The Coast of Oregon is incredible!

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The Coast of Oregon is incredible! It's so different from the East Coast. The beaches are so-o-o big - they seem to go on for miles and miles and miles. The smell and the sounds are indescribable.

Our first stop, the South Beach State Park is just a couple miles across the bridge, south of Newport. Newport, itself, turned out to be a great little coastal town – quaint and didn’t seem to be quite as ‘developed’ as many of the other town we visited.

Mo's Diner - Newport

Wharf-Newport

The town waterfront area has retained much of its historic atmosphere and is still vibrant with the fishing boats moving in and out of the harbour with their catches.

Sea Lions-Newport

The wharfs are covered with fishers selling their catches and sea lions lazing around just waiting for leftovers.

The beaches – what can I say, except they are mesmerizing –the motion, the sound and the smell of the ocean – the waves slapping up around the rocks and onto the sand – each wave taking a different path, landing at a different spot and then disappearing out into the endless grey water.

Whaleshead Beach

One particular beach (Whaleshead Beach) had extra intrigue. All the way down the path there was an overwhelming odour of liquorice (or anise). The plants along the side of the path looked like dill.

The single soul on the beach was an older gentleman wearing hip-waders. He was flying a remote controlled model airplane. I asked him about the aroma along the path.

He told me that this particular area was very important to the Natives because of the plants (he told me that it was fennel). They would camp on the shore above, fish and gather clams and mussels. They used the fennel for medicine and flavouring. As an aside, he told me that the varioustribes were all gathered up, even though they didn’t get along with each other, and shipped off to one reservation further north. Then the white people wondered why they didn’t get along.

In some places, the coast becomes very rugged but again interspersed with continuous sand with the occasional footprint or flock of birds.

Cooks Chasm
We've visited a couple of Lighthouses (Do you know there are nine lighthouses in Oregon). On the way out to the Lighthouse at Cape Blanco (south of Bandon) we stopped to tour a restored Mansion and then sat and watch them harvest cranberries along the side of the road. But we found ourselves constantly drawn to the surf and sounds of the ocean.

Cape Blanco Lighthouse CranberryHarvest Coquille River Lighthouse

As we travelled further south, more and more rock formations seemed to erupt out of the water – some so small, you could barely sit on them and others, huge rugged islands with crevices and crannies created by eons of water crashing against the rocks. Each area is spectacular and unique.

And the waves: some soft and gentle, glide onto the beach only to retreat again into the vast endless expanse of grey-blue and blend into the horizon. Other waves violently attack the rocks and explode upwards. The waves recoil. The rocks remain unscathed by the ferocious impact. Again the waves launch their attack and again the rocks emerge unharmed. Over and over again the dance continues. Each time the waves withdraw into the vast open waters so they can try it again. Again the waves are on the move: some come crashing in while others gently lick the outer edges of the rocks. Each time the movements are different and yet each time the rocks reappear unaffected.

The first real fog we encountered was travelling along the coast from Bandon to Brookings. Fog is so eerie – its like the world is trying to hide something and you will never know what it is.

It changed from a light, pleasant mist to a heavy haze that totally obscured everything around. The fog was so thick that the centre line of the highway was hardly visible, then a few miles further down the road the bank of grey cloud drifted out over the water and blue skies and sunlight emerged just long enough to again be awestruck by the power and magnificence of nature.

It was fascinating to sit at our campsite about 200 feet from the water and watch the mist drift in and intermingle with the Redwoods until the fog totally engulfed the entire forest around us.

Our itinerary tends to depend on the weather and when the forecasts all pointed towards beginning of the eminent ‘costal rains’ with no end in sight, we concluded that it was time to move on – further inland to search out the sun.

California, here we come.