a 6 or 8 foot wave crashed to our feet undercutting the embankment.  We could feel it shift beneath us.  Gasping as our eyes met with reaction ahead of thought, we high tailed out of the high tidal plane!  A river and an ocean, both water with high tide wills powerfully, continuously and unrelenting opposed.

After our near demise, we meandered in the late afternoon light back to Lou (our truck) watching the mergansers.  What a great day.

On an 8:47 am low tide we went for the same walk.  We walked the black sand beach back to the lighthouse.  The climb from the beach to the ridge was demanding—for me our best, longest and hardest.  Last week we walked over 22 miles.  Walk, meander, stroll, photograph.  Hard to dignify what we do by calling it hiking.  While we rarely do, on the pedometer we can easily walk a 20 min mile.  I’m going for 15 by the end of California.

 Yes, we were completely alone on this expanse of beach for all the time we walked.

We had seen geese on the Sixes River.  I found this guy wandering alone in the surf. 

Well, not quite alone.  Goose and gull seemed to be together off by themselves.

 

 

Walking Gold Beach met a woman with a horse.  Gwen.  Some 30 plus years back she drove into Gold Beach in boom truck on which she and her boyfriend home made a camper. The truck broke down.  The relationship broke down.  She met her husband, Alan and has been married to him and been librarian in Gold Beach for 32 years.  She’s 61 years old, has done years of guiding on the Rogue River and the Chetco River.  She likes the Chetco best because it flows through wilderness, while the more famous Rogue follows a road.  We talked for only a few minutes and she told me lots about her most personal life.  Funny how women talk that way and men generally do not.  Jason agreed that the instant personal nature of the conversation would be unlikely between two men.  If I was broke down here, I would hope for finding Gwen.

Gwen.

We have endless material for our favorite humor—laughing at ourselves.  This entry in the category of “making friends where ever she goes.” If you are in it for the photos feel free to check out here.

At Harris Beach State Park we are camped by two host couples who are great neighbors.  They know park systems nationwide and are a resource to us.  Still strikes me as odd to be a hardside, and this campground borders Brookings, Oregon.  We walk to town. 

The January campgrounds are mostly vacant, usually not this urban and most places we have camped off having little interaction with other campers until Cape Blanco.  In our ongoing category of “better lucky than smart”, the camp hosts were walking the circuit as we drove in and invited us to camp at a spot with full hook ups, same price--$16/night.  The spots are used for lighthouse hosts in the summer and are unmarked off the loop.  Our sunny spot was 130 steps to a beautiful open warm green grassy bluff right over the beach.  For me, Cape Blanco is a favorite because good walking trails lead directly from the camp. We went some whole days with no driving. 

And finally we get neighbors too.  We’d been looking forward to it.  At the suggestion of the camp hosts we asked the guy to move his pickup out of spot we wanted to occupy.  Both he and his wife were very amicable and welcoming. 

Until I reflexively drop kicked her dog.  It couldn’t be helped, really.  That little yippy thing was not leashed, as is required, and was jumping all over me to the owner’s tune of, “Stop that. Stop that.  Don’t jump.” If you didn’t kick that dog, at least you would want to.  She was looking right at me when I did it.  And while my intention was to launch a convincing connection with that dog, it reacted quickly and moved away.  Mission accomplished.

Excepting, the neighbors didn’t speak to us again.  I’m lucky Pine Street is so tolerant!  Now walking by folks with dogs, Jase says, please don’t kick the dog.  Our latest entry into  “Making friends wherever she goes.”

Further South on the Oregon Coast

21 January 2014

In the Port Orford Public Library

For this post pictures first then a letter to my friend Jeana.  All the photos are Jason's unless noted otherwise.  We are thinking and talking a lot about how to do this and I have been uncertain whether the writing is about a personal journey or a travellog.   Jase worries about too many photos, so walk away while it all downloads.  I worry about the personal nature of the writing, but have found my best voice in writing to friends. 

Please help us with feedback.  What do you want to know about?  Do you want more or less photos? Do you want more or less writing? Feedback helps so thanks in advance.

 Beverly Beach State Park

These last two from Shore Acres State Park

Bullards Beach State Park

 Noisy inhabitants of Simpson's Reef.  There were dozens of these guys migrating and feeding on the reef.  Also lots of smaller harbor seals.  We keep looking for gray whales who migrate in December and January.

 More Shore Acres State Park

 We're getting skinnier and stronger, walking miles every day. 

 The Baggendorf Beach

 A jetty on Baggendorf Beach

 Simpson Beach

Sunset Bay

 Afternoons are deliciously warm, but mornings and nights cool (high 30s to low 40s--no ice and no snow!).  Days short.  We haven't met many folks but did find this man walking the bluff with his cats.  Never seen anything quite like it.  He had at least six, maybe eight.  This picnic table on a high bluff over the ocean is maybe 130 steps from where we are camped now at Cape Blanco State Park.

