It is, as usual, raining here at Humbug Mountain State Park
along the Southern Oregon Coast. And as I’m leaving here in a couple of days, I
suppose it is time to do a little blogging.
Along the Pacific coast from Northern California, through
Oregon and Washington, up to Canada, the rainy season is here. Pacific storms
are raining upon me about five out of every seven days. There are times when I
can look from the ocean beach at our park, and see sun or light clouds to the
north while the south features heavy rain being dumped into the ocean.
There have been times when the weather has been quite
dangerous. There have been four storms this month where winds have exceeded
more than 90 mph. About 10 miles north of here is Cape Blanco, the westernmost
point of the continental United States and winds are known to frequently lash
the cape at 115 mph.
The second night I was here, a storm hit. The winds smashed
into the trailer, buffeting it around and it seemed as if someone was throwing
hundreds of rocks at the truck and trailer. They turned to be small pinecones
from the many pine trees throughout the camp.
The campground is in a canyon with Humbug Mountain (1500’
above sea level) on one side and China Mountain (1100’) on the other side. At
one end is the ocean and the winds whip into the canyon and are turned around. Often,
horizontal rains from two directions are pelting me.
About a week ago, we had about 10 inches of rain in a
24-hour period. The creek that runs through the park to the ocean overflowed –
at least six feet above its normal depth -- and the road in front of me turned
into a rampaging torrent, though my site was elevated just enough to escape.
Some campers towards the beach woke up to find themselves in water just below
their trailer floors and had to wait until the ocean tide went down to move to
higher ground. Had they attempted to move, they surely would have been washed
out to sea. Huge logs from fallen trees also came down the creek, knocking out
our phone lines and endangering the bridge to the entrance of the park. At Cape
Blanco, the park is on high ground, but there is a river behind it and the only
road in or out was closed by about seven feet of water
Photo taken of flooding with my cell phone. I couldn't get to my regular camera that was in my truck. This is the street in front of my campsite, which was about 8 inches deep at high tide when the nearby creek rose seven feet. This photo was taken about 1,000 feet from the ocean as the water drained into it. This was taken a little after high tide.
.
I spent much of the week picking up tree debris and cutting
up a pair of trees that had been knocked down.
But while scary, it is survivable. The winds with today’s
storm gust to “only” 50 mph, so it is no big deal. One of my campers told me he
pulls in his slides (areas of the trailer that extend out) during high winds to
protect their awnings. It’s a really good idea. It seems I learn something new
and important about camping often, even though I have been doing it for about
60 years. At the same time, the temperatures are mild, usually in the mid 50s
during the day and it has yet to reach freezing at night. Often, I will wear
only a tee shirt.
My computer just told me it is 2 p.m. and it is dark. This
is not just a result of the storm. As the sun makes its journey from East to
West, it spends most of the day behind the mountain during the winter months.
So we are in shadow often. There have been times when the sun has come out
after a rainstorm, but because of the shadow and the continuing drops of rain
falling from the trees above me, I am often unaware of the sunlight. There is a
small meadow, which I have dubbed “Molehill Meadow” as a result of the constant
hills being created by our mole population. If I look over there, I can see the
“real” weather.
Part of the incredible Pacific Coast along Highway 101 in Southern Oregon. Note the fog banks that seem to constantly envelop the mountains and hills along the coast.
Until I reached Oregon, I had never seen molehills. But in
the parks I was at, they are all over. Being creatures who spend most of their
time underground, I have yet to view a mole, though part of my duties have been
patting their hills down with a shovel at campsites.
But my main issue here is being alone. There are about 100
campsites in the park, but because of the time of year, it is rare when there
are more than a couple of campers. This leaves me with little to do. At my last
park, I usually had to clean up about 25 campsites each day, as well as do
garbage runs and run campfire programs. Since it rains constantly, it is rare
when I need to clean out a fire pit. I do garbage about three times a week,
most of which comes from people who drop in to visit the beach. Unlike the
other park, the rangers all work the same shift this time of year and leave
around 4:30. There is another host, a nice lady, but she is allergic to dogs
and so most of our socialization is brief chats.
Which leaves me with only one “friend” – food. I have gained
about ten pounds as a result of eating too much and lack of exercise. Because
of the rain, I can’t hike or do cycling most of the time. More isolation includes not television
or Internet and phone service is so sporadic that the park gives us a
“landline” phone for emergencies. Thus, I do some writing (this will be well
over 3,000 words) and watch a lot of DVDs. I’ve just finished watching all
eight Harry Potter movies over a two day period for the third time this month
and today’s trilogy will be Star Wars.
But I endure knowing I will be heading to a much different
and much the same environment on December 1 as I will head back to Astoria, at
the mouth of the Columbia River. I will be housed at a KOA and will have Internet
and some broadcast television. I will be working indoors at the Lewis &
Clark National Park’s Fort Clatsop area. Fort Clatsop was where the Corps of
Discovery wintered after reaching the Pacific before returning. Records
indicate misery at the constant rains, and every time I start feeling sorry for
myself, I can remember that I have both gas and electric heat and am much
drier.
