RV Journeys
Drawn to the ocean
Charming communities, historical sites and endless beaches beckon
The coast of Oregon is incredible. It’s so different from the East Coast. The beaches are so big—they seem to go on for miles and miles and miles. The smell and the sounds are truly indescribable.
Mesmerized By The Water: Fishing boats of every shape and colour move in and out of the Newport harbour.—photo by Lynne Benjamin
A historic atmosphere
Our first stop, the South Beach State Park, is just a couple of miles across the bridge, south of Newport. Newport turned out to be a great little coastal town; it was quaint and didn’t seem to be quite as developed as many of the other towns we visited.
The town waterfront area has retained much of its historic atmosphere and is still vibrant with the fishing boats moving in and out of the harbour with their catches. The wharfs are covered with fishers selling their catches and sea lions lazing around just waiting for leftovers. And the beaches—what can I say, except they are mesmerizing: the motion, the sound and the smell of the ocean, the waves slapping up around the rocks and onto the sand—each wave taking a different path, landing at a different spot and then disappearing out into the endless grey water.
A distinctive place
One particular beach, Whaleshead Beach, had extra intrigue. All the way down the path there was an overwhelming odour of licorice, or anise. The plants along the side of the path looked like dill. The single soul on the beach was an older gentleman wearing hip-waders. He was flying a remote-controlled model airplane. I asked him about the aroma along the path. He told me that this particular area was very important to the natives because of the plants, which he said were fennel. The natives would camp on the shore above, fish and gather clams and mussels. They used the fennel for medicine and flavouring. In some places, the coast becomes very rugged but again interspersed with continuous sand with the occasional footprint or flock of birds.
Oceanside treasures
We visited a couple of lighthouses—do you know there are nine lighthouses in Oregon? On the way out to the lighthouse at Cape Blanco, south of Bandon, we stopped to tour a restored mansion and then sat and watched people harvesting cranberries along the side of the road. But we found ourselves constantly drawn to the surf and sounds of the ocean.
As we travelled farther south, more and more rock formations seemed to erupt out of the water; some were so small you could barely sit on them, and others were huge rugged islands with crevices and crannies created by eons of water crashing against the rocks. And the waves: some, soft and gentle, glide onto the beach only to retreat again into the vast endless expanse of grey-blue and blend into the horizon. Other waves violently attack the rocks and explode upwards. Over and over again the dance continues. Each time the waves withdraw into the vast open waters so they can try it again: some come wildly crashing in while others gently lick the outer edges of the rocks.
The first real fog we encountered was travelling along the coast from Bandon to Brookings. Fog is so eerie—it’s like the world is trying to hide something and you will never know what it is. It changed from a light, pleasant mist to a heavy haze that totally obscured everything around. The fog was so thick that the centre line of the highway was hardly visible, then a few miles farther down the road the bank of grey cloud drifted out over the water and blue skies and sunlight emerged just long enough for us to again be awestruck by the power and magnificence of nature.
