This being the west coast, I'm up before dawn. I'm actually proud that I made it to 4:30
a.m., given that I usually get up then at home, which would be about 1:30
here. That said, it is pitch black out
still, but I can sit on the balcony of our room and listen to the steady and
soothing roar of the waves just outside. An early solo walk results in five
mesmerizing videos of waves, three pictures of assorted sea flora and
jellyfish, and one video of the inside of my back pocket.
Two morning notes:
1. Those oysters are def better cooked, especially
if in a Hangtown Fry which is scrambled eggs with scallions, bacon, and
oysters.
2. Newport is not much to look at, but maybe we
haven't seen it all yet.
Today offers more driving than we expected, but it was all
in the service of getting more of that ice cream, so in retrospect it was
OK. And, the coastline here really is
stunningly beautiful: the roads wind
along high above the water and dip down to it, and there are dramatic bays
after bays with smooth beaches, long rolling waves, and rocky outcroppings
against which the waves crash and splash.
The evidence of heavy storms lies in the giant driftwood carcasses of
all those conifers, which dot the tidal flats like so many whale
skeletons.
Bill has been studying maps for weeks, and so has a LOT of
things he wants to see. This will be the
leitmotif of the trip:
Bill: one more bay/marker/vista,
pleeeeease?
Me:
silent fuming then reluctant guilty expulsion of breath as the
bay/marker/vista turns out to be beautiful
Children in back seat, listening to
their own music on headphones: whaaaaaat?
We stop at Cape Kiwanda, where we check out the first of
many tide pools, watch Peter do a Spidey partway up a very tall sandstone face,
and observe the local fishing dories launching and landing through the surf. A monument explaining the history of the
local boats lists the names of many that have launched from here, including
what may be the best boat name ever: Where
the Fa-Car-Wee.
At Cape Meares lighthouse, we are told there is a whale
frolicking right offshore but there are so many people looking for it that we
really can’t get close to the fence.
(Note to other tourists: people
with strollers shouldn't block the fence with the stroller because other people
can't see the whale – no one is going to steal your baby forchrissake – or if
you are, at least turn the stroller around so that the bay-bee can see
it.) Excitingly, here we saw a Banana
Slug (cool!) and the Big Spruce (also awesome but couldn’t they have come up
with a more original name for a giant tree?), which Peter watered.[1]
We worked our way north and slightly inland after that to Tillamook
(TILL-a-muk) which was quieter than expected except around the Cheese Factory
where the temporary sample store is hopping!
Crab melts from Fresh Catch Seafood across the street and Tillamook ice
cream (excellent) round out that trip. Peter
observes that Tillamook is basically
Montrose with cheese.
But critically, it has Tillamook Ice Cream, which really
rocks, especially if you have Marionberry Pie flavor or Oregon Cherry. More on those berries to follow.
I’ve loaded my phone with podcasts because I knew there was
going to be a lot of driving on this trip and we listen to a completely bizarre
one called Welcome to Nightvale for the long ride back to Newport. Peter describes WtN as The Twilight Zone
meets Prairie Home Companion with a dash of H.P. Lovecraft thrown in.
My god, he’s right.
That kid is on fire these days.
More observations from the road: Izzy counts six pot dispensaries within about
20 minutes and then stops counting because she would be in the hundreds by the
time this trip was over and she just isn’t that interested. There are also a lot of funny road signs,
including my favorite stretch-of-road sponsorship: Limbo Unlimited. The town of Depoe Bay claims that it has the
“worlds smallest harbor.” How do they
know, says Bill dismissively. They
still have Thriftway supermarkets here. I haven’t seen one of those since the
early 1980s in Cincinnati! And there is
the obligatory Packers sign, and let’s not forget the computer repair shop
named Desperate Hard Drives.
Dinner tonight is at the most excellent Local Ocean Seafoods
down on the otherwise slightly hokey bayfront.[2] Here I must note that most of our meals to
date[3]
are spent being regaled with tales from WLC and FdL. Izzy will say “At camp . . .” and we’re off,
talking about the food or activities or jokes or tents or whatever. Apparently at WLC, the various ports of call
on the walkie-talkies are nautically-themed.
So, the Farmhouse is the Mothership, the Riflery Range is the Gunship,
Climbing Tower = Silver Submarine (because it is run by Jake Silverman), and so
on. When Peter has the walkie-talkie, he
is known as Coast Guard Alaskan. I think
I would die laughing if I spent much time there.
Of course, all of this lighthearted talk is taking place against
the backdrop of Charlottesville, the fury and sadness and hatred that has
exploded into a terrible tragedy and generated a tortured national dialogue (of
sorts). What do those parents think who
are sending their kids to UVA this week?
Or who want their kids or themselves to be present at such events, to
stand with others in support of an idea?
I am saddened and outraged and immobilized by my vacation into nothing
more than a series of furious and passionate posts on Facebook. How does this end?
[1] Honestly, I didn't think I'd have to re-toilet-train
my teenager when he returned from camp.
He has had to learn to say excuse me when he belches bigly. Here's what he missed at camp (or realized he
missed when he got home): spicy food
(although this year's cook was excellent), light switches, and ice cubes. Also, apparently, peeing in the toilet. If I pee on it, that will make it official,
he says. This applies to everything; Peter
is a dog, as it turns out.
[2] Everyone here is very excited about clam
chowder. Well, we think, maybe there is
something to it. After all, we’re on another coast! It must have some unique Oregon thing going
on. I’m here to tell you that it
doesn’t. It’s all basically bland New
England clam chowder and bland because it doesn’t have the porkiness.
[3] To date! They
ALL were. We basically talked about camp
every day, all day. Or at least, Izzy
did. I fear that the depths of this
topic remain unplumbed.
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