I took Ollie for a lovely long walk amongst the dunes on the beach at Yaquina Bay. It reminded me a lot of family walks on the beaches at Wells-Next-The-Sea in Norfolk, England. It was a brisk walk and a brisk day. Ollie decided she wanted to dig to China, so I cut those shenanigans short by luring her away from her excavations with the wave of a stick. It worked. She had a great run. 

I had the ulterior motive of photographing yet another Oregon lighthouse, the Yaquina Bay Lighthouse, blinking out over the bridge and bay. It was not as flashy ('scuse the pun) as the Yaquina Head Lighthouse a few miles up the road, but it had its own diminutive beauty.

Ollie and I left the beach when my cheeks and nose turned pink and I could no longer feel the tips of my fingers.

We spent the day heading south, ambling down the coast, stopping at Seal Rock and Waldport, checking out all the mom and pop shops and galleries along the way. 

We managed to pick up some beautiful photographic prints, a small, light blue glass buoy likely washed ashore from a Japanese fishing trawler and some postcards to send home to my Dad.

The truck was all steamed up as it was cold and little drizzly. We stopped in a small car park surrounded by pine and spruce trees and headed down some steep and slippery steps to reach the beach at Seal Rock, a State Recreation Site. We could taste the salt in the air.

The site was made up of a basalt ledge with an array of sea stacks, reefs and knobbly rocks formed 15 million years ago as a result of lava flowing from volcanoes across the Pacific Northwest.  The basalt was eroded over time by waves, wind and rain creating the most peculiarly shaped rocks.

The centerpiece was Seal Rock, a dramatic basalt behemoth shaped a little like a seal, sitting offshore, where we could see pelicans, cormorants and gulls sheltering from the pitter patter of the rain. 

The beach was strewn with wet logs, hauled in by the tide. A few sandpipers lazily pecked  at the shoreline. To the south we could see the tide pools built on the basalt sill. Due to the weather, we were the only ones on the beach. Once we concluded there were no seals or sea lions lying around or any blue jellies, we let Ollie off her leash and she had a good run, sniffing out exciting tidbits to nibble on. Once she found a worthy stick, she was in heaven as she and Henry played games together.

We walked down the beach to the tide pools and I could spot urchins and stars, but as the tide had already turned and was coming in at quite a pace, we didn't step on to the ledge to explore any further. We ambled back to the truck and moved on to Waldport.

The Alsea tribe were the first known inhabitants of Waldport and gave their name, or vice versa, to the river and the bay located in the heart of the town.  Early European settlers came from Germany in the late 19th century, officially naming the town Waldport after 'Wald" meaning trees in German, and "Port" due to its proximity to the ocean.

The day was a little dreary and grey and Waldport seemed to be the same. It was certainly brightened by some beautiful murals on the sides of the building on the main strip. We parked by the bridge next to the visitor's center. From our vantage point we could see the cliffs overlooking the bay and watched some pelicans land in perfect formation.

We didn't stay long in Waldport as we were getting hungry. We returned to the truck and headed back to the trailer for an early dinner and to escape the rain.

We managed to get out to the Devil's Punch Bowl State Natural Park twice while we were in the area. We stopped off very briefly on our way back from Depoe Bay, but we immediately knew we had to go back and explore the huge and cavernous Punch Bowl.

We arrived on a warm, Spring day and Kim and Ollie headed to the overlook, so they could look out and into the Punch Bowl. There were signs saying there was some kind of dangerous algae in the tide pools that could possibly poison pets who made it down to the beach. We didn't want to risk it. 

Naturally carved out of rock creating a huge craggy bowl that fills through a series of caves and tunnels at high tide with violently churning ocean water, swirling, foaming and frothing, a Devil's brew, the Punch Bowl is a powerful and raging expression of nature. When full, it's scary to see. When empty, the rock pools in the basin appear deceptively calm and forgiving. 