I will be volunteering three days a week instead of five,
but for longer hours. Hopefully, my injuries won’t make it too difficult. The
other four days a week I will hopefully get to know my fellow volunteers and
neighbors. I am also much closer to my son and his family and am looking
forward to spending some time with them.
I once told someone that my idea of “civilization” was a
nearby McDonalds and Wal-Mart. The nearest of either is 50 miles away. The
closest town is Port Orford. A pretty village along the coast, it is known for
it’s harbor facilities that raise and lower boats into the ocean as sandbars
have lowered the normal tides over the year. It has a few motels and
restaurants, but not much else. There is a convenience store and a Ray’s Food
Store. Ray’s is a local food chain along the lines of an IGA. Prices are
significantly – as much as 50 percent – higher than that of grocery stores such
as Safeway and Fred Meyer’s. And gas prices are 20 cents higher in Port Orford
than in Brookings, fifty miles to the south. It is actually more economical to
travel the 100 miles because of the lower prices. I go there about once a week.
Brookings is at the California border and not much further
south is the magnificent redwood forests and parks. Though there are many free
parks, I went to a private venue called “Trees of Mystery” that included a forty-minute
hiking trail and then a gondola ski lift to heights up to 2,000 feet above sea
level. It is beautiful, yet the photographer in me was very frustrated. Because
of the density of the forest, there was very little light. And the giant trees
are so huge, you can’t fit them into the widest-angle lens. As we hiked along,
Pup, the pup who is no longer a puppy, would mark his spot many places; but
never along a redwood tree. They are so huge that he couldn’t seem to
comprehend they were trees.
Pup was marking his spot all along the hiking trails in the Redwoods, but never saluted a redwood tree. They were just too huge for him to comprehend they were trees.
Highway 101, which runs along the Pacific Coast from Mexico
to Canada, is quite beautiful in this area. Unlike the Atlantic Coast, there
are thousands of huge boulders, some hundreds of feet high, in the ocean where
the seas tore apart the land. It is a photographer’s dream and because of the
constantly changing clouds, the scenes are rarely the same. I frequently
photograph sunsets. But sometimes after midnight, I take the truck to one of
the dozens of vantage points along the road and simply watch the waves in the
moonlight and listen to its endless roaring whispers. Over weekend, we had a
couple of days of relatively clear skies and the light shed by the full moon
was incredibly beautiful. The sky is a very dark blue and the moon and stars
are surrounded by mist. It is just wonderful as you breathe in the salt air and
realize just how little you are despite your ego.
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Because it
falls on a Thursday, it meant a four-day weekend most of the time. It’s also
been a time when “must” obligations relegated to Christmas could be avoided.
Past Thanksgivings meant, in my childhood, a visit to my
godmother. My godmother, a World War II widow, lived with her spinster brother
and sister. The brother was an alcoholic and practiced AA’s 12 steps so there
was no drinking at the house. It was a good thing for me, as my mother didn’t
drink as she usually did on Christmas. So my childhood memories of the day were
much better.
As an adult, I often did things with my mother like taking
her out. The last Thanksgiving we spent together was also with her sister at my
cousin’s house. It was a time of reconciliation following years of battle
between the two women and neither would live to see another Thanksgiving.
Three Thanksgivings ago, I was alone for the first time in
decades as my marriage collapsed.
I absolutely loathed the idea of being alone and since I was living in a
55+ apartment community, I held an open house. Not many people came, but there
were enough to have a good time. And the leftovers lasted for weeks and I kept
the frozen pies I had purchased for a New Year’s Eve party.
Where I am is on the Oregon Coast about 60 miles north of
the California border. It’s about 350 miles from my son’s family and I figured
he would be with his mom anyhow, which she was. So I faced Thanksgiving alone
for the first time in memory. Come to think of it, I don’t think I have ever
been alone on that day.
While I really wanted a turkey dinner, a turkey was just too
large for me to keep as my RV has a small refrigerator and even smaller
freezer. So I bought a rotesserie chicken and made some of my sweet potato
stuffing on Wednesday night. A huge baked potato, cranberry sauce, and broccoli
would, along with lots of diet root beer, finish the menu.
I woke up on Thanksgiving morning and realized something
wonderful was happening. The sun was out. Now, this is the Oregon Coast and
we’ve had perhaps three days of sunshine this month. Earlier this week, we had
10 inches of rain over two days with winds up to 90 mph. It rocked my trailer.
And if you go over to the beach on these rare days, you can usually spot a huge
storm coming in from the southern side of the beach while northern half had
sunlight.
