"Let's go to Portland!" We drive for five hours. On the way I research campsites on whoever's phone has service. The first campsite we get to has a sign outside that says they're full. We ask anyway. "Are you guys really full?" They check a few things. "Yes, sorry." We hunch over Chelsea's phone in the front seats and choose another. This one, an hour away. We'll pass through Portland this time.
On the way, we realize Portland is hot. 95 degrees hot. I thought Portland was cool all the time? Let's not go there, that is just too hot, it won't be fun at all. Let's go to the forest to camp, that will be better.
We're in the forest. It's beautiful. There is a high canopy of tree above us, river sounds, mixed dense trees like a jungle, strange quiet cricket noises. We drive through the campground, critiquing the spots. Too open. Next to a family. Those are hike-in spots. The last one in the campground is available and it is the best one we passed, so we take it.
It's almost 6pm. Do we have any maps cached on our phones? Yes. Hmm. Let's go...let's go to Tillamook! Because there is a cheese called Tillamook!! Do you have service? Me neither. Maybe they have tours, or cheese, or both. Also the coast is near Tillamook. And this book says there are whales there!
We drive, and we get service. No; it's the wrong season for whales. And Tillamook is a small town. Let's go to this cape past Tillamook? No, the signs say the cape is closed; there were rock slides. A quiet drive, a locked gate at the end of an empty road. We turn around.
We drive along a winding coastal road a few feet from the water's edge, and look at the prettily decorated shore houses. They have homemade signs like "fresh eggs" outside, with cute little cupboards to hold the eggs.
We stop at a beach we just happen to find. It is spooky. Tsunami evacuation maps are at the entrance. Why doesn't Long Island have these? We're not near a tectonic fault -- I answer my own question -- so we don't get tsunamis. That, and if there was a tsunami, the whole island is screwed anyway...two feet above sea level is not enough feet above sea level.
We walk along the water, and trees are washed up like beached whales, roots still intact, old and gray as the sky. There is fog, and you can't see very far because of it. It is cool and there's almost no wind. A long, very gradual descent to the water, and constant waves. The water is cold. We walk along the beach for hours.
The coast guard has a helicopter circling, flying low, and a boat making rounds a quarter mile out. Is someone lost at sea, we wonder? Almost immediately a woman appears out of the fog, asks if we know what the man they're looking for looks like. What man? He is suicidal and he has a gun, she tells us. We squint into the spookiness of this gray, deserted beach, littered with the carcasses of giant trees.
We continue walking. We find a secret cove. There are sea caves there, and rocks with holes in them, and tiny snails on everything. A bird with an injured foot hobbles by. A waterfall trickles out from some rocks. A low cloud of fog is rolling in and out like the waves; above it, you can see the top of a forested cliff, slicing into the water, unyielding against the waves as they rumble past.
Back at the car, I eat a cold dinner of salad and pasta and salami, Chelsea makes and eats easy-Mac on the ground, squatting like a cave woman. We look at house prices on Zillow. I overestimated what they'd cost. This seems like a nice place to be, we decide. To see the changing ocean from your bedroom, the fog, the cliffs, the birds, the weather. It is beautiful here.
We drive home listening to an audio book about how humans are causing a mass extinction. It is sad, well-written, and fascinating. How the the natural changes of glaciation and cooling periods climate are caused by Jupiter and Saturn tugging on the earth. How the earth saw a 300ft drop in ocean levels during the last period of glaciation. I flick my lights at approaching drivers who forget to turn their brights off as they blind us on the mountain road, and honk at those who keep them on.
At the campsite, we take our contacts out by the light of the car's interior light, and crawl into our tent. I start to watch a downloaded nature documentary; Chelsea reads the Dark Tower on her phone. I take out my phone and write this note. I think about how interesting things always seem to happen when you let them.
Thanks everyone! Would love it if you'd follow along for our future adventures, including tips for full-time travelers and how-to info for those who may want to start :)
Much Love,
Jason & Chelsea