We left the rush of 1-5 below Eugene, Oregon and headed for Reedsport and to Coos Bay on the coast.  It felt, honestly, like we had entered another zone. I felt eight again, maybe nine: time had stood still.  We were in the backseat of the family car, taking country roads to the ocean. Our destination then was the coast of Maryland.  It is immediately different here on Hwy 38, and so are you.

My sister, Maggie, and I decided we would take this route to Coos Bay to honor our brother.  It would be in homage after his passing and in quest of understanding his life there. This is the same route Maggie took from Portland when she visited George years ago.  You follow the Umpqua River until it meets the Pacific and turns south to Coos Bay and Charleston. They are sister cities it seemed to me. She was very young then and reminisced about hightailing it out of Portland after work on a Friday. She would be full speed through the hills and around the curves that hug the river.

Once you have hit the coast you turn south and head for Coos Bay or Charleston right below it. This is where you come for sand crusted on your feet and with your hair left wild.  There are restaurants here where they catch the fish fresh for you. Or if you like, there are boats that will take you out to catch your dinner yourself.  You can also pick up fresh crab at Fisherman’s Wharf on the D docks.  They’ll clean them for you, too, if you want to take them back with you or you can eat them right there.  We opted for a restaurant. And as always with my sister, she ordered, dessert. Three huge scoops of the best strawberry  ice cream ever. 

This is where you come for sand crusted on you feet and with your hair left wild.  There are restaurants here where they catch the fish fresh for you. Or if you like, there are boats that will take you out to catch your dinner yourself. https://www.portofcoosbay.com/marinahome/ I get the feeling that people here know each other, probably since kindergarten. There are back places which I wasn’t able to explore in such a short trip but where you would find the locals, some old timers, outlaws, too, maybe.

There is pristine, untouched land here on the coast and if you are lucky enough to be stay for a while,  there is Sunset Bay State Park, the Botanical Garden, Bastendorff Beach and Shore Acres State Park, all in short distance by following the same Cape Arago Hwy.  There is surfing, kayaking, whale and bird watching , scuba diving if you arrange it.

Maggie and I wanted to visit all the places that she and George hung outwhen she visited long ago. We started the day with a drive to the pinacle of the high overlook of Bastendorff Beach.  Below  you could see all the campers along the beach.  Still early morning, we visited Sunset Bay and walked out on the rocks that are exposed during low tide.  There are several lookout points at Shore Acres State Park and walked some trails.  These are the familiar trails of Western Oregon that canopy you with high trees and thick vegetation and make you feel like you might be all alone.  All alone, except for the loud sea otters far below on the rocks.  In the open again, above the waves, we sat on picnic benches watching the whales come out of the sea.

It was 4 o’clock.  In all our activity  we didn’t  realized we hadn’t eaten since early morning.  We were clueless why not one of the doors of the restaurants in Charleston would open to us until the owner of the only open coffee shop told us Charleston “just closes down on Mondays.”  We passed again the general store, the bacon restaurant, the sign in front of the old house that said “Bonk and Bonk, Investigators” and stopped at the first place we came to in Coos Bay to  eat, before taking a walk around the waterfront.   Leaving the Coos Bay area you will cross the Conde McCullough Memorial Bridge (National Register of Historic Bridges), reminiscent to me of  the many beautiful old bridges to be found in Oregon.

Less than three hours later we were again at Arlene’s Cafe in Elkton, Oregon, eating blackberry pie.  It was that blackberry time of year in Oregon.  I stopped there again to revisit the river.  We had been there just the day before, on the way down, and walked out on the leveled rocks, crossing one and then another.  If you looked west or downstream at the bend of the river, there was a family on the rocks and others swimming in the water, their voices and laughter drifting up to you.  If you looked East, there was a man and a woman with fishing poles  sitting on lawn chairs.  But now it was Monday and there was no one, only me, wanting to relive a soft Sunday afternoon on the Umpqua River.

So now, over blackberry pie, homemade crust, berries high, I asked Maggie if  this crazy trip had been OK for her.  Was it meaningful?   Did she have any fun? She turned her head slightly away and answered with a little longing,  “I want to come back.”  To which I added, “Magical!”