White Noise at Ocean Haven

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Maybe one learns to live differently at the coast, the precipice of earth, where there’s nowhere left to go besides into the sea. We arrived yesterday in the dark at our enchantingly small 280-square-foot cabin at the ocean’s edge and, after settling in, needed to tend to dinner. With the constant din of the ocean at our doorstep, we drifted off to sleep with thoughts of landslides, but not before recognizing that from our vantage point in bed, we could see a sky full of stars. Over the course of the night, our windows were buffered by occasionally heavy winds and rain. Combined with the knowledge that the Oregon Coast is experiencing a week of king tides, our doom fantasy of merging with Neptune’s wrath haunted what should have been peaceful dreams.

King Tide, you ask? In the Oregon Coast Beach Connection, I found this description: “They occur at a few specific times during the year when the moon’s orbit comes closest to the earth, the earth’s orbit is closest to the sun, and the sun, moon, and earth are in alignment, thereby increasing their gravitational influence on the tides.” In other words, the tide is high, really high. High enough in our imagination to cause significant and instant erosion that could suck our perch into the below; such is the price of active minds to see all possible scenarios.

We woke shortly after dawn with the rain still falling, the wind still blowing, and the sea still churning.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Nearly two hours later, we’d not moved much. The weather is about the same. Our resolve to sit here is strong, but so might the encroaching desire to snack. Good thing we don’t have a lot of options on that front.

The quality of the wind, or more precisely, the noise it makes, is a symphony of sorts. To our backs is the forest with tall trees that create a heavier wooshing sound while the short bushes in front of us produce a wispier-slicing sound, almost like a hissing. From the ocean comes a drone without distinguishable sounds of waves crashing; it’s an engine of constant frequency. Against our door, the creaking of wood and pressure of the wind coming out of the southeast suggests someone is there; alas, it’s an invisible visitor who comes and goes. From time to time, rain accompanies the wind, and when it blows the hardest, a low-frequency moan bears down, reassuring us that inside is the best place to be right now.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Looking out to the place that has captured our attention for hours by now, the ocean is a blown-out frothy mess of foam covered by a uniformly gray sky without definition. Pulses of rain continue to sweep the coast with only occasional gusts of wind, but just as you think that this will be the view for the entirety of the day, a spot of blue seems to be opening a gap in the heavens. The momentary optimistic break overhead brings some calm to the below as the ocean seems to have started moving in slow motion. As the gray returns, so do the height and frequency of the waves. Here, at an hour before high tide, we took a short walk down a path leading to the beach, but it is absolutely inaccessible. At other times, we might have opted to jump in the car to take a walk somewhere else. Instead, we remain planted on our perch determined to witness every minute of our luxury view.

I shouldn’t forget to mention the birds. The larger seagulls, as opposed to the smaller white ones, have been out here in front of our window all day and often in roughly the same area of the sky not far from our cliffside. I imagine they are riding unseen currents of air that are particularly conducive to a fun flight that exists where they keep appearing. Further out and ever-present are the cormorants. With their quickly beating wings, they hug the water before dropping in, often right in front of crashing waves and then diving below it for a swim in the murky depths, probably looking for food.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

The sky is shifting with ever-changing weather, offering hopes that the sun will smile upon us. That glimmering idea is soon dashed but will come and go as the day progresses. I suppose I shouldn’t phrase that as something being dashed; the connotation implies that my happiness is somehow compromised without our star making an appearance. That would be wrong, as we welcome whatever the day brings and are quite content just being here.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Ah, little fluffy clouds are always delightful and maybe even inspiring. Their appearance has me wondering why the birds are so quiet when the tempest rages. While we’ve seen birds aplenty this morning, we were yet to hear a single call until this bit of blue sky was had. I recently noted that in Phoenix, Arizona, during the heat of the day, the birds there are quiet, too. There’s a lot to know about the lives of other species, with little time to learn much as we are so preoccupied with trying to learn about ourselves. For example, this is the first time in Caroline’s or my life that we’ve attempted to sit in front of the ocean all day without jumping in the car to hit another amazing spot or needing to go fetch something or other. We have all that we need, but finding the patience to enjoy this luxury of watching the entirety of a day change from dawn till evening from a single beautiful location with an incredible view could yet prove more difficult than it sounds. How is it that it took until we were in our 50s to consider staying in place to observe where our minds went?

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

When things change, even only minor aspects of a place, novel views are introduced that challenge the eye and senses to register these alterations in comparison to memories already formed. We intuitively know when presented with the unfamiliar that we should store as much as possible, as not knowing when we’ll return, there could be lessons that are essential to our survival with our recently discovered understanding of new possibilities. This archaic response to our environment helps us form pleasant memories here in the luxury of modernity where simply existing is mostly now taken for granted, especially where a kind of peaceful wealth is had.