Henry and I set off to the beach to find a way across the tide pools at low tide as we wanted to make it all the way in to the Punch Bowl. The rocks were slippery with bright green, almost moss-like, seaweed and tiny barnacles that had been battered and smoothed over time, but we managed to chart our way forwards. Henry was checking for those pesky sneaker waves the whole time. He always has my back.

Once we made it into the bowl, we could see the beautiful colors inside; the deep reds, browns and greens. It was dark and echoey and the sound of the waves lapping at the entrances was amplified. It would be easy to outstay our welcome and get caught in the incoming tide, to be mercilessly tossed around like playthings in a baby's bath.  

We waved up at Kim and Ollie who were up at the rim of the Bowl, then took our time to explore the geology of the huge cave. We clambered from one rock to another, taking our sweet time to explore the rock pools. It would have made a terrific concert venue as the acoustics were marvelous.

Still nervous about the time and the tides, Henry prompted me to retreat so that we could join Kim and Ollie at the top of the headland. Once we reached them, we took a short walk heading southeast to get a view over Otter Rock and the beaches that stretched out towards Newport.

​Breathtaking.

Depoe Bay is advertised as the World's Smallest Harbor so I immediately had to quibble with that title as I have personally seen much smaller harbors, both natural and man-made in Cornwall, England; Mousehole, Port Isaac,  Charlestown for starters.

It was certainly a quaint little fishing town. We hoped Depoe Bay's other title, the Whale Watching Capital of Oregon, would live up to its name. As we drove in to town over the arched concrete bridge we immediately saw the whitewashed, one and half story structure that was home to the Whale Watching Center. Located right on the edge of the ocean, perched on the rocky shoreline, almost like the base of a lighthouse, it had huge windows in the large octagonal observation room and an open air observation deck on the roof,  facing out towards the ocean, allowing visitors to comfortably observe the migratory journeys of passing whales directly from the shore. 

We parked facing the ocean and I immediately made my way to the Whale Watching Center to use the toilet. Henry commented once again that I have the bladder of a hamster.

Staffed with knowledgeable volunteers, complimentary binoculars and loads of information about whales and other marine mammals, I took some time staring out to sea, scanning for whales. None had been seen that morning. A white board with local weather, tide times and updates on what had been recently spotted, was most useful. 

I learned that from the observation deck, a wide variety of whales had previously been spotted, about 1200 individual sighting per year;  humpback, gray, minke, even orcas and blue whales had been spotted along with an assortment of dolphins, porpoises and of course the more common sea lions.

Unfortunately, we did not see any marine mammals that day.

We cheerfully walked through the town and Kim bought his now famous grey beanie. It rarely leaves his head and is reminiscent of the headgear worn by Joe Pesci in the movie Home Alone. If ever we are invited to a fancy dress party, Kim and Henry could definitely go as the two bandits, Harry and Marv from that movie. Haha!  "Keep the change ya filthy animal!"

There was a variety of souvenir shops, galleries and many whale watching tour outlets. The sea looked pretty choppy and we watched one boat take a good half an hour slopping about from side to side, lurching this way and that, seeming to make no progress at all at one point,  as it made it's way under the bridge, through the narrow channel and finally out to sea.

We decided that we would not go out in a boat. Henry is afraid of sharks anyway. Cue the Jaws music!

On our way back from Yaquina Head Lighthouse the day before, we spied a wide expanse of sandy beach. We could even spot a few dog walkers. We decided we would return to give Ollie a good run.

We discovered it was called Agate Beach, an Oregon State Recreation Site. On the drive to the beach, dark clouds quickly rolled in from the Pacific turning the sky black and we thought we would have to abandon our plans for a walk. The wind picked up but the rain held off. By the time we had parked, we virtually had the beach to ourselves. We could see a couple of razor clam diggers in the far distance, out towards the lighthouse, and a couple of dog walkers.

As soon as we got onto the beach over a short little wooden bridge, we let Ollie off the leash and she galloped off, enjoying the sand between her paws and the wind whipping her ears making them dance. All bundled up in woolly hats, fleeces and waterproof coats, we set off to catch up with her.

