I rose at 6:30 to see the 6:45 sunrise at Jot’s Resort on the Rogue River at the entrance to the Pacific. I closed the sliding glass door around 3 because I was getting cold, and the horn went off forever for reasons I don’t know, invading my dreams. I later learned it is a foghorn, but it runs all the time because fog comes without warning. Locals don’t hear it anymore.
I later learned the low growl I heard was whale song from humpbacks off the coast. Mostly, I heard loud boats. It was a lovely, if cold, sleep.
There were no mosquitoes up yet, and the breeze was likely keeping them low, and I could see the seas were breaking higher on the breakers and beaches. The sun rose behind the hills. I had written the blog the night before and was free to enjoy the morning. I made coffee in the coffee machine using the cup that it would fill to measure, and not any measuring mark on the coffee machine, a lesson from previous use at many hotels (and soon, I understand, to be learned by Mariah).
I enjoyed the coffee, watched the morning start, saw a few boats board and start out to fish (I would always start while it is dark when I start to drown-my-worm to catch), and saw a few seals eyeing the boats for an easy meal. Soon, a slow patrol of folks trolling for salmon passed by. One guy, alone, with a lot of smoke, started fishing with bait, I think, and then spent a few minutes trying to start his outboard again when it was time to move on. He was having trouble starting it! I would never go out on our rivers and the Pacific without two ways to get safe, usually two outboards. I could not watch (he was OK; I saw later); I took my shower, dressed, packed, and loaded the EV.
Aside: On some trip, Dad took a smaller boat and me and Linda fishing. Mostly for a boat trip. I was driving and hit a sandbar, snapping the safety pin on the motor. We learned then why Dad always put the oars in the boat. He bent to the oars and got us to the dock. I felt bad (but Dad said he could have done it just as easily, since it was getting dark), but we stopped by the local bait and tackle shop and got a replacement pin. No harm, and I learned you always need a way back — two ways. A few years later, I remember pulling out the centerboard and paddling, to Dad’s surprise, when all the wind died as the sun set on Lake Victoria, and the sailboat becalmed. “Always two ways to get to the dock,” I reminded him.
I put my shells in an ice bag and put them on the Biz-Class seats. I put my laptop in my pocket and my red bag, now reloaded with my stuff, on the floor. I was still wearing boots in case we had time for a beach.
The “Buffalo Gals,” as they called themselves, were still getting organized, and I walked the dock and said good morning to the later boaters still getting organized. The number of cool boating fishfinders and comfy seats suggested these were vacation-investment fishing boats. One sported a 200-horsepower engine on a 24-foot boat, with a lesser engine for more mundane things, I imagine. That one was perfectly clean, startlingly white with white seats, and even had a windshield for a standing captain with a wheel. I thought it needed a harpoon gun or a mermaid on the front.
I met the gals, and they were ready for breakfast. I had learned since it was Labor Day that breakfast was “across the bridge,” and that Indian Creek Cafe was open and not the one across the street. We took separate cars and soon were sitting and having an American breakfast of pancakes and other griddle items at the Indian Creek Cafe. I had corned beef hash, clearly cut from a canned version and fried into a perfectly round patty. Just like Dad used to make. They did take five minutes or more to notice more customers, as they had a load of food to deliver to tables. Later, we noticed the line was nearly out the door. We timed our arrival perfectly just before 9 and headed the crowd instead of following it. Even when we finished, there was a line.
Emma and Mariah headed in her car North to Honeyman Park on the dunes near Florence, Oregon. For me, this is the holy ground where Frank Herbert thought up Dune and the planet Arrakis. I stopped in North Bend for a thirty-minute charge so I could return home without another charge. I met the Buffalo Gals on the Dunes. I managed to climb higher, but my balance made the steep last section better to admire than to experience. We all paid a $10 parking and day-use charge, but I suspect that turned into 50 cents a minute for me, since I didn’t stay long. We didn’t bring swimming gear or paddling stuff, but maybe on another trip. Still, it was worth it, and I dreamed of Arrakis and maybe writing a fan piece about a spy on Arrakis sending in a report. I have only read the first book and seen the movies, plus the made-for-TV versions (surprisingly good). I find the other books unapproachable and ignore the statements that they get better after the third one. And I only like the first half of the book. I love Empires and space opera.
With “Arrakis” in the rear-view mirror, we head towards Newport and the Oregon Aquarium. We get there around 3, and it closes at 6, but I find two to three hours is a lot of standing and looking. We rush first to the otters, the Californian ones, as it is their last feeding. They are cute and look cuddly. We then did the smaller pavilions first, with the tidal pools ready to touch a few things and marvel at little crabs and other animals that we saw in various forms of disassembly. I did try to reassemble one crab, and that became a sort of altar on the sand that we left for others to marvel at or fear.
My lighter shoes were full of dune leftovers, but I decided to leave it there to avoid filling the car with “Spice.” We enjoyed the displays, countless aquariums, and many jellies also in various forms of disassembly in the displays. The sharks are around you in a tunnel through their tank and other tanks. The halibut looked quite different than the usual breaded or baked versions I usually see. I also saw lots of large shrimp, scallops, lobsters, and other items that I usually see on a plate. They looked happy and undercooked.
We did witness one grab and reach into a hole and pull out what we believe were the remains of a former tankmate and eat it as a meal. We just watched in disbelief. The circle of life is a bit close in a tank!
We circled back and ended our visit hanging out with the otters, who were still swimming even after feeding time. We thought it was time for us to eat. We had skipped lunch. I only sang a few bars of “Under the Sea” about fish in the bowl are lucky they’re not on the plate or something like that.
To that end, we first tried Tidal Raves after driving north for thirty minutes, but there were no seats for 45 minutes; then we drove to Debot Bay and got immediate seating at the Pelican Brewery. There, I ordered fish and chips (hot enough to burn me). Emma had a steak and Mariah a burger. Beers were added to this. Key lime pie finished the meal. It was an excellent meal. No crustaceans were harmed (but the fish and cow were delicious).
That was followed by Emma joining me for a drive back home, over two hours. The EV was charged and would not require a stop. We took the Salmon Highway and then switched to crossing Chehalem Mountain. We did this in the dark, and it was full of curves; it is more interesting (and scary) during the day. We then crossed a lower Coopers Mountain to reach Beaverton. I dropped Emma off and returned home.
I had forgotten to run the dishwasher before I headed out and to take out the trash. The house smelled a bit funny when I arrived, but wtih those corrections, it was back to normal. I headed to bed soon. It was a great Holiday.
Thanks for reading.
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