Caroline Wise at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

But even if you are well-tuned to awareness, do you have a like-minded partner with whom to share these things? Without another person by your side, who is there to affirm and celebrate your knowledge? I understand that we can’t always be with someone else, and even when people are with others, they are all too often still alone; such is the tragedy of relationships of convenience. Cultivating friendship is de rigueur, but patience and deep curiosity are also cornerstones to building a foundation that might endure the difficulties of growing up and growing older. Why we put the onus of relationship survival on familial connections and not on friendships and marriages is beyond my comprehension. I can only guess that it goes hand in hand with the idea of consumer culture, where we throw out the old and replace it with the new.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

We should ask ourselves how are we so blind as not to recognize that there is no new and old; there is only flow in the now. This cycle of motion, at least from our perspective while living, is never-ending; we are until we are not. The larger questions of why and what has been or will be are great for philosophical and historical meanderings but are not always conducive to experiencing our brief moment in existence, though they can lend context and deeper understanding as we gaze out into the universe that marks our time here. We must strive to live life with first-hand knowledge instead of experiencing it through surrogates. This does not imply we peer into the void with the blank slate of the infant; knowledge is an important key to unlocking access to the domain of rich experience where we dip into flow. I will not survive seeing the day go by exclusively on the pages of a book, on the screen of a device, or from the person on the stage sharing their adventure. I need to stand here at the edge of the ocean and report back to myself just what I saw and what I experienced. With Caroline nearby, I have a witness to verify that my perceptions were indeed real.

Caroline Wise at the Shags Nest at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Our spatial orbit today is small, though traveling our internal space is as close to the infinite as we will ever know. I don’t believe we went for more than 10 minutes before acknowledging one another in some small way. I can’t say we were ever more than 10 feet away from each other, and for a good part of the day, we were a mere 10 inches away from each other as I was writing, and she was knitting, spinning, or penning postcards to friends and family. I played at trying to make drama a couple of times, so I might spice up the story, but the truth is we did co-exist, snuggled, and acted a bit goofy as we went about our day on a 22×20-foot plot of earth.

Flowers at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

What was there that you missed? It was right in front of you; you walked by it dozens of times, but still, it eluded your senses. What might we think about that is also within our perception but outside of our active mind? Here is where we train ourselves to take time to be human, not just to be awake and breathing but truly human. The flower is present; maybe it offers a delightful appearance, it might exude a seductive fragrance, it will likely attract local pollinators, and after it fruits, it may produce nourishment for something else or create offspring, but it will never contemplate its existence. Are we too busy doing our job as a kind of function instead of breaking out of being not much more than plants and exploring our possibilities by seeing what lies deeper within? Our humanity is inside our creativity, our expression, and our ability to put ourselves somewhere different, both physically and intellectually. How do we see the flower within us when our senses are tuned to finding ourselves through those things we are not?

Shags Nest at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

I told myself to write in that little box here in this photo. I insisted that I sit in there at the table at the window on the left, look out, and write something or other. It didn’t matter what I wrote, it only mattered that I look out to the vastness of the ocean and pull what I might from its depths and call it thought. The objective was enhanced when I was inspired to take a photo. If it turned out well, I’d include it in this blog entry, and it would become part of the narrative in some way or another. If I only felt like posting five images, my work would be soon over unless each photo produced a thousand words apiece and in that situation, I’d only be working on the second photo by this time.

Shags Nest at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

There, on the right, not the side of the tiny house but those two windows facing the ocean, I’ve been occupying a place at a small dining table where I set up shop to write. As the weather changes, I find myself wandering outside more frequently. This doesn’t alter the pace of writing as earlier, when the driving wind and rain were hammering down upon our perch, I would walk over the two or three steps to the other window and gaze at the fury of nature in amazement that I should be so comfortable while the sea tried to capture the shore. I made reference to the size of our little getaway cottage, but I should point out that this type of place represents a corner of fantastic wealth as we never saw ourselves as being the kind of people who get to put up oceanside on an isolated part of a coast where being alone without neighbors seemed rich beyond our comprehension. But here we are in a room smaller than some people’s master bathroom, and yet we are in the lap of luxury with an opportunity afforded to few.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

There’s a metaphor in these stairs we’ve attempted to navigate a few times today. Each of our three tries to reach the beach has been foiled. The first time we descended the narrowest and steepest cliffside trail we’ve taken, we were repulsed by strong winds as we emerged from the thicket that was taller than we were. The second time, we made it to an outcropping where a seagull stood, but the surf 50 feet below seemed to be cutting in under the cliff that was supporting it. I was certain something was on the verge of collapse; time to retreat. The third time, we made it to this point where we were only about 20 feet above the crashing surf, but beyond this, the narrow trail no longer had a rail, and with the wind still blowing at a brisk clip, I reached the end of the line. As for the metaphor, we tried this at different times of the day, and each ended a little further than the one before it. Tomorrow, we’ll hope for calmer winds, and we already know that today was the peak of the king tide, so maybe we’ll arrive on the unprotected landing and muster the courage to go on. So, the point is that we keep on trying to make progress, and maybe someday, we reach a new objective. It may not be the ultimate goal, but you are doing new stuff, and each attempt has you witnessing something you’d never imagined before.