We spent an exhilarating couple of hours on the beach. I was looking for agates, jaspers and carnelians, but it was just miles and miles of sand and we chose not to walk too close to the shoreline as the waves were crashing in. We didn't want to risk Ollie frolicking in to the waves to the point of it becoming a danger. She was relaxed on the sand, enjoying the off-leash run.

It was chilly to begin with but as the dark clouds rolled away the sun came out to say hello, we warmed up . We walked for miles, almost all the way back into Newport.

Memorable fun day.

Our interest in visiting all the Oregon lighthouses had not wavered, so we set off to explore the Yaquina Head Lighthouse, just north of Newport.

Built in 1873, the tall, stark, black and white lighthouse was originally called the Cape Foulweather Lighthouse, even though Cape Foulweather was at least 4 miles north of Yaquina Head.  At 93 meters tall, it is the tallest lighthouse in all of Oregon. We watched carefully to catch the pattern, 2 seconds on, 2 seconds off, 2 seconds on, 14 seconds off, of the Fresnal lens, casting its light out to sea.

It was a windy day and the waves were crashing on the rocks below the lighthouse. There are daily tours of the lighthouse but we didn't get to go inside as all the tours were fully booked that day. We enjoyed a blustery walk along the lighthouse trail, spotting some seals and sea lions basking on the rocks in the shelter of a hidden cove to the south of the lighthouse. 

We dropped down into a small and sheltered cove, called Cobble Beach.

Cobble Beach Cove lived up to its name. It was made up of smooth, large cobble stones infinity shades of grey  that lay evenly scattered across the beach. Not a speck of sand in sight. Kim parked himself in a  little heat trap with Ollie to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine.

The cobbles were made for turning ankles, so I very carefully made my way to the nearby tide pools that had children and adults bent over in deep crouches, fingers draping into the pools, small excited outbursts declaring finds of jewel-toned treasures in the clear waters. Henry was watching me and the tide like a hawk, making sure I was safe and not about to be carried out to sea by a rogue sneaker wave, which nearly happened on our last visit to the Oregon Coast. He was genuinely concerned.

​We spent a happy couple of hours relaxing, napping and dabbling about in the tide pools.  We found glossy deep red/purple anemones, some in full flower, some curled tight inside themselves looking like large juicy wine gums. Aggregating anemones looked like delicate pink dahlias waving in the water. We saw snails, ringed limpets, periwinkles, trumpeting tube worms, hermit crabs startled in to walking sideways, striped crabs and flat bodied crabs, shiny mussels glinting blues and silvers, gooseneck barnacles, sea cucumbers, sea slugs and horned nudibranchs.  

I had two absolute favorites. The first was the huge Ochre Starfish. It was enormous! It was a rich shade of dark ochre with lots of knobbles along its fat arms. One of them almost filled a tide pool by itself. Clinging comically to the rocks with arms akimbo, I couldn't help but name him Patrick. My second favorite was the striking Giant Green  Anemone. It too was gigantic in terms of tide pool proportions. A bright, almost luminescent lime green color, you could spot them from quite far away. When fully opened, they were massive, their tentacles waving hopefully in search of algae and micro plankton.

As we were beginning to lose some heat from the sun, after having taken a gazillion photos, we headed back up the steps, out of Cobble Beach Cove and back to the truck. 

We were so fortunate that our RV Site in Newport was so close to Lost Creek Beach, so we spent early mornings and evenings playing by the water.

Once Ollie finds a stick, the fun begins. Henry runs and runs and Ollie scampers after him until they're both smiling happily, panting, with shiny eyes and noses. Ollie is still a little nervous of the water so Henry keeps a close, protective eye on her. He's also very aware of her picking things up off the beach. As a puppy, she loves to find things and have a good chew on them. Watching Henry and Ollie together is pure joy.

I wrote a little message to my darling niece Nancy in the sand, just to say hi. She had been writing messages in the sand that week, back in the UK, so I wrote back to her. She is so sweet.