 On the walk to the lighthouse at Cape Blanco.

I leave the big landscape photos to Jason, but I love mud and this photograph is mine.  The mud on this part reminded me of Eastern Montana gumbo.

This last is my photo, tho Jase did the finishing work on it.

21 January 2014

Dear Jeana,

Do you remember Rev. Nat Patrick’s sermon on The Turning Point?  Hexagram 24 if recall is correct.  Am thinking of it listening intently to John Mayall’s 1969 album, The Turning Point.

It’s the sound track for my letter to you with its great horn solos.  Some of it is plain ole get up and dance music too.  This trip is a turning point for us, a transformation.

I feel you in Oregon.  We’ve been camping our way down the coast for three weeks now. And have no inclination to leave Oregon.  Jason is hoping against hope for Oregon state parks in California.

Oregon coming together in my head and for me you are its manifestation.  Surely you have been to Simpson’s Reef and the botanical Japanese garden at Shore Acres State Park. We’re staying 4-6 days each place, doing a once over on all the trails and scratching the surface of the beautiful landscapes.  It must take years to see a coastline.  My prairie eyes aren’t turned to it as I imagine yours might be.

Kudos to those who made and support these parks.  Traveling in Seven with these parks makes our travel a luxurious experience of the outside.  And in the meantime we have a great sound system, sewer, water, electricity and our own propane.  A furnace.  An on demand hot water heater.

Contemplating the beach this morning I imagined you playing there as a child.  I would have loved to know you when you were 10 or 11.  That magical time before girls start the worry over being women. I imagine the exuberance and dedication you would apply to a beach.  You would fill up the whole landscape and now that I have been here I can see this landscape in you. 

Given the backdrop my partnership with Jason; landscape, walking, climate and writing are the focus for my journey. Jason’s photographs and a few of my own are visual representations of the invitations to, and memories of place.  Landscape and climate come more intimately dancing together on my skin, in my lungs, through my nostrils and the feel of my muscles climbing a trail.  The ocean is unrelentingly crashing into the tympanic membrane.

Yesterday started at a trail marker walking hard in morning cool and sun, and found a road that allowed a good fast (for me) pace.   Not knowing where we were going.  A delicious experience because one can’t really be lost. We’re on groomed trail networks with hedge-lined grass surfaces and tunnels through the gorse, underbrush and tree density not experienced at home.  They are magical tunnels.  We deviate from the civilized trails too, following footpaths and walking long stretches of beach. 

Like at home January days here are too dang short.  In working live the walking part of a January day is not available.  That combined with ice kept me from walking much in January Montana. Here midday is warm and delicious in the middle/high 60s, and also comfortable waking at 44 degrees in warm sun. My legs are stronger by the day.  Bouncing down a trail to a beach and popping back up without a breather.  I’m 65 years old and rather than feeling retired, I feel activated.

There is always so much more to tell.  Just know for now I am thinking of you, of John, of Luke and Roz.  Want to get to the walking part of the day with you.  I am so sorry to miss your January gathering and so much appreciate the invitation.   Blessings to all the friends who will be there.

Love, love,

N.

Oregon Coast

11 January 2014

Beverly Beach State Park

I had wanted to see a big winter coastal storm and we overhear folks saying this is the biggest one so far this winter.  The campground majority is Oregonian, with Washington a distant second.  We’re the one Montana and we found a Utah this morning.

The worst of the storm is to pass through this afternoon about 2 pm to 7 pm.  Now (12:36 pm) the rain is starting to intensify.  High tide is at 3:30ish and we’ll drive north to look at the high tide in the worst of the storm.

Jason and I both thank Yvonne for the delicious “cake”.  It’s German I assume and an almost thick moist crust-like layer bottom and top with a nearly creamy light filling.  Big thanks Yvonne.  This amazingly delicious cake--what is called? 

As we sit the wind is picking up and we can hear branches blowing down the sides of 7.  Pine cones hit like an explosion. No one is camped where we are.  Folks are camped below us near the beach where there is wind, but fewer trees, and above us in drier more protected loops.  We’re still learning.  Overheard park staff yesterday saying that C and D loops are the ones that flood the easiest. 

We were laughing thinking that others are wondering why the crazy Montanans are camped in C loop all alone.  The rain and wind are intensifying by the minute.  The fat big hard drops sound like hail.  The temp is 48 degrees outside and 64.4 in—brought our indoor/outdoor thermometer.

8 pm, 12 January 2014

63.8 inside, 48.7 outside

Through last night a steady, insistent, rhythmic rain settled in, now at almost 8 pm it is still raining. Even when it stops raining, the air is wet.  We are moving tomorrow to Sunset Bay State Park.  The Oregon state park system is cush for this life—good hook ups, and at this time of year, unpressured open camping near interesting stuff and lots of great walking. 

13 Jan 2014, Moving Day

The weather broke as we drove south.  Sun here at Sunset Bay predicted for the next several days.  Highs in the 50s, lows mid 30s.