The view from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

This rocky beach was the objective. We can see no other way to get down there except the harrowing trail cut down the cliff face. There’s nothing particularly important about this short part of the Cape Perpetua Southeast Marine Protected Area, no special shells or rocks; it’s just a difficult-to-reach remote beach that few people will ever have the opportunity to walk along. In that sense, it’s another book that holds enough interest to at least open it and check out a few pages before deciding if we’ll continue. Should we be able to find Ocean Haven as a perfect destination, we’ll be increasing the chances that it will join our list of yurts and places as a desirable location to refresh our senses.

Shags Nest at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Yes, it’s a perfect view, but our typical stay along the Oregon coast doesn’t involve us staying in place for any period of time, especially during the day when we should be out exploring. For the people that own this property, it’s not important for them either to have this view as they allow people like us to borrow it. Maybe they are making a sacrifice in order to generate enough income to pay for the extraordinary price tag of owning such a place. This had me wondering about the economics when I found that the property last changed hands in 2017 for $1,200,000, which would cost about $5,500 a month with a mortgage. They rent out five units and appear to be mostly sold out, even in winter, so conservatively, it might appear the owner is earning maybe $15,000 a month gross. While not lucrative in the Silicon Valley sense of wealth, it would hold its own and allow them to buy another coastal property that could be their own to enjoy in full privacy. Why am I doing this math in a blog entry that’s been about the sensual pleasures of being by the sea? Because Caroline and I are trying to determine just where our retirement might be taking place someday when we are old(er).

Shags Nest at Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Funny thing about looking beyond the window and how the frame conveys ownership, even if only temporary, as a renter. We can see precisely the same view from the road, a pullout, a campsite, or any number of other locations along the coast, but here, behind the glass, one has the strange opportunity to imply they own this little slice of the big picture. We are happy to borrow it and bury it deep within our memories. It’s possible that our memories and romanticizing of the experience will be longer lasting than living here, as there seems to be a certain acceptance of place that steals some of the magic compared to those who are only passing through. If we lived here, would I spend 15 hours before the sea trying to capture some essence of the place to write a blog entry about it?

Sunset from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

Our wildest dreams usually fall short in producing picture-perfect sunsets that punctuate a day with a resounding sense of wow. Even when we are not given these treats, it seems like we are rarely disappointed by what the day ultimately delivers. By now, the succession of impressions started to blur, and the length of our Remote Self-Isolation vacation begins dilating as though we are entering a wormhole in time where we’ll be out here forever or until the day we turn the car around and feel like a time contraction teleported us to arriving just the day before.

Sunset from Ocean Haven south of Yachats, Oregon

It’s well into the night by the time I finish here. There’s the occasional flash of lightning over the ocean to the northwest, while to the southwest, we can see stars in a clear patch of sky. The ocean is quieter tonight than the ceaseless raging beast it was last night. The winds are calm, and we feel assured that we are far enough away from the cliffside that we are not in imminent danger of sliding into the ocean to our deaths. Just then, the winds pick up again and another flash of lightning catches my eye. Tomorrow will certainly be something different.

Between Places

Caroline Wise at the Fish Inn in Gold Beach, Oregon

A fine rain continues, but our stay at The Fish Inn here in Gold Beach, Oregon, is coming to an end. In a couple of hours or less, we are heading to Ocean Haven south of Yachats, about 160 miles (257km) north of here. Google believes it’ll take us about 3 hours to get there, but we have stops we need to make along the way. We don’t know where those stops are yet, aside from Misty Meadows, a jam place north of Port Orford, and the Wool Company in Bandon. Other than those, we’ll just see what comes along and piques our interests. The other three yarn shops we could have stopped at are all closed on Mondays, while an ice cream shop called Scoops in North Bend, where we shared a banana split last year, could drag us in for a mid-day snack.

The Fish Inn in Gold Beach, Oregon

Not only are we moving between places, but we are also moving between weather patterns. Just about 15 minutes prior to leaving this beautiful little house on the Pistol River, while talking with Ron, the owner, the sun poked out of its shroud. I felt the photo of The Fish Inn that I posted yesterday looked nice in the foggy, mysterious environment, but it also looks idyllic in the sun, so why not share another? As for the shifting weather, we were pleasantly surprised by the turn of events as we’d been prepared for foul weather for the first week of our trip up here. Then again, nothing is really as others say it will be when we are visiting the Oregon Coast.

Horses in Gold Beach, Oregon near Pistol River

To get a good idea of why it will take us the entire day to reach our seaside abode after dark, these two guys are just one small part of the distraction. Were we supposed to just drive by? Of course, we’ll blame the need for the photos on our niece Katharina in Germany, who LOVES horses, but then again, so do we. Come to think of it, we have stopped for turtles, sheep, goats, cats, cows, deer, donkeys, birds, frogs, snakes, bison, elk, moose, bears, alligators, skunks, porcupines, raccoons, coyotes, wolves, whales, dolphins, even a mountain lion once.