I like to mooch along the shoreline beach combing and rock hounding. Eyes searching out little treasures. I was hoping to found an old glass buoy washed ashore from local boats, but alas, no luck this time.  I pocketed some agates in warm, earthy shades of gold, amber, and rich bourbon. I was delighted when I found a huge hag stone that looked like a Google marker. I found quite a few more but left them behind on the beach for others to enjoy. 

About a week after our arrival in Newport, a jolly good storm blew through one night, leaving debris; wood and weed on the beach. It also left the beach covered with small blue jelly fish. I had seen something similar on the Morro Strand beach in California. They are called 'velella velella' jelly fish or 'by-the-wind sailors,' seeing as they look like little boats with little blue sails. The entire tideline was deep blue with these jellyfish. And Ollie loved them with the passion of an undergrad slurping down blue jello shots. 

After the first day of sneakily eating a couple of the blue jellies, despite being kept on a tight leash, she was a little bit poorly so we thought she had learned her lesson. She had not. She continued to fervently chase the blue jellies down as if they were the last chip in the bag. All our beach time from that point on meant Ollie was on her leash to prevent her from devouring her favorite little blue snack. 

Bye-bye Sisters, hello Oregon Coast!

The journey from Sisters, over the Cascade Mountains, in Central Oregon, on a gorgeous April morning, turned out to be bright and beautiful. It was a glorious day!

We had not fully anticipated how treacherous the winding curves, steep descents and scary drop-offs that we would have to navigate after we summited the Santiam Pass could have been. We were just so focused on getting over the Pass. Fortunately the roads were very clear and once we descended the mountains, crossed the busy I5 and dropped into Albany then the flats of Corvallis, we were itching to catch our first glimpse of the ocean.

Our next stop was in Newport, Oregon at the Thousand Trails site called Whaler's Rest.

On arrival we requested a full hook up site with the best opportunity for a strong wifi signal, especially for Henry. We were directed up a steep hill and we spent at least 20 minutes trying to back into a very tight site. We ended up shifting over to a neighboring site so we could gain extra leverage to safely manouver the trailer and park her up safely.

As I began setting up the trailer on the inside, Kim began setting everything up the trailer on the outside. He quickly discovered the standing water pipe was leaking, spraying both him and the surrounding area with water. It quickly became waterlogged and exceedingly muddy. We were parked in a bog.

We asked to move sites and found a lovely pull through site on the other side of the road. We quickly settled in. 

The site was within walking distance of the Lost Creek Beach, so I set off after dinner, with Ollie scampering along beside me, to potter through the woods, cross the road and to run wild on the beach. We while enjoy the scorching evening sunset.

The awe-inspiring Oregon coastline continues to surprise.

Today we headed even further north, hitting central Oregon and Cape Perpetua. The cape was given its name by the British explorer, Captain James Cook, who first saw the headland in 1778 and named it after St. Perpetua the patron saint of peace, perfection and motherhood. 

Inland there were dense forests of impossibly tall Ponderosa Pines, Western Hemlocks and mature Douglas Firs. Low lying wizened Sitka Spruce, shaped and gnarled by high winds and salty sea spray, clung to the bluffs on the towering 800 foot headland jutting out into the Pacific.

The Cape Perpetua Scenic Area covers over 2500 acres of coastal habitat. We were particularly interested in checking out the marine reserve made up of reefs, rock pools, chasms, caves, beaches and unusual rock formations.

To begin, we headed toward's the parking lot at The Devil's Churn. There was a great viewing platform to the north of the lot. We had timed it to perfection as the waves were relentlessly rolling into the deep, narrow chasm below, creating a dramatic churning effect in the water. The swelling waves took on the form of a whipped vanilla milkshake, all milky and frothy, as they surged up the channel, crashing chaotically against the sides of the steep rocks in all directions. The chasm probably started out as a narrow fissure in the volcanic basalt bedrock, or perhaps a collapsed lava tube, and then the violent power of the ocean, terrifying and majestic, pounded its way through, creating a crack in the rocks that could lead down to the Devil himself. We could clearly see how The Devil's Churn got its name. 