I was really alone. The staff at the park were off and the other
park host also had the day off. We had two campsites occupied by a family
reunion and one campsite occupied by a couple of hunters. As I did my morning
patrol in my “Gator,” A 4x2 utility vehicle sort of like a lawnmowing tractor,
all were gone.
Do you know what a “Grange” is? It’s kind of like a service
club along the lines of the American Legion. If you live a rural life, you know
it is composed of farmers and others involved in local agriculture. Anyhow, the
local Grange was holding an open house Thanksgiving dinner. I spent some of the
morning wrestling with myself about going. When I was active in my church on
Long Island, I would often take a day off from work to help organize and
distribute about 150 food baskets. As I would deliver them, people would be
embarrassed about needing them, while at the same time grateful. I guess my mindset was about the same.
So I said to myself: “Self, the chicken can last another
day. Go find some human company.”
It also helped that as I went to take a shower, my laundry
basket was overflowing. I had not done laundry in more than three weeks and so
I packed it into the truck. I figured that since I was going into town to do
the laundry, why not stop at the Grange for some free food?
The laundromat, to my surprise, was open. And so I loaded
the clothes and sat down to read about the nearby California Redwood Forest,
which I plan to visit next week. I had a call from John and Lydia wished me a
“Happy Thanksgiving.” The world’s most beautiful and brilliant toddler was busy
playing with the HO train set I gave her a couple of years ago. I talked with
John for a bit and the washers stopped and I hung up and put the clothing into
the dryers.
And then I went to the Grange. I passed by another state
park and thought about “Mary”, a woman who lives two weeks at a time at
different state parks in a very small trailer that she needs to have someone
tow between sites. She barely survived the flood we had earlier in the week and
had moved to the other park. Until I spoke with a ranger about the woman I had
thoughts of offering to share my holiday dinner with her. But she has a whole
range of issues including a hellish package of mental problems. I thought about
both our similarities and differences and realized that while I was one illness
away from being in her shoes, I was doing OK for the time being. It is certainly something to be
thankful for.
I reached the Grange and it was packed with about 50 cars. I
went in and served myself. The turkey itself was the processed variety that I
used to get when I was in the Army. It was white meat and I was sort of hoping
for some dark meat and skin. But there was plenty on the chicken I would have
the next day. There was stuffing, mashed potatoes and a homemade whole-berry cranberry
sauce. It was wonderful. But the main attraction was the vegetables. It was
green beans in some sort of gravy covered with French fried onions. I think it
is a regional dish. I never had it before but saw it in several food stores. A
very simple dish, it was wonderful! I took some back to the trailer.
I sat down with some people and asked if “this is where the
cool kids sit?” Sure enough, a minute later, their great granddaughter sat down
wearing a tee shirt that said “cool cat” on it.
Turns out they were having some problems that day. In the
middle of roasting their turkey, the stove broke down. So they loaded everyone
into the truck and came to the Grange. He’s a commercial fisherman looking
forward to the crab season and she’s a dog groomer. We talked a little about
the horrific storm we had a few days ago and I showed them a photo of my road
under six inches of water. And I shared some of my travel experiences. The
young girl with the “cool” tee sang a song for the people, along with a few old
timers who were picking on a guitar and banjo.
It turned out that one of the main crops from the area is
cranberries and the wonderful cranberry sauce was made from fresh-picked
berries.
Anyhow, as dinner ended, I grabbed a “to go” platter of a
couple of slices of turkey a little potatoes and lots of the green beans, a far
greater preference to frozen broccoli. On my return, Pup, the pup who’s no
longer a puppy, got the turkey and potatoes for a holiday treat. He’s been on a
diet since July and has lost all his excess weight so I didn’t feel any guilt
about his holiday foray into “people” food.
Pup lapsed into a happy nap and I played Arlo Guthrie’s
wonderful “Alice’s Restaurant” song about a Thanksgiving half a century ago.
Then I unpacked the laundry and began my holiday decorating, putting out
holiday dishtowels and potholders. I’m moving up the coast on December 1st
so I’m holding off the main decorations until then. I suspect it would be a
problem securing a tree and ornaments in a trailer as it travels around the
many bends ahead as I drive up Highway 101.
It is nearing the winter equinox, and darkness descends
around 4:30 p.m. Around 6 p.m., a young man knocked on the door and I set him
up with a site. He was travelling by himself and camping a tent. Experience has
taught me that pitching a tent in the dark is not much fun and the temperature
will probably dip into the 30s tonight. I have a choice of electric or gas heat
in the trailer. I prefer the electric because, other than the $50 I spent on
the heater, it’s free since the park supplies electric. Certainly, it’s
something else to be thankful for. I hope your holiday was filled with the
peace I had.
It’s now closing in on 4 p.m. and while the rain from the
trees continues to descend, the sun has finally emerged from behind Humbug
Mountain and I look up to China Mountain and watch the shadow line as the trees
above it are gloriously filled with the sun’s blessing. It’s time to go out to
play.
10 minutes later: it’s raining again.
