Life's a Beach

We're back from the coast and settling into the city once again. With some inspiration from my brother-in-law, Amber and I spent the weekend in Waldport, OR, just north of Yachats (pronounce Yah-HOTS). A joke that didn't stop bringing laughs for a solid forty-eight hours. We picked up on Saturday morning and drove for a few hours toward the sea and the roaring surf. The trip started on a sour note, sadly. Driving from Portland to the coast requires some concentration and attention. The road tends to be narrow while winding around over-grown turns climbing and descending series of hills and valleys. Amber's a better morning driver and offered to take the wheel to start. I'm sure she regrets that decision, now. As we were conscious of the speed limit and posted road conditions, other drivers did not seem to appreciate our conscientious appreciation of road safety. On one particular stretch of road, with several curves and a speed limit of 25mph, a pick-up truck bearing Oregon plates barrelled passed us over a double yellow line with his center digit prone, like a beacon of ignorance and Bud-fueled bravado. Putz.

We stayed in a KOA kampground, renting a kabin and had kmarshmallows by the kfire. Everything at a KOA is spelled with a K; it's some weird kult thing. I don't know. On Saturday, fog hung on the coast, consuming the sea in grey. It stayed cool for the entire day, but we drove along the rocky shore, tempted by the fleeting glimpses of driving waves and stone drop-offs. The views were just incredible. There is nothing like this back in Massachusetts and the under-developed beach-side startled me at first. It's empty space, and not one mini-golf place. I'm used to the Cape, where every square inch of developable space is, well, developed. Developed to the point of absurdity, you forget you're actually at the beach, blinded by the sixteen McDonald's and Seventies chic mall. But this was nearly desolate. A few seaside towns with a brief strip of shops and then, nothing. Just the coast.

Like I said, we stayed in Waldport, drove south to Yachats and spent time wave watching. Both shires, hamlets, settlements, villages (think small) had touristy shoppes but not the touristy to which I've grown accustomed. When I think tourist, I see cheap T-shirt, or a hat with white paint drips that says, "Don't feed the seagulls!". Of course, they sold salt water taffy and wind socks,but they also sold their old home furnishings. Stuff that had been used to decorate the shop-owners own abode. The Flea-Market got sea-sick and vomited the contents of its underbelly across these stores and some jackass with a pricing gun went on a shooting spree. I felt slightly ashamed of my desire to laugh at these people and their stores, but couldn't restrain a gut-buster or two on the sidewalk. I even saw a tear well up in Amber's eye as she struggled to control her guffaw. These were weird folk.

Their shortcomings as homo-sapiens, their missing chromosomes could not harm their courteous nature or the glory of their surroundings, to which these shore-folk were unnaturally committed. The entire trip was relaxing, refreshing, awe-inspring, etc. We sat on the beach as the sun set, collecting weathered pebbles in the rocky sand, fawned over seals basking on a sand bar, scoured and explored for firewood, burned two-weeks worth of newspaper in our fire pit, sat with each other and joked. We had a good time. We visited Devil's Churn, Cape Perpetua, Smelt Sands beach, and toured the area. There are several more pictures than the few above for viewing in our web album to the right.