Day 3 – The Oregon Coast, Driftwood and Missing Persons

Oregon is one of those places I’ve wanted to visit most of my adult life so today I had a feeling of apprehension with the prospect of being there at last but being disappointed by the reality of it. It was a slow start to the day, which had nothing to do with the cocktails from last night, honest, so we had time to visit the sights of Eureka before leaving for Gold Beach. We walked 7 blocks to reach the historic district where we had been the night before. It was Sunday morning and the town was eerily deserted apart from a single cafe near the waterfront, where the entire town must have congregated for the morning service… of Jazz, the sound of which floated from each window and into the street along with the smell of fresh coffee. The most striking thing about Eureka is its interesting architecture. Here are a couple of examples:

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The town is set out in a grid pattern, like many towns and cities in the USA but looking at a map of Eureka you can easily find your way around as roads running left to right are denoted by numbers and those running top to bottom by letters. So if what you are looking for is on the corner of M and 2nd street you know exactly how to find it.

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It was almost lunch time when we left town and rejoined the Redwood Highway 101 northbound. As usual the temperature changed significantly with our position in relation to the sea –  warmer inland, cooler on the coast and the car roof was up and down many times to compensate. We edged around Arcata Bay and then hugged the coast to Trinidad and beyond before moving inland to the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park; another wilderness of towering giants. We took a detour from the 101 and chose the Scenic Parkway through the centre only to rejoin the 101 later. Deep into the forest we stopped in a place that reminded us of a scene from Avatar or from the animated film Fern Gully for those who are old enough to remember it. But the only strange beings we encountered were ourselves staggering around trying to walk and look up into the towering tree canopy at the same time. The most noticeable thing was the absolute silence, broken only by the sound of our own breathing. Occasionally we would hear a bird call out from above but for most of our walk we heard nothing.

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Continuing north through Klamath and Crescent City we crossed the California-Oregon state line just south of Crissey Field State Park and the change was subtly evident. Maybe it was a slight change in the road signs or possibly in what was being grown in the fields along the way.All I can say is that being in Oregon felt a little different. One thing I am sure of is that the further north we travelled the more beautiful and dramatic the coastline became. The mist had receded back into the sea and the sun beat down. By the time we reached Pistol River the coastline was so beautiful that we had to stop and get down to the beach. I wish our compact camera could do it justice.

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It’s a place to just stand and stare at the distant stretches of sand and large volumes of gleaming white driftwood scattered about. On the way down to the beach a large man was exiting his battered old camper van and walking towards us. He reminded me of Grizzly Adams from the 1970’s (very hairy) and was looking a bit agitated. As we stood deciding which route to take through the driftwood he asked us if we were going onto the beach and, if so, could we watch out for someone wearing a white hoodie and red, chequered shorts.

“She’s  been down there on the beach for an hour and a half and has not come back. She was only supposed to be a few minutes. If I leave the camper and go looking for her, she might return, find me gone  and be worried.”

I had visions of his little girl wandering and lost, crying for her parents. I had already decided that I would go and search for her. It was the least I could do.

“If you find her, TELL HER I’M PISSED,” he said with steel in his voice.

Now, “pissed” is an American word meaning angry. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see Grizzly angry and began wondering where his shotgun was – maybe in the camper with hundreds of boxes of ammo, sticks of dynamite and lots of rope for tying people up with.

“Don’t worry,” we said, “if we see her we’ll tell her. How old is she?”

“She’s 40,” said Grizzly.

I almost let out a small chuckle at the thought that a 40 year old woman couldn’t walk the beach for an hour and half without raising concern but then remembered the shotgun.

He went on, “She’s autistic. She’ll be mesmerised by stuff on the beach”

Now I felt really bad. What sort of a bad person was I?

“Don’t worry,” we said again, “we’ll take a look for you.”

On the beach I began to talk to Rachel about how awful it must be to think that your autistic daughter or wife was lost somewhere on this deserted beach and I began to think the unthinkable – that she had wandered into the sea or been cut off by the water as some of the signs warned.

“Andy,” Rachel said, “he said she’s artistic, not autistic!”

“WHAT, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You mean I’m about to go searching for an artistic 40 year old?”

“Yes.”

At this point, Rachel made some excuse about the beach having sand on it and it getting into her shoes and headed back to the car for a lie down. I was on my own and Grizzly stood watching as I headed onto the beach trying to look as purposeful as possible.

As time passed I became more and more aware of the strange shapes of the driftwood along the beach; stripped clean by the sea and sand over many years; smooth, white and powdery. They felt really good to touch and they were very lightweight like balsa wood. They reminded me of the the elephant graveyard in The Lion King – weird shapes protruding from the sand like fossilised remains.

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Set against the vastness of the beach and the roaring of the surf it was indeed mesmerising and then I remembered what I should have been looking for. I took my binoculars and peered down the beach and there, heading my way was Mrs Grizzly, sauntering at a snail’s pace, head down and oblivious to the world, as anyone would be in this place. I headed over to her, gesticulating as I went. If she hadn’t been worried about anything she probably was now. Reaching her I explained how “pissed” Mr Grizzly was and she headed back towards the camper van, no quicker than before.

I headed back too, just in time to hear Mr Grizzly giving her a stern talking to – no ropes or ammo were involved. That was enough excitement for one day and we drove on to Gold Beach and enjoyed a pizza and a beer, watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. It’s been a lovely introduction to the Oregon coast and I was certainly not disappointed.

Next stop, Salem.

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