A new corner of the coast we’ve never visited before or one that I have conveniently forgotten, maybe we passed through at night? This is the view from the bridge crossing into Charleston, Oregon, on Thanksgiving day. We only have 155 miles planned for today’s drive down to Crescent City, California, so we’ll be sure to take a leisurely stroll along the way, maybe two. Upon consulting with the wife she assures me that we’ve been through the area but that maybe we’d been traveling north and weather conditions were poor.

The short trail to Bastendorff Beach, where we’ve been warned not to eat the shellfish as they are toxic. No log rolling in the surf either, as it’s been deemed dangerous enough that we’ve been requested to stay off of them. Seems there is nothing fun to do here. Should also inform you that the sign told us that pallet burning is prohibited, although, on another part of the sign, it certainly encouraged us to make tracks and move quickly to higher ground if we feel the ground shake as we are in a Tsunami hazard zone.

Just a few minutes down the road, we are at Shore Acres State Park, which was originally the estate home of a lumber baron until the place burned down and the owner sold the land to the state.

Poor weather on a previous visit held us back from exploring the area, and to be frank, you don’t see much of this stuff from the car. We are still at Shore Acres.

While the shadow gives it away, there was a moment when I was looking at Caroline resting on this rock protrusion that is about as wide and long as she is wide and tall that I thought she was hovering at this impossible angle. The illusion for that moment was perfect.

Sometimes, I have to post a photo, though I don’t have a lot to say about the moment because there was something about the composition and conversation with my memory that demands I share this, if, for no other reason than when Caroline and I look back at this in years to come, we get to ask ourselves for the countless time, “Wow, did we really get to do all this?”

The intricate detail of features that look like pockets, cubby holes, and those hay bundles next to road construction that are supposed to control drainage are all over this rock outcropping. Wish someone could tell me what the fossil record suggests happened to create these intricate patterns here at Shore Acres.

While I marked this image as being a trail at Cape Arago State Park, I’m no longer sure; I guess we’ll just have to return to this spot someday and hope to note where this is and then update the entry.

The day is just zipping by with us nearing Bandon, Oregon. We are looking south, just north of town, with one of those features being called Table Rock.

For obvious reasons, this is called Face Rock.

With people standing where they are it just became apparent just how low the tide is, time to look for tide pools. We are standing on Gravel Point at the Face Rock State Scenic Viewpoint in Bandon.

This beach at Port Orford, Oregon, will be our last stop of the day before moving on to our destination down in California. This trek south has seriously been at a snail’s pace, with only about 65 miles covered in 10 hours, but walks such as this are priceless, and we’d gladly sacrifice a bit of sleep in order to visit these states of perfection.

With the sun moving lower and lower in the sky, we have precious little time left for our quest.

Looks like we are approaching some places where we might find some sea life exposed due to the low tide.

We knew the tide was low, but not this low. I think this would be considered more of a negative tide. See Starfish for scale.

The bed of the seafloor is exposed. While we are accustomed to seeing seaweed wash ashore, it’s not often we see seagrass growing in the sand and outside its natural habitat.

I count almost a dozen anemones, some barnacles, and one big orange starfish, all looking like they are looking forward to the return of their habitat that has abandoned them in a strange environment where aliens have approached and are examining them. The anemone to the right of the lower right leg of the starfish got an anal exam from one of the aliens; you know, it wasn’t me that poked it, so that only leaves you know who.

Beautiful little plants are seldom seen by us beachcombers, who are more accustomed to staring at people in bikinis and tight, form-fitting swim trunks that accentuate their buns.

And just around this time as the sun was about to dip out, so did Caroline’s phone. By the time we got to the car, it was dark out on the beach, and while we retraced a few of our steps, it was obvious our search for her lost phone was an act of futility. While this was as good a reason as any for Caroline to adopt a new phone, there was still some sadness that the images of tide pool creatures she’d been probing became lost research that would forever go unexamined.

It was 10:00 pm as we pulled into Crescent City, California, and not too late to snag a photo of the Battery Point Lighthouse and stars shimmering above it. A perfect day all-in-all.

The affinity Caroline and I have for these yurts cannot be understated. Although the price has nearly doubled over the time we’ve been staying in them, it is well worth every penny for their location, proximity to the beach, usually the quiet during this time of year, and the cozy factor. You could say it is our version of glamping.