Myers Beach North on the South Oregon Coast

So we stopped at Meyers Beach North again, but today, there was silvery surf, fog, rolling clouds, and a big searing sun in the sky punching a hole into the clouds. No chance to fly a kite this time, as the tide is high, with waves eating the entirety of the beach. While I didn’t snap a photo yesterday, we did take a peek here just in case there was a view so exquisite that a new masterpiece in photography might have been had. Later in this trip, we’ll be coming right back down this way

Otter Point in Gold Beach, Oregon

Otter Point, a place we never knew existed; or at least that’s what we’ll try to maintain to cover my previous bragging claims that we’d been everywhere along the Oregon coast and then all of a sudden we are just going to all these new places as though somehow we’d missed 100’s of potential stops. We didn’t go all the way to the end, but we did make it well past that sign to the next outcropping.

Otter Point in Gold Beach, Oregon

Looking north from Otter Point on a windy day on a narrow trail where my vertigo is easily triggered, but we persevered and kept on heading west. A little ways past this, we encountered a park ranger who warned us that the furthest point was a bit slippery today due to the recent rains; we heeded his advice. Although I weigh a smidge over 220lbs, I’m not averse to entertaining, silly flights of fancy where a strong wind on a slippery surface would be enough to sail me across the “ice rink” and over the cliffside onto the rocky shore below. Somehow, this never happens in my imagination to Caroline; it’s only the fat guy blown to his death.

Otter Point in Gold Beach, Oregon

Looking south and wondering who in their right mind walks out close to these edges. I’m not just guessing that people do that; their paths are well-worn into disintegrating cliffs that are probably only minutes away from giving way under my feet. We’d better run away now while we are still alive.

Prehistoric Gardens in Bandon, Oregon

If you were to approach the Prehistoric Gardens in Bandon, Oregon, and were in your 50’s, would you stop? If you were us and, over the past 18 years, you’d failed every time to make the pilgrimage, you would. At $12 each to get in, there was a part of me that was hoping we’d be here more than 10 minutes and maybe at least see an animatronic of a dinosaur, some recorded dinosaur sounds, a jump scare by some old guy wearing one of those inflatable Jurassic T-Rex costumes, or something, but there was a whole lot of nope in our 10-minute walk through a rain forest with some cheesy plastic dinosaurs that at least had cheese going for them. Curiosity satisfied with an appeal to our inner 8-year-old that gives it a thumbs up.

Humbug Mountain State Park in Port Orford, Oregon

Humbug Mountain State Park is the elusive bulbous rock jutting into the ocean with a peak that’s often in the clouds. We’ve meant to climb this thing a dozen times but are yet to reach its non-view peak in the forest. By the way, I’m not talking about the little knob on the right; there’s a giant mountain on the left, mostly out of view, that stretches far above.

At the dock in Port Orford, Oregon

Standing on the dock at Port Orford not far from the fishing boat Moxie, which we’ve seen here year after year, watching the birds. Sadly, we weren’t stopping in at Griff’s on the Dock as COVID restrictions suggest staying clear of sitting in restaurants, and a bowl of mussels wouldn’t be the same if we were eating them in the car. So we’ll just reminisce in the nostalgia of memories of our peculiar attraction to this small dock in a small town.

Misty Meadows in Bandon, Oregon

Buying a care package of assorted jams for our family in Germany was the objective here. Leaving with a stuffed yellow banana slug, a bottle of mead, a bunch of jam for ourselves, and the dozen jars being sent to Germany was accomplished. Big win at Misty Meadows on the side of the road south of Bandon.

Caroline Wise at The Wool Company in Bandon, Oregon

Caroline had to demask to show her silly grin as she fiendishly fondled the fibers on this fortuitous day because the Wool Company happens to be open on a Monday. I found my second skein of yarn this trip for yet another pair of socks, which reminds me that I have to photograph the new pair I brought with us made from yarn we bought on a previous trip to Cannon Beach up the road. Caroline also found a skein that caught her eye, along with a fancy yarn bowl with a special slot that holds a ball of yarn, allowing the ball to unravel in an organized fashion instead of it rolling all over the floor, which is her usual method.

Caroline Wise about to share a banana split with John Wise at The Scoop ice cream shop in North Bend, Oregon

Finally, it was time for my indulgence and what we think might be my first ice cream of the year, though I should be honest about that milkshake we shared recently on the trip to Duncan, Arizona. Anyway, I’m not one to be pinned down by inconvenient little truths that come up short of telling a more compelling story, so we’ll just go with this being my first banana split in 20 years!!! Oh, the one we had at Denny’s on New Year’s Eve or last year’s at the same place called Scoops here in North Bend? Illusions, lies, fake news, and other shenanigans to make me look bad as who in their right mind with diabetes would have a banana split? Would you believe I only ate the middle vanilla and pineapple cover section?

