Watching the Sun Crash into the Ocean

“How did it make you feel?” She asked as we barreled down Larch Mountain in neutral.

The question was a strange one. She was asking how I felt about the view from atop of Larch Mountain where you can see almost 360 degrees around you and see nothing but mountains, hills and trees and sometimes a river. You almost feel like no humans had ever found this land.

I said it touched me in the heart and the stomach, but I kept thinking about the question.

I grew up in Oregon. I’ve seen most of the state and in the last few years have just dismissed the outdoors. I have friends who go out every weekend and climb mountains, raft, fish and hike around the four corners while I just sit around feeling sorry for myself at home.

For the last two days I’ve been around the NW part of the state watching someone who is from Massachusetts stare in awe at Oregon’s natural splendor. It reminded me that it is beautiful all around Portland. It made me realize again that paradise was a twenty-minute or more drive from my house.

We drove out highway 6 and found a spot along the Wilson River and we just walked down the banks silently listening to the rush of the water. She started looking through the rocks and I walked down the bank looking at the ferns and moss dripping from the recent rain.

She found a couple of rocks that had fossils in them and made friends with a yellow racer snake who was snuggled up under a rock. Her eyes were wide and her smile was open mouthed as she looked all around her at the trees and the river and she used all her senses. I was more in awe watching her seeing the world around her then what I was seeing.

We then drove out to highway 101 and turned north as it became evening. I could see Tom Robbins’ Roadside Attraction’s world in the surrounding tree covered hills and the long grass growing along side the road. My eyes began seeing the coast again as if it was my first time. The dairy farms gave way to old growth forests and small towns with old western style commercial buildings and cute little cafes and so much character.

The first stop was short sands at Oswald West. My parents and I used to camp there almost every summer. I loved hiking down the path and seeing the trails of smoke among the giant fir trees and hearing voices echoing through the woods but not seeing anyone until we got the floor of the glen where all the camping sites were.

You can’t camp there anymore, so we just took the path that followed the creek towards the beach. She kept walking down little trails to the creek to see the water and her eyes were wide still as she was taking this little wood all in. The smells of old growth and ocean mixed with the fresh air coming off the creek. We got to cross a suspension bridge over the creek and it swayed back and forth. She got a little scared, but sometimes fear is cute.

We walked out on the drift logs and rocks to short sands, a beach popular with surfers. We could see about twenty to thirty black dots bobbing up and down waiting for waves to come in. The cove is hugged by two huge cliffs of old growth trees and almost has an end of the world feel to it.

We walked down the beach and found dead birds and jellyfish, which she picked up and petted with no fear. I gave one a pet with the fear that I would be stung and killed, but it just felt like jelly, and I felt like a kid again with that fearlessness when it came to weird animals and holes in the ground.

I felt guilty about staying so out of love with the beautiful world around the Pacific Northwest. I am possibly dying soon and I just wanted to waste time watching Netflix and eating breakfasts, which I am still going to do between explorations, but I felt like I was already giving up on living life when I’m still so full of it. I love exploring and seeing things. She and I call it, walking around and looking at shit. I tell her all the time; I love looking at shit with you.

We saw that the sun was dipping and she wanted to get over to Hug Point to watch the sunset. We got in the car and drove north some more until we got to Hug Point and came down and found a traditional wedding party getting the photos taken. She had a long white beautiful dress and he was in a grey tux. The sun was hiding behind some clouds over the ocean turning them orange and purple while the moon sat almost east of us high up in the dark blue sky.

The Oregon coast is beautiful and I will say is one of the most beautiful and wonderful coastline in the world. All of our beaches are public. We stand on the oldest ocean in the world among towering fir trees and rock walls. The weather can be almost exotic to downright nasty with rain coming in sideways and swells blowing up against the cliffs and sand. The surf that comes in is so rich and real as it licks her feet and mine.

We met a puppy that was experiencing being off leash and the beach at the same time. My heart almost melted as she played with the puppy that was darting around and then lying down to only pounce and dart around again. The dog had a big dumb smile with a tongue sticking out. She was laughing and I could almost see her heart jump out of her chest with joy.

