Travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world

  Journey Through the Southern Oregon Coast

The minute we rolled into Brookings, the air changed. It wasn’t just the salty mist rolling in from the Pacific or the towering pines bending slightly in the breeze—it was the raw, electric energy of adventure. The coastline stretched before us, wild and untouched, daring us to explore every hidden corner.

Our first stop was Harris Beach State Park, and it hit us like a wake-up call from nature itself. The waves, relentless and unyielding, slammed against the towering sea stacks, sending white spray into the air like ocean fireworks. We scrambled over jagged rocks, searching tide pools alive with neon sea stars and darting fish. The ocean’s rhythm became our own—we felt its pulse in every step, every breath.

Lone Ranch Beach stretched like an open canvas, waiting for us to carve our adventure into the sand. The wind surged forward, urging us to race against it. We sprinted along the shore, dodging incoming waves and kicking up plumes of sand. A flock of seagulls burst into the sky as we passed, their cries blending with our own laughter.

We climbed higher, winding up the rugged path to Cape Ferrelo Viewpoint. The trail was steep, cutting through dense evergreens, but we barely noticed—we were too focused on what lay ahead. When we finally emerged from the forest, the world unfolded before us. The coastline stretched infinitely, waves crashing below in a never-ending roar. We stood there, breathing in the salty air, feeling invincible.

Weaving through the Samuel H. Boardman Scenic Corridor was like flipping through the pages of a living storybook. Around each bend, the cliffs plunged into the sea, revealing hidden coves, secret beaches, and rock formations sculpted by centuries of wind and water.

Whaleshead Beach was something else entirely—untamed, powerful, and alive. The rock formations loomed like ancient sentinels, battered by years of storms and tides. We climbed onto the largest outcrop, watching the waves crash beneath us with breathtaking ferocity. The sea demanded respect, and we gave it willingly, standing in awe of its raw beauty.

The Oregon Coast Trail took us through a forest of tall pines and moss-covered stones, with the scent of earth and salt in the air. As we hiked deeper, shadows from the thick canopy and distant waves crashing mixed with rustling leaves. We occasionally saw deer or heard hawks.

As the trail ascended, we reached a viewpoint overlooking the Pacific Ocean under the afternoon sun where seagulls soared over cliffs. After resting, the landscape changed from dense woods to rugged terrain and the salt scent grew stronger, signaling our approach to the destination. We arrived at a secluded beach where waves lapped the shore and smooth pebbles lay beneath our feet, marking the end of our journey along the Oregon Coast Trail.

Arch Rock rose before us like a portal to another world. The ocean had carved this monolith with patient hands over centuries, leaving behind a masterpiece of stone and space. Waves surged through its hollow heart, each crash echoing in the air like nature’s applause. Miner Creek trickled nearby, its waters cool and crisp as we dipped our fingers in, watching the ripples spread outward, mirroring the feeling of discovery in our own hearts.

The moment we arrived at Natural Bridges Viewpoint, we understood why it was legendary. Below us, arches of stone bridged the churning waters, connecting cliffs like nature’s own masterpiece. We stood in silent admiration, watching as the waves rushed through, carving deeper, shaping the coast, shaping time itself.

Gold Beach had wide, sandy stretches that appeared golden under the late afternoon sun. The ocean waves reached the shore, their rhythmic sounds calming and continuous. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the sea, mingling with the warmth of the sun on our skin. Seagulls called out as they soared above, completing the picturesque scene. 

As the sky burned in hues of fiery red and deep violet, we knew this adventure had marked us forever. The Oregon coast had tested us, thrilled us, embraced us, and changed us. We weren’t just travelers—we were part of something greater. Something wild. Something infinite

Oyster Shooters

The salty ocean breeze met us as we pulled into South Beach State Park, the rhythmic crash of waves promising adventure ahead. Newport’s rugged coastline stretched before us, the vast Pacific shimmering under the late afternoon sun.

Without hesitation, we grabbed our gear and made our way to the shore. The sand was warm beneath our feet, the wind tangling our hair as gulls soared overhead. We wandered down the coastline, stopping to watch surfers carve through the waves with effortless grace. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to the air, and every step carried the thrill of the unknown.

As the sun dipped lower, we hiked toward the Yaquina Bay Bridge, its towering steel frame glowing in the golden light. The horizon burned bright, waves rolling in with a steady rhythm as we soaked in the moment. The calls of sea lions echoed from the docks, their playful barks filling the air.

Hunger led us to South Beach Fish Market, a local gem bursting with fresh seafood and a laid-back charm that made it feel like a hidden treasure. The counter was lined with trays of the day's best catch—gleaming crab legs, fillets of rockfish, and oysters nestled in their briny shells. We ordered a feast: golden, crispy fish and chips, tender crab cakes sizzling on the grill, and, of course, raw oyster shooters served ice-cold.

The oysters arrived in small plastic cups, each one a perfect bite of the ocean, smooth and delicate with just enough brine to awaken the senses. A squeeze of lemon added a sharp brightness, while the cocktail sauce delivered a tangy kick. We tipped them back in one smooth motion, the taste unfolding in layers—cold, fresh, exhilarating.