Umpqua River in Gardiner, Oregon

Umpqua River in Gardiner, right next to a train track with an old railroad crossing side, a small boat launch, and a dock, are all I need to want to come back to this location year after year to admire what a beautiful scene this is. Nearby is the Umpqua Lighthouse, which we learned is open and accepting tours; hopefully, before we leave Yachats, we’ll head back down for a return visit to the lighthouse we’ve not been in for at least ten years.

Shags Nest at Ocean Haven in Yachats, Oregon

It’s dark and stormy when we arrive at Ocean Haven. For the next five nights, this little fully-equipped space will be all ours. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get a first-hand experience of the view, as right now, it’s pitch black out there. We still have dinner to contend with, which is a couple of crawfish-stuffed pork chops from Louisiana and butternut squash. While we would have liked to have stayed up late, we couldn’t, we didn’t and instead gave in to the impulse to call it quits early with full stomachs and satisfied senses.

Words in the Woods

Fern growing from a tree along the Pistol River on the Southern Coast of Oregon

It was raining as we fell into sleep, and by morning, it was still doing so. We had mixed feelings; a part of us wished for it to not relent while the other side that’s aware of our brief time along the coast desires to venture out and find those aesthetic moments that convey a perfection generally expected by those who have been witness to our travels. On the other hand, it was my intention to busy myself in writing of events unrelated specifically to this particular journey but instead to find the words that tell the story of the unknown I would like to explore.

Turning on words, though, is a fickle thing. The beginning of the thread can remain elusive until it’s not, and then the tapestry appears in my mind’s eye and wants to be captured all at once. I suppose that there are dozens of threads in my imagination, probably all I need to make the grandest of quilts, but the chaos of having so many of these random elements strewn chaotically throughout my brain without organization inhibits my ability to find order. Like creating a song, I should probably focus on uncovering a melody or a rhythm and then discover what compliments the emergent structure.

Mushrooms growing from a tree stump next to the Pistol River on the Southern Coast of Oregon

Instead, I feel drawn into this sabbatical from routine desert life during a pandemic and desire nothing more than sitting here in the forest enjoying the constant drizzle and our removal from the troubles of the zeitgeist. So, I write about whatever comes to mind and consider that I’m in the process of winding down to a point where I can fall into flow.

How does one find symbiosis with the mushroom? Not the apparent lack of thought but the patience and wisdom to know that one doesn’t rush off to change their station in life by desire alone. We must first accumulate a mass of presence, and for us humans, that is found in experience and the thoughts discovered in reading. Born with a blank slate, we know nothing about what we like, how we will ultimately communicate, or even how we’ll get from Point A to Point B once our leg muscles are able to propel us. Beyond that, we also know nothing about the structure of stories, the melodies of tunes, or the cascade of light we find patterns within. Our mental machine must be tuned and then constantly refined to operate more efficiently with increasing performance or should we accept that the one-horsepower stream engine sputtering inside our head since we were but children is sufficient?

Apple from The Fish Inn next to the Pistol River on the Southern Coast of Oregon

Should we allow the fruit of our efforts to languish in the tree, it will slowly shrivel, fall to the ground, and rot, becoming fodder for that which will come along and feast on the waste. In this sense, nature is merciless and is quick to recycle that which is not producing growth. Do we really believe we can escape this law of nature? The trick facing humanity is to know how to encourage that which is blossoming to come into their own and seize their moment to become whole. The current evidence suggests that we are failing, but I’m not out here in the woods to follow my own laments; on the contrary, I want to discover what I don’t yet know.

The rain comes down with renewed vigor while the gray clouds seem to close in on Earth. When the rain picks up, the birds that had been about when things were at but a drizzle return to quiet and remain out of view until one drops from a giant, perfectly still tree, bouncing from rock to ground before zipping back into the branches above. Meanwhile, we whittle away the time locked into the conveniences requiring electricity and communication. Caroline is talking with her mother in Germany via Skype while simultaneously knitting a pair of socks for me and occasionally referencing various stories on the internet as the two explore topics of interest. I sit in the kitchen at a small table by a window, writing this here that you are reading, and from time to time, I head outside to snap a photo of ferns, mushrooms, apples, and the house we are staying in.

The Fish Inn next to the Pistol River on the Southern Coast of Oregon

But the house we are staying in cannot be stayed in all day. Well, it could, but that would deny us the opportunity to get a modicum of exercise which is highly important on vacation as the inclination might be to nest. Nah, that’s not us, so with a heavy amount of ambivalence, one side of me saying stay and write, the other side reminds me that this isn’t just about me, and so it wins with the argument that we need to do things that involve us.