We then made our way on the trail down to the lower ledges to get a closer look where we could not only see the strength of the battering ocean against the rocks, but taste the salt in the spray, hear the rolling roar of the waves, and feel the curling swirls of air displaced by the churning water. It was dark down there and a little scary being that close to the untamed power of nature.

We continued round the edge of the opening of the chasm where it met the Pacific and suddenly there were calmer waters and huge rock pools to explore. We found large green sea anemones, ochre starfish, urchins and sea slugs. It was astonishing how the raging chasm was adjacent to the peaceful pools.

Kim stayed to watch the churn a little longer and Henry and I continued to play in the pools. Henry was keeping a beady eye on me and any potential sneaker waves after the Ophir Beach fiasco. He was being very careful and very protective. Very sweet.

Eventually Henry headed off to find Kim and we all lost track of each other. We eventually met up by the truck and headed into Yachats, smack dab in the middle of the Cape.

Yachats was a charming gem of a town. The name Yachats, pronounced Yah-hots, comes from the local native Siletz language and means "dark water at the foot of the mountain." Apt! We parked just past the cove, by a huge whale tail sculpture, on the side of the road. 

We took a leisurely walk through town in the sunshine, stopping at the Little Log Church built in the 1920's. It was undergoing some renovations and the museum was closed so we kept walking, mooching around the shops, enjoying all the sculptures of multicolored sea lions on every block corner. There was fantastic rock, crystal and gem store that took a lot longer to explore. Eventually it was time for lunch and we ate at a lovely family owned diner. 

After lunch we spent time at Thor's Well, Cook's Chasm and The Spouting Horn. Back on the rugged, rocky shoreline, the ocean was throwing up huge waves of spray as it hit the rocks and pools. There were many gullies and chasms slicing through the rocks where the ocean boomed into underwater caves. It was a wild and dramatic landscape. Literally breathtaking.

We spotted Thor's Well, a sinkhole-like feature where the ocean surged beneath the rocks and found its way up and out of a bottomless bowl in the rocks. Every surge and spatter of the rhythmic ocean making its way over and under was spectacular. I practiced taking photos on my iPhone using long exposure to create a flowy effect. I love playing with photos like this.

Nearby was Cook's Chasm, named after the British explorer, another deep narrow gully, but much shorter and without the deep, gorge-like sides of Devil's Churn. The chasm flowed under the concrete arches of Cook's Chasm Bridge, allowing the trust US101 Highway to wind its way through the lower rocky ledges of the cape.

The huge waves rolling into Cook's Chasm carved underwater caves out of the basalt rocks. We could hear the water roaring and reverberating, pounding and crashing with echoing booms. A smallish hole in the rocks above the underwater caves created an outlet for the pressure below, creating a geyser-like fountain of sea spray, like a pressure cooker releasing steam. In my imagination it was a fire-breathing dragon snorting sleepy smoke out of its nostril while curled up in its subterranean cave. Like Smaug. It is known locally as The Spouting Horn.

We stayed for a long time and enjoyed being hammered by the forces of nature.

We began to lose light so we hiked back up to the truck and set off back to the Trailer.

What a phenomenal, memorable day!

With Henry tucked up in the Trailer for a long lie in and a lazy day, Kim and I headed out for a leisurely beach walk at the Carl G. Washburn Memorial State Park, about ten miles north of Florence. 

Typical of a clear day after a solid week of rain, it was a beautiful crisp morning. Not a cloud in the sky. Sun shining so brightly we needed sunglasses from the glare on the white sand. The air was chilly, almost wintry, and there was a fair beach breeze coming in off the ocean. A few seagulls half heartedly called to each other as they headed towards the cliffs in the distance and we could see some sandpipers paddling close by on the shore.

Together we walked for miles, not another soul in sight.

Beachcombing.
Resting a while on beached driftwood.
Watching the waves roll in.
Drawing pictures in the sand.
Taking goofy photos.
Blowing the cobwebs away.
Solitude.
Together.

Bliss!






Afterthought: Is my woolly hat giving Blackadder Season 1 vibes??