I wonder if when I look back at Oregon I’ll remember how terrible and sad I felt. Probably, I’ll just remember the coast.
The sea stacks and birds, the otter that swam in the creek right below us while we hiked, the perfect swell on a bluebird day. I’ll remember the owl that watched us in the morning, the stars at night. The sun setting over the Pacific makes the sky feel bigger than anywhere else in the world— those are the sort of things I always remember.
I wasn’t sad about anything in particular, just that here we were, in a beautiful place I had been looking forward to visiting and I couldn’t be bothered to be happy enough.
In Northern Minnesota, I worked in the tourism industry. I’ve worked as a wilderness guide, in saunas, and most recently as a barista in a coffee shop. My coffee shop was perfect— tucked into the woods, serving Italian-style espresso and syrups made in-house, the kindest coworkers you could imagine. I loved the smell, and the early morning light on the piles of snow that showed up in November and lingered until May, the locals and the tourists both who would find their way in throughout the day.
And there were plenty of tourists, all in from the Twin Cities to enjoy some time up by Lake Superior.
Once, a girl in her early twenties came in and asked for a white mocha. I explained that we don’t have those here, our menu is on the board above. Later, I overheard her telling her friend that all she had wanted was a stupid white mocha and nothing had gone right all vacation and now it was ruined.
At the time I didn’t have a lot of empathy for her. I cannot produce a white mocha from thin air, and working with tourists for years has colored me jaded to the idea that anyone is entitled to a perfect vacation. It’s always the people who feel that way, that they are owed a perfect week by the employees around a tourist town by virtue of they paid for it, who are the cruelest to people just trying to do their job.
I think sometimes though we spend so much time looking forward to something, becoming excited and building it up in our heads, that when we finally get there and it isn’t magical or perfect and it’s just a normal place being experienced by just normal you we feel a little sad.
That’s what has happened with me and the entire West Coast.
A few weeks ago, Andy and I spent some time in Olympic National Park. The whole park was November empty, and the sun sent steam spiraling off moss in the rainforest, and the sunsets were perfect and the stars were so bright. We had the whole park to ourselves. We didn’t really have plans or expectations, and we barely spent any money at all, and it was a perfect few days.
In my head a trip to the Oregon Coast would be repeating the same trip, but in a different place.
Of course, that’s not how it happened. The coffee shop I had wanted to visit was unexpectedly closed due to staffing storage (ah, to be on the other side of the counter). I didn’t make enough of a plan— everything had gone so smoothly in Olympic by going with the flow, why shouldn’t it here?— that we spent too much time trying to figure out what to do that we spent less time actually doing anything and the limited daylight made everything feel extra stressed.
The Coast itself was beautiful, but I hadn’t realized how much of it was second homes, and I always find it a little depressing to drive through places filled with empty homes. My initial, surface impression of the north Oregon Coast was that it is mostly small communities swamped by transient populations of second homers and surf bums.
While there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, it was just more touristy than the areas I usually choose to adventure.
Still, I’d like to come back some day, and give the Oregon Coast another chance. I bought a book on the Oregon Coast Trail, the 400-mile through hike from the Columbia River to California. I’ve always thought I would thru-hike one day, and how nice would it be to do that by the Ocean?
Winter Camping on the Oregon Coast:
We camped at Cape Lookout State Park with beach access, plenty of tent and RV sites, and excellent bathrooms including showers. Firewood sold onsite. Cape Lookout is near Tillamook and about an hour from Cannon Beach.
It was pretty cold both nights, dropping well below freezing. We woke up to the local creeks frozen over.
Despite the temps, our tent and sleep set up held up just fine and we were almost definitely warmer than the folks in the rentable yurts.
you can find my winter/camping gear and set up here
Hiking & Sights on the North Oregon Coast
We spent most of our time in Ecola State Park and Oswald West State Park. Ecola (pictured above) is just north of Canon Beach. We did a few shorter hikes in the park and watched the surfers at Indian Beach.
all of these photos were edited with presets from my Winter Light preset (photo filter) collection, coming December 14th :)
Oswald West State Park is south of Canon Beach near the town of Manzanita—which we perfered to Canon Beach, it was a lot smaller and seemed less designed to make you spend money.
We hiked the short trail to Devils Caldron here, and then stopped at the dramatic roadside pullouts (far left above) for sunset.
Me in so, so many layers in a campground bathroom.
On our way back north, we stopped and the Lewis and Clark National Historic Park.
Some days it feels like our move to the West Coast has been mostly catastrophic. Other days though it doesn’t. Standing in the Lewis and Clark exhibit reading about the Clatsop Indigenous group on the Columbia river, inspecting the Makah canoe they had on display, the second of it’s kind I’ve seen, reminded me that in my eight months out here I’ve learned a lot.
Being around the Ocean and experiencing tidal currents and orcas all summer was otherworldly. I was able to grow a lot as a paddler and feel a lot more ocean-ready than before. I think the next time Andy and I attempt a big thru-paddle, we’ll find it a lot smoother.
two summers ago, we paddled for 70 days in British Columbia.
Through guiding and immersing ourselves in books about the history and Indigenous culture of the area, I learned a lot about the Pacific Northwest and why it looks the way it does today. I learned more about the land, water, and stories of it than I would have just passing through.
Even the culture of the Pacific Northwest, the strange way that people seem discompassionate compared to Midwest warmth I am used to, is a reminder that our country is so much larger and more varied than each of us realize from at home in our comfortable lives.
For the past five years, from Armenia to Northern Minnesota to the West Coast, I have definitely not chosen a particularly comfortable life. Lately I’ve started to crave a little bit of stability more than ever before.
Somehow, standing in the Lewis and Clark museum looking at donated Clatsop artifacts was a grounding reminder of just how valuable time living on the West Coast has been, even if it’s hard to feel it sometimes.
thanks for reading! here are some other reads :)
check out my favorite hiking trails on the Mount Baker Highway
get inspired for your winter trip by checking out the best winter travel destinations in the midwest
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