Standing where the water meets the water in the rain, I could see big sheer cliffs to the north and a long rolling black beach to the south. We had travelled the night before through the dark, south south south like a bird to the balmy beaches of the banana belt north of the lost coast.
During our trip south, we halted at a bridge that swung wide open to let pass a shipping boat returning to its dock at the mouth of the Umpqua River, the sound of the water and engines, sea birds and a far away fog horn sounding its echo into the dusk over the water. A bat flew from between the giant black fir trees. The massive swing bridge is one of many along the coast that crosses rivers and creeks and inlets and bays, big art deco gothic curves and carved
suspensions of steel and concrete.
Coos Bay is a sweet little town, neon lights and twisting strange streets, old houses and mills, and unlike other coastal towns not completely reliant upon the summer tourist trade. We've kissed in the cafe on the corner with the sun shining through the windows. That was years ago now.
We rode fast through the great sweeps of the Oregon Dunes, some of the largest sand dunes in the world. I blinked through Denmark at 7:36, two houses a small store and a post office. The sky was clear for our journey and we travelled through some of the most remote country in the nation. There are no roads, not even logging or fire roads, east of the highway for a stretch of 40 miles.
Where the Siskiyous stumble jumbled into the sea, Humbug Mountain stands alone, the monstrous steep headland that halted Jack London in his ride north from San Francisco. He, like we, had to ride inland and creep around the base of the big dark mountain. East of the mountain is wilderness, and the most frequent sightings of sasquatch. People get lost and never return from the Siskiyous. We did not falter, or stop.
We crossed the Siuslaw River, the Umpqua River, the Coos River, the Coquille River, the Elk, the Sixes, the Rogue River, and countless creeks and streams in our trip to Gold Beach, named for the gold found in the rocky dark serpentine and quartz sand.
When we finally arrived after four hours of travel and exchanged hugs with loved ones I walked in the night air with the dogs outside on the banks of the big wide creek that rushed down to the ocean. The constellations looked like the bright white quartz pebbles strewn upon the black gravel sand, reflections of the ethereal on the earth, glinting in the lights of the heavens. Other than Orion and the Great Bear I could not distinguish the constellations. There were no lights, and no moon to steal light from the smaller stars.
We slept with the window open, breezes from the sea salting our faces, and awoke feeling quiet and happy.
During our trip south, we halted at a bridge that swung wide open to let pass a shipping boat returning to its dock at the mouth of the Umpqua River, the sound of the water and engines, sea birds and a far away fog horn sounding its echo into the dusk over the water. A bat flew from between the giant black fir trees. The massive swing bridge is one of many along the coast that crosses rivers and creeks and inlets and bays, big art deco gothic curves and carved
suspensions of steel and concrete.
Coos Bay is a sweet little town, neon lights and twisting strange streets, old houses and mills, and unlike other coastal towns not completely reliant upon the summer tourist trade. We've kissed in the cafe on the corner with the sun shining through the windows. That was years ago now.
We rode fast through the great sweeps of the Oregon Dunes, some of the largest sand dunes in the world. I blinked through Denmark at 7:36, two houses a small store and a post office. The sky was clear for our journey and we travelled through some of the most remote country in the nation. There are no roads, not even logging or fire roads, east of the highway for a stretch of 40 miles.
Where the Siskiyous stumble jumbled into the sea, Humbug Mountain stands alone, the monstrous steep headland that halted Jack London in his ride north from San Francisco. He, like we, had to ride inland and creep around the base of the big dark mountain. East of the mountain is wilderness, and the most frequent sightings of sasquatch. People get lost and never return from the Siskiyous. We did not falter, or stop.
We crossed the Siuslaw River, the Umpqua River, the Coos River, the Coquille River, the Elk, the Sixes, the Rogue River, and countless creeks and streams in our trip to Gold Beach, named for the gold found in the rocky dark serpentine and quartz sand.
When we finally arrived after four hours of travel and exchanged hugs with loved ones I walked in the night air with the dogs outside on the banks of the big wide creek that rushed down to the ocean. The constellations looked like the bright white quartz pebbles strewn upon the black gravel sand, reflections of the ethereal on the earth, glinting in the lights of the heavens. Other than Orion and the Great Bear I could not distinguish the constellations. There were no lights, and no moon to steal light from the smaller stars.
We slept with the window open, breezes from the sea salting our faces, and awoke feeling quiet and happy.
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