Out of the yurt, it was a short walk to the still-steaming Devils Lake, which is the namesake of the state park we have been staying at. Our first night in a yurt was 12 years earlier at Harris State Beach near Brookings down the coast. We stayed in the Winchuck unit, and over the years, we’ve incorporated yurts into our travel plans on at least eight of our intervening trips up here. At times, we’ve opted for motels as when we fly into Portland it’s often easier to grab rooms than pull our bedding along with us, but we’d prefer if every trip would see us staying in an Oregon State Park.

Living on the lake here is that beautiful.

We must be driving south today because this is the Depoe Bay blowhole in the town of Depoe Bay. The tide plays a large role in how explosive the ejection of water is going to be. Behind me is a spot when the tide is right, shoots water up about 70 feet, and will certainly get you wet on a hot summer day; not so great here on a cold fall day, though.

That’s Yaquina Head lighthouse out there, and so we must be fairly close to Newport, Oregon. Again, we are further south, and it was time to see if I had any notes regarding this Thanksgiving vacation; sure enough, I had a loose itinerary that showed a reservation for the William M. Tugman State Park down by Florence, Oregon. So now we know just how far we’ll be driving today; it will be about 108 miles or 172km for the rest of the universe. You can wager that with these skies, it will continue to be a spectacular day.

Sand that is wet or sand that is dry. Sand that is black or white as snow. Sand that is blowing or being dragged back to sea. Sand is a magnificently varying and shifting thing that requires as much observation as the waves, the clouds, the tide pools, and the shells. You never know what kind of patterns might greet you at a beach, so you should just plan to stop at them all as we try to do, even if it takes many years.

We’ve heard that it never rains here, and it’s perpetually sunny and warm; in our dreams. Now, if this were further south near Santa Barbara, California, that statement might be mostly true. Today meets our dreams of relatively warm and certainly very sunny.

Blue-gray lichen sitting on a branch…I thought as I started writing this that I was going to be able to carry it forward with a limerick, but it’s late as I press into the midnight hour in an attempt to finish writing this entry. Maybe someone else will come along and offer up some witty continuation of my half-hearted attempt.

This is the main highway traveling south, but I could be looking north for all I know. No matter which way I look, it appears to be quiet without the crush of traffic one would expect down south on the California coast. For all these years, visiting mostly in November, Caroline and I have often felt that the coast was ours.

Something (probably the waves) caught our eye (could have been the rocks), and so we pulled over (likely was the birds) and stopped a minute to have a look (you never know when you might see whales in the distance) and enjoy the sound of the ocean (oh yeah, the sound) and the little tide pools (well, we hope for tide pools because who doesn’t like seeing starfish) before getting back in the car to investigate what else is beckoning us from further south.

Ah, it was this trail that drew our attention and made us stop. Just look at this trail, the green, the blue, browns, and a path that takes the visitor to a spot to gaze at things from a perspective not yet seen. Certainly worthy of our attention and awe.

I know that this doesn’t look like a forest trail or an overlook from our previous stop; that’s because we moved on. As for what’s up the trail? That mystery is for you to solve should you be able to find it. As for what is in the picture? That’s my wife, Caroline, and that smile on her face is a legitimate bona fide smile that originates in her heart. I can affirm this fact with you because, after 26 years of exploring our world together, I can interpret those eyes better than anyone, including her. Those are the eyes of happiness (as worn by a nerd).

The tide is going down as the day grows late, and sea life is thrust into the open where its watery environs have temporarily abandoned it. I have to satisfy myself with these mussels because down here we’ve never seen chitons or sea cucumbers on the Oregon coast. Now, if we were up on the Straits of Juan de Fuca in Washington, I’d put money on finding me a chiton or two.

Tide pools rock. We never tire of seeing anemones, starfish, barnacles, sea snails, tiny crabs, and other tiny little seathings scurrying about. Too bad the tide has to return….then again.

We explored around those tide pools as long as we could, and then it was once again that time of day that suggested some dinner, and finishing the drive to our lodging was probably a good idea. I’m glad we did, too, because somewhere down the coast, this perfect spot to take a photo of the sunset presented itself as a kind of magic, making Caroline and I swoon in even deeper love as we bask in the incredulity that this should all be for us.

There were no yurts left at the Umpqua State Park and Lighthouse when I made my reservations, but luckily, there was a free unit down the road a mile or two. A visit to this lighthouse feels as close to a Thanksgiving tradition as Caroline and I get. We don’t care about turkey, family get-togethers, or football. We’re most content out on the coast sipping coffee between walking and exploring the beaches up and down this amazing state of Oregon.