Natural Bridges north of Brookings, Oregon

Words at the Sea:

We’ve been here before, but that doesn’t matter. Maybe we’ll be back again, but that, too, doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are here now, seeing this under entirely new circumstances where we are different, the ocean is different, and the landscape below is different. It’s all very subtle, and no one could put their finger on precisely what’s different, but we should all understand that it’s impossible to be here from one day to the next and have the reasonable expectation that the universe of it all has not been altered in some nuanced little way. It is on us to tease those changes out of the fabric of what lies before us or from within. Is my mind different? Do I perceive colors differently? Have the trees changed height, or did some of the rocks fall into the sea? How does one measure the variation between memories separated by time?

Brookings Harbor, Oregon

On the way to Brookings Harbor, we stopped for a walk out to Cape Ferrelo, but the photos from up on the hillside were too meh to share. Sometimes, the overcast or rainy weather can work in our favor, and at other times, I don’t enjoy the results. Maybe six months or six years from now, I’ll be wondering why I didn’t include a couple should I then be convinced they were better than I remember, but that will be then, and this is now, so no photos of the place where I did take this amazing photo of Caroline back in 2006. By the way, we are traveling with that exact umbrella on this trip, too. If the weather is encouraging tomorrow, maybe we’ll reenact the image.

So what of the boats in the harbor, you ask? Really nothing other than there’s something about tall masts lined up that I find intriguing. I’ve never given it much thought though, why masts should hold this kind of appeal, but they do.

Caroline Wise at Lone Ranch Beach north of Brookings, Oregon

This is the “modified for old people” version of the wife standing in the water on vacation photos we often post. Normally Caroline would have doffed the shoes and socks, sucked up some gumption, and plodded into the bone-chilling water, but with her new rubber boots, which were just bought yesterday needing some testing out for micro-holes, she walked into a flooding stream and emerged with dry feet. Don’t worry, though, as I’m as certain as can be that no less than once, she’ll be barefoot in the water because that’s what she does.

Lone Ranch Beach north of Brookings, Oregon

This water and the water behind it, not the stuff in the ocean, is what Caroline was just standing in. We are at Lone Ranch Beach, which is the neighbor of Cape Ferrelo. The rain has stopped, which has encouraged us to take one more walk this afternoon before the sun sets. While down here we both question if we’d ever been here before as nothing looks familiar. It could be that it’s low tide, and with all the exposed rocks, things just appear different. Or maybe it really is our first visit.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at Lone Ranch Beach north of Brookings, Oregon

To mark the occasion, we pose for a selfie, and while we are properly lit, I cringe at how blown out the background is. Just look at the photo above this one to see how it’s supposed to look, and you, too, will have your skin crawl at how poorly the photographer of this selfie is at knowing how to operate his camera. I’d bet my smartphone would have done better than this archaic DSLR that only recently replaced the old guy’s Brownie Instamatic.

Lone Ranch Beach north of Brookings, Oregon

The sun has set, though we cannot see it, nor have we seen it all day. Fog has been pulsing back and forth off the ocean and rolling out over the surrounding hillsides as we spent a couple of hours out here on this short stretch of beach. We were mesmerized by the brutal crashing waves that appeared to tower well over our heads before breaking at a good distance and quickly being consumed by the water rushing back to the sea that had made it up the beach. The waves that did race up the sand felt sneaky, which had us on alert as we made our way to exposed rocks that obviously were part of a seafloor exposed by low tide. What makes this obvious to us are the mussels, chitons, barnacles, and sea stars. Oh, did I say sea stars when previously I kept calling them starfish? Today, we learned from a nearby display that they are now called sea stars because starfish don’t have gills, scales, or fins, though they do live underwater…where they kill urchins, mussels, and anemones.

Rewards

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the California border

Our awareness of the incredibly fortunate lives we live is rarely lost on Caroline and me, but when planning our travels and especially in the time leading up to our departure, that knowledge turns into a riveting tension. This idea is kept alive by the desire to venture out of routine as we are determined not to fall into patterns that would allow us to make excuses for staying in place. Not only are we willing to go, learn, and challenge ourselves, but we have the means and, at least so far, are indefatigable in making the necessary sacrifices. The funny thing is that this all feels like it grows easier and even more rewarding with each passing year. Little touches that enhance our adventures become nuances of the extraordinary, fueling our belief that this is the proverbial icing on the cake, adding to the perfection of how we’ll greet the place we are traveling to.

Nearly two months ago, I confirmed our lodging for the trip on which we are about to embark. Back then it felt like we were gaining some breathing room from COVID-19 and that making plans was a great thing to do. Now, just hours before our departure, the pandemic is raging in all corners of the country. I’m trying to reassure myself that we are doing this as safely as possible with only three nights in hotels: one on the way there and two on the way home; all three are major brands with the hopes they are working hard to protect their franchises. Our lodgings on the coast are at five different rentals; we’ll stay at each one for multiple days and will disinfect a few things before setting up, in addition to tossing off the bedding in favor of using our own pillows and our favorite fluffy down comforter. Ninety-three percent of our meals will come directly from what we are packing, while four meals will be to-go or outdoors. Two of those will be in Yachats, Oregon, at our old favorite Luna Sea restaurant; one lunch will be at Blue Heron Cheese Company in Tillamook, Oregon, and finally, dinner in Crescent City, California, as we will be in a hotel without a kitchen.