The sun went down and we meandered back to the car and drove through Cannon beach’s little village and then into Oregon’s poor excuse for a Coney Island: Seaside. We ate some greasy “Irish” deep fried fare and then walked up the boardwalk to not find any coffee, so we meandered around the beach until we found a swing set. The beach was dotted with beach fires as people enjoyed the dusk turning into night.

We went back on highway 30 and just listened to music and talked all the way back.

The next day we didn’t really have any plans so we went out to the Sandy River and chill on the beach. I used to hate the Sandy River because of how popular it was with the young folk, but it was cooler that day, so we wouldn’t be sharing the beach with Skynards and Boltthrowers all day.

I watched her stand in the middle of the river as swifts darted around snatching up bugs, osprey hovering looking for fish and ducks swimming around and loving our crackers. Again I watched her look at the world around her in awe. Again I was reminded how much I take the world around me for granted.

We drove up old highway 30 east winding around the ridge high up above the gorge. She gasped at every hilltop, glen and view we drove by. I was thinking about just driving down to 84, but then I remembered Larch Mountain, so we drove up there through the dark forest and past farmhouses and clear cuts until the air was cool and crisp. We then hiked up a short path to a craggy peak that over looks miles and miles of the Mount Hood National Forest, parts of Washington, three mountains and a slice of the might Columbia. I was taken here once to prove the existence of God, but I just saw beauty and geological wonder, but I can’t deny being awe struck by the vast insanity of it all. You can see the backside of Mount Hood – her back is to the west, for she is batting her eyes at Mount Jefferson while Mount Saint Helens fumes.

All of this, and some other adventures she and I have had have really reminded me how beautiful the world is. I keep looking deep inside myself and out at other people, but I take the natural world for granted because I’ve lived among it for so long. She helped remind me that while other places are very beautiful, Oregon has a beauty all her own.

One of her and I’s first longer drives was up to Bald Peak past my grandparents old apple orchard. I used to think as a kid visiting that farm that someday I would live in an old rickety farmhouse with lots of animals, a pond and a forest. I grew up and got silly about being a cool city boy who wore shoes and shitty music, but every time I left the city I saw my dreams in old barns and run down houses with porches. My heart would swoon every time I saw a large oak tree in the middle of a field. I ached for a meadow on my property that had a small brook winding through it.

When I lived in Eugene, I knew this old man named John, who we called Old Man John, and he owned some property out by Triangle Lake along Highway 126 as it headed west to Florence, Oregon. The first time I went out there has got to be one of the most magical moments of my life.

We were driving out in the middle of summer with our windows down as dusk turned to twilight and we weren’t playing any music; in fact, we were all just enjoying the rolling hills and the symphony of crickets. As we rounded another bend we started hearing something in the air, almost like a woman singing and as we drove on we could tell it was a woman singing opera.

Around another bend and around another hill with trees silouhetted against the purple sky, we could see a house with all the windows lit orange and opera blaring out into the empty countryside. The house looked like two dilapidated farmhouses were slammed into each other to form one old diapadeaded farmhouse.

John stood in the doorway and as we got out of the car and headed towards him he exclaimed that the woman singing was Hitler’s favorite opera singer. I wish I remembered who it was and what she was singing, but it was spinning on a record player on a real nice hi-fi set up with the volume all the way up. The house was mostly unfinished and had old turn of the last century curios up everywhere there wasn’t books or classical records. In the front yard greeting us were a black cat, two female and one male peacock and some hens with their chicks.

The place reminded me of a run down version of my grandparents’ farmhouse. I loved that house and felt like no matter how many times I visited I was still finding new nooks and crannies in the house. I loved the kitchen with all the herbs, dry flowers and garlic hanging from the ceiling, as my grandmother made things like shepherd pie and string bean casserole. I remember my grandfather coming in from working the apple orchard all day in his denim jacket and cowboy hat. It seemed like it was a life that I wanted to have too.

I fell in love with the emptiness all around us; the cool summer air and the complete freedom the house seemed to offer. I slept in the barn out back and was awoken at dawn by the peacocks roosting in a Douglas fir outside my window cawing. A peacock caw can be heard for miles. I found a small brook babbling through the backyard and I just drank coffee and watched the mist rise from the fields of grass as the hills became visible. I felt peace.