Some days ago, I mentioned passing the glassy reflective waters of the Siletz River flowing into the Millport Slough and how, an hour or two later, that pristine mirror was gone due to the lightest of winds. Well, this is the view I was talking about.
We got out early this morning for breakfast at the Otis Cafe before the crowd descended on the place, and, maybe more importantly, our upcoming hike this morning requires us to arrive at the trailhead early because the parking lot fills up quickly with its own crowd. I should point out regarding the Otis Cafe: there is no confusion about indulgence and healthy here; it is certainly the former, while the latter has never been served on these tables. It’s all good home cooking, meaning it’s slathered with everything artery-clogging, but if you can afford the pounds and enjoy your fats and sugars in large amounts, Otis has what you need.
We’ve just passed over the bridge that crosses the Salmon River, which we’ll be seeing again in a couple of hours, but first, more foxglove.
We’ve arrived at the Lower Cascade Head Trail with only about four other cars in the large lot. By the end of this hike, we’d return to more than 40 vehicles, five of which were driving in circles, looking for someone else to finish their hike on this popular trail.
There was some hemming and hawing on my part prior to driving out to Knight Park, where this trail begins, because while I’d read great reviews of the Cascade Head hike, there also were those reviews that spoke to my anxiety about rude and loud people on the path. Getting out here before 9:00 worked out perfectly, letting me relax with the fact we were skipping the Cascade Head Rainforest Trailhead back at the intersection of Three Rocks Road and Highway 101 with room for possibly three cars, though we’ve never seen anyone parked there in all the years we’ve driven by.
Part of my kvetching about the trail was because I wanted more rainforest and knew this one reached grassland nearer to the overlook, but I wasn’t sure about the trail before reaching that area. From these images, I hope you can glean how happy I was to be immersed in such luscious shades of green.
Trees with beards might be the epitome of the Oregon hipster vibe.
This is why Caroline and I walk quietly through the forest: these chance encounters with wildlife that wasn’t frightened away long before our arrival. Instead, like the proverbial deer in the headlights, this black-tailed deer was surprised that we’d snuck up on it, and with a mouthful of yummies, it looked up and froze as though now that it saw us, maybe we’d not be able to see her standing still. I thought I saw a fawn moving on my left, so I turned to look at it, which was the cue for Mom to begin her silent slither out of the area.
So far, others who passed us have been incredibly polite and seriously quiet, too. Plenty of hikers passed us before we ever reached the lower overlook, as we aimed to be the slowest people on the trail today.
While others race by, we are tasting every salmonberry, looking for other things to nibble, and inspecting and grading the quality of the plants we walk by while listening to the songs of the Swainson’s thrushes, Wilson’s warblers, Pacific wrens, Stellar’s jays, and the squirrels with their pew-pew sound of laser weapons.
There’s a serious dearth of mushrooms on this trail, which likely has something to do with the dryness of the climate at this time of year. These turkey tails were the only fungi we saw out here, though I’m thinking there might have been one toppled specimen from the Amanita family.
We’ve reached the lower Cascade Head overlook. On your left is the Salmon River, running into the Pacific on your right.
Some other hikers told us of some elk on that outcropping. We searched as hard as we could with the binoculars but couldn’t find them.
We continued a little higher but agreed that we needn’t hike to the upper overlook. God’s Thumb is the thumbs-up-like rock on the adjacent outcropping, and below it, where the ocean and the jutting rocks from the sea are, was where we were tide pooling last Saturday when Caroline had her octopus encounter.
I could easily argue that there are not enough selfies of the two of us being posted here, and maybe that would be true, but one here and there suffices as the cameraman doesn’t like losing precious time to include himself. Is my forehead growing? Do I need to start using a combover?
As you can see from behind us, there are a lot of wildflowers out on this mountainside. These are prairie mallows.
This intriguing example of plant life among the various grasses is called ribwort plantain.
I think everyone already knows the famous prickly milk thistle.
Who doesn’t smile when they look upon a ladybug?
Having returned to the woods can only mean that we are on our way back to the beginning of the trail because this is an out-and-back hike.
We’ve been eating a lot of berries, including some dark red ones, which might be a variation of the salmonberry.
Once in the forest, there are nearly no expansive views, but at one of the bridges on the trail that crosses a deeper canyon, you can see the sky over the canopy.
Not as visually appealing as the cute ladybug, the crane fly appears like it could inflict some serious pain but it turns out to be completely harmless.
What is not harmless is this foxglove, also known as Digitalis purpurea, which contains cardiac glycoside digitoxin. The operative word there that most people should understand is cardiac, meaning of the heart; while foxglove is beautiful, it can have dire effects should it be eaten, such as death. [Digitalis is also a powerful ingredient in heart medications, so it’s not all doom and gloom – Caroline]
By this time, we’d had close to a dozen other groups pass us and were able to listen to more than half of the herd long before we saw them. There was so much loud chatter I was able to conduct a simple experiment whereby, counting one-second intervals after first hearing the piercing tone of an overly enthusiastic voice, I was able to calculate the decibel level by measuring the distance between the first screech and their crossing of our path. The loudest person was estimated to have a voice that projected 110 decibels of sound based on the 8-second interval I measured. By this time, the birds were gone, the laser weapons of the squirrels were put away, and there were no deer left, which also likely explains why we didn’t see the elk while we were at the overlook.
After our hike, we celebrated with lunch back at the Otis Cafe to try their sandwiches, then visited the Lincoln City Farmers Market that takes place on Sundays until 3:00, during the summer anyway. It’s a rare day that something other than food catches my eye at a market, but the craftwork of Brooks McKee and his Oregon Driftware company, where he makes vases, boxes, bowls, and spoons from driftwood, did get my attention. I ended up leaving with this spoon, a small salt bowl, and the tiniest spoon I’ve ever held.
The farmers market was being held next to the Lincoln City Cultural Center, which Caroline wanted to visit due to their fiber arts and weaving exhibition space. On the very left, you can see a small corner of a loom that’s not so interesting, especially compared to these giant jellyfish made by Rebecca Hooper, a.k.a. the Gypsea Weaver of recycled/retired fishing gear from the Oregon Coast.
There’s a lot to see at the Cultural Center, with private art spaces and rotating gallery exhibits that are part of the mix. [This Sunday was the last day of an annual artist studio event, “Art on the Edge” with a few artists exhibiting works at the center in addition to other studio and gallery spaces. – Caroline] As far as we know, this place is unique here along the shore. This mural is a good ten feet long.
While we were at the Cultural Center and farmers market, we were watching the fog roll in, but just how thick it was we didn’t fully appreciate until we took a walk down Nelscott Beach in Lincoln City.
We were intrigued by how heavy the fog was, as we rarely, if ever, see afternoon fog rolling in during the fall and winter. This was right at Depoe Bay in front of the long wall where throngs of tourists line up to see the occasional whale surfacing.
We are about 350 feet (107 meters) from those traffic lights, that’s the extent of visibility when I took these photos.
When we got back to the house, someone from Bass Pro Shops had delivered this perfect deer yard ornament. If only that were true, this guy would be going home with us. We’ll miss Elmer and his gal Francine when we go back to Arizona. [I thought it was Bambi and Faline… Caroline]