By minimizing our contact with others and wearing masks at all times we are in shared public spaces, we feel that we are doing everything we can to remain safe while not risking others’ health should somehow we become asymptomatic carriers. The path of our travels and time of year chosen also minimizes our encounters with others, though, on Thanksgiving and the day after, it’s been our experience that beaches are relatively crowded, although late November in Oregon means that we’ll be at least 20 to 50 feet away from others on a windy open area. If fewer people are traveling this holiday season, maybe we’ll find even greater isolation, which is just fine by us.

Driving west on Interstate 10 in California

I brought up that we’ll be preparing 93% of all of our meals; that’s a very accurate number, actually, as out of 57 meals across 19 days, we really are either cooking or packing sandwiches over the course of every day. While there’s certainly a convenience to eating out during travels, it’s also a hit-and-miss in rural corners of America where options can be grim *(if you ever had to eat Chinese food in Topeka, Kansas, you’d know what I meant). Instead, we’ll be dining on my own cooking with walleye hand-caught in Canada, ribeye steaks from the panhandle of Texas, Cajun Turducken from Louisiana, Corona beans because why not, sundubu Korean tofu stew, grilled bratwurst from our favorite local German store, and spaghetti squash as everyone needs a night off. Doing the dishes and moving this amount of food up to Oregon is a downside, but on the bright side, it’ll feel in some way like we’re living on the coast instead of just visiting.

“Patience is a virtue” takes on new meaning during a pandemic due to the uncertainty, but as we near the moment of departure with our precautions to remain safe, healthy, and isolated, it looks like all systems are “go for launch.” Due to the obvious impatience of many, which ultimately means disrespect for themselves and others, the flare-up of COVID-19 is surging through many cities across America and around the globe. We must continue to act in our own best interest and go slow and steady with the full awareness that all around us are people who not only don’t care but also don’t believe that the pandemic is real. For nearly the entire year, our lives have been impacted, yet those in denial only demonstrate hostility, which is often directed at those who are trying to not only take precautions but also patiently retain the hope that lives will return to something like normal. This trip up the coast is one of our moments to dip back into what was normal, our reward for our own patience.

Blue MAGA Red MAGA

Voting Map of America

Here we are on the eve of the presidential election, and I’m fairly nonplussed by the drama that’s been building up to this point. Our choices are both devoid of vision aside from holding fast to a withered point of view from a past that no longer holds relevance. We cannot see ourselves in any meaningful global position anymore as we are too enmeshed in studying our own belly buttons. The joy of life found in striking out for the future is a smoldering hunk of death destroyed by our own stupidity. Resting on one’s laurels has come with a price, and for the United States, that translates into having lost our way. The abyss we are dwelling in opens the way for China to continue pushing its vision for the future of its people, where they believe that technology, education, and global collaboration will allow the Chinese to gain influence and prosperity. On the other hand, we have Russia and America wanting to modernize their nuclear stockpiles while shoring up their oil, steel, forestry, and manufacturing capabilities.

We’ve arrived at this juncture to a large degree by our open disdain for things smart. While rich is good, brainy is arrogant, elitist, and generally needs to be mistrusted. Again, rich, no matter how one got there, is good. This seems obviously idiotic, but by and large, this is about exactly where we sit.

There’s a relatively good chance that tomorrow, maybe even tonight, we’ll know who won the presidency. Maybe it’ll be contested, but who gives a shit if it is? The carnival will change gears, but intellectual lethargy will continue to rule the day. While I voted for who I did, there’s a part of me that wants to witness how unhinged we can take things. I have but one life, and to see firsthand the derangement of society compounding centuries of mistakes into a short period of time offers me a front-row seat to the self-immolation of a culture that sits at the precipice of luxury and convenience and yet is oblivious to its true value.

Then, in the middle of the night, during a fitful attempt at sleep, the tension pulls me from the futility so I might look upon the status of things with a glimmer of hope that my sense of gloom was misguided, but here in the dark hours across America, before the sun has started to rise, it looks like we’ve opted for another season of the worse telenovela played before an audience in a stupor of fear and anxiety. Our opportunity to pass from children to adolescents is being eclipsed by a tantrum of not wanting to clean our rooms, we will not conform to the better wills of our parents as they, too, demand to do as they please. Responsibility be damned, and again, who cares as the choices were Blue MAGA and Red MAGA.

I can’t say I don’t have a lump in my throat of dread as we will now see a totally delegitimized media that will look like it seriously colluded to drive a propagandistic attack on the incumbent, claiming his opponent had a better than 85% of winning. The House and Senate are not teetering yet, and looks like another four years of stalemate are at hand. In short, this is mostly fucked, but on the bright side, other players could take advantage of the vacuum opened by a country divided and seize the opportunity to enrich themselves with land and power grabs; then again, most are wise to be leery of a hurt dog snarling in the corner. More likely to happen is we’ll bear witness to a frenzied mania of self-righteous vindictiveness that will play out while the decay of the republic marches on.

What about hope and the 26 million votes yet to be counted, as it’s only 4:00 a.m. in the nation’s capital? That no longer really matters like the color and division in the country is splayed large for all to see; we are truly divided and do not care enough about rationality. We like our sick and twisted shit show and are not ready to change channels. Regardless of the outcome, how does one look at the map above and not realize that too many of us are not satisfied with the dire position we are in due to a shifting landscape of economic uncertainty? The tech revolution has made those able to adapt very wealthy, but those not on that gravy train are out in a digital dust bowl choking on the bits of nonsense thrown off as scrap with about as much value as AOL or MySpace.

Our systemic issues are not being repaired by a popularity contest between two old dudes, and as emotionally irrational as I’d like to position myself and believe that one is better than the other, that would be irresponsible of me if I still hold on to the idea that our problems are seated in an intellectual divide that has created blinders to what is ailing a society without dreams.

Tomorrow will be just one more day that I will rail about our need to wake up, but for now, I must go back to sleep and try to dream of better days.

Gaslighting

Drudge

Negativland asked us back in 1987: “Is there any escape from noise?” Today, I’m rephrasing that with the question: “Is there any escape from gaslighting?” There’s an escalating cacophony heading to an unknown crescendo as the wobbling wheels of America’s sanity are being ground away. In a country no longer unified by any kind of idealism, we are polarized into corners of seething hatred where Americans resent one another. The media machine on both sides feeds the trough of extremism, and where they fail to fill it to the brim, social media is there to add the missing nutrients of intolerance so we may gorge on the gruel of disdain.

There will be no protest songs that bring us together, no angry, disaffected youth movements that will stir the cultural sense of compromise, and no fiery political charge that will unite the sides. This moment in American history appears to be heading to the proverbial 8th-grade playground where two boys are going to have to face off until both sides have hurt one another adequately or the other is beaten down. I only come to this conclusion as I can find nothing to suggest the two sides can find a compromise or that an inflection point is near at hand that would ratchet down our hate-laden rhetoric.

Regarding the sides of this standoff, one is afraid of creeping cultural diversity, of their access to weapons being controlled, and of taxes being expropriated to support ideas, gender identities, immigrants, and races they do not find worthy. The other side is afraid of the people seemingly desiring a move back into the cave that I just described. Of course, I don’t mean literally that they want to move us back to the cave, but there is no going back to the idealized mythological time they have in their minds where manufacturing jobs were plentiful and well paid, neighborhoods were white, and school shootings were never a thing. After years of being promised that they could have just that, they still hold on to a fragment of hope that it is possible, not realizing that the country they live in has moved on.

With the pandemic raging, people working from home, learning to cook, and fear of some nebulous mob, there are those who are joining the idea that maybe life outside the metropolitan island of conformity could offer refuge from what ails society. The thought that one could escape to some idyllic farm environment found in Montana is a folly that promises to destroy what the people who already live there love about it. Population growth arrives with services and infrastructure that accompany the new arrivals as capitalism moves in to take advantage of the needs of people so they may part with their dollars in order for our form of economy to function.

Joseph Heller might have bellowed that we are living in a Catch-22, while August Strindberg could have recognized the madness as part of the inferno meant to subjugate us in our own personal hell.  Finding a representation of normal is a peculiar hunt relying on our egos floundering in the delusion that they might wrest control out of the chaos of nature. I am likely disillusioned by my own perception of events, believing I have the insight into some unfolding catastrophe that is nothing more than my very own madness stuck between the rock and a hard place of being me. Maybe everyone else is quite normal, but my view was long ago biased by the truth I believe I can see through my filter of disorder.

When reason vacates its chair and the void is filled with the voices of anguish and uncertainty, society heads for the exit, and culture collapses. We fail to thrive where fear about the future compels us to act in our own best interest instead of the collective. The old saying, “You reap what you sow,” is never more true than when confronted with the imminent demise of civility and you begin wishing that society had been unified in an effort greater than the individual’s own well-being. Greed due to excess foments insanity, where without real purpose, aside from the selfish, the instinct of the lemming to hurl one’s self from the cliff becomes a collective calling. The antidote people must look for is to find greater meaning in life. Sadly, this has often meant that we must descend into war so we are confronted with the worst imaginable reality that makes us appreciate what we let slip away.

This brings us full circle to my title, Gaslighting, as it’s this slipping away of sanity that the incessant aggravated hostility of our media and wealth culture has been delivering. Enchanted by dystopian dreams that empower base instincts, we come to believe that the elixir to cleanse the soul will be found in fire. But it is only the fire of the mind that fuels our success and builds futures where life is improving. Progress is no longer of interest to a large segment of the American people who are now trapped in their own ruin due to the lunacy that is largely invisible to dulled minds.