Morning arrived with a crisp bite, and the wild Pacific put on a show. Fog clung to the shoreline, mist rising as the waves crashed against jagged rocks. The ocean was alive with movement, its restless rhythm undeterred by time. We made one last trek to the shore, breathing in the untamed beauty of Newport, knowing that this place—this moment—was one we wouldn’t forget.

  Wandering the Wild Coast

The morning mist hung low over Manzanita as we set out, the scent of salt and pine mingling in the crisp air. The small town, nestled between the rolling waves and forested cliffs, felt like a gateway to something vast and untamed.

At Nehalem Campground, we unpacked beneath the tall evergreens. The trees stretched high into the sky, their leaves whispering in the breeze. We set up our tent and arranged our belongings, creating a cozy little haven amidst nature’s grandeur. That night, as darkness enveloped us, we listened to firewood crackling and the ocean's distant roar—comforting sounds for our restless spirits. The campfire cast flickering shadows on the ground, painting a serene picture as its warmth embraced us. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore added a soothing backdrop to our evening, making us feel deeply connected to the wild beauty around us.

Our first trek took us to Neahkahnie Viewpoint, where we observed the coastline and the vast Pacific Ocean extending into the horizon. The wind was strong as we stood on the edge, appreciating the expansive view. The crashing waves below created a rhythmic symphony, blending with the calls of distant seabirds. The landscape around us was dotted with rugged cliffs and lush greenery, painting a picture of nature’s raw beauty. We stood there, taking it all in, feeling a deep connection to this awe-inspiring place.

Short Sand Beach greeted us with golden sand and waves crashing against cliffs. The horizon stretched infinitely, where the ocean met the sky in a breathtaking display of nature's beauty. We could feel the cool ocean breeze on our faces as we walked along the shore, soaking in the serene atmosphere.

The South Beach Access Trail led to another secluded shore with tide pools and water patterns in the sand. The trail meandered through lush greenery and offered glimpses of wildlife, creating a sense of adventure and discovery. Upon reaching the shore, we found intricate patterns etched in the sand by the receding tides, and tide pools teeming with marine life. It was a magical place that invited exploration and reflection.

Arcadia Beach offered a moment of stillness, the sky brushed with hues of sunset as we sat in the damp sand, watching the tide shift and the last light scatter across the waves. Cannon Beach, with its iconic monolith standing defiantly against time, felt like a return to civilization—if only for a moment. The town’s quaint streets and flickering neon signs welcomed us, promising comfort before the next journey began.

Crescent Beach Trail led us through dense vegetation to another beach, where our footprints appeared insignificant against the backdrop of the land. The vibrant green foliage contrasted sharply with the golden sands, creating a picturesque scene that felt untouched by time. We marveled at the variety of plant life and listened to the symphony of birdsong accompanying our steps along the trail.

The Indian Beach Trail took us to cliffs with the ocean below, where the waves formed caves. The sheer drop was both thrilling and awe-inspiring, as we peered over the edge to watch the powerful surf crashing into rocky crevices, carving out intricate formations in the rock over centuries. The scent of saltwater filled the air, mingling with the scent of pine from the trees lining the cliffs.

Finally, at Indian Beach, we stood near the shore, taking in the salty air and noting the potential for exploration. The expansive shoreline stretched before us, inviting adventures among the tide pools and hidden coves. We felt a sense of tranquility as we watched seabirds swoop gracefully above the waves, their calls adding to the symphony of nature surrounding us. This place offered endless possibilities for discovering marine life and unearthing treasures washed ashore by the relentless sea.

We left with sand in our shoes, stories clinging to our skin like remnants of the sea, and the quiet promise that one day, we’d return.

Erie Fog  

The drive to Champoeg State Park carried the promise of tranquility, the rolling Oregon countryside stretching wide under a mid-afternoon sun. We arrived with golden light filtering through the towering oaks, casting long shadows as we pulled into our site. The scent of earth and river greeted us, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves stirred by the autumn breeze.

Eager to explore, we set up camp then quickly hit the trails, the warmth of the day settling into the land like a gentle embrace. Wildflowers dotted the path, their bright colors standing out against the lush greenery. Every step felt like a journey into the past, where whispers of Oregon’s early settlers lingered among the trees. The Willamette River, steady and timeless, carried reflections of sky and history in its slow-moving waters.

By evening, we settled into our Airstream travel trailer, observing as twilight transitioned into a sky filled with stars and clouds. Our brief stay at Champoeg offered an opportunity to explore historical significance, connect with nature, and recognize that certain locations possess narratives worth revisiting.

Morning arrived early wrapped in an eerie stillness. The world outside our campsite had disappeared, swallowed in a dense, rolling fog that clung to the riverbanks and twisted through the trees like something alive. Shapes blurred, shadows shifted, and the quiet became something deeper, more mysterious. As we packed up and drove out, the fog turned the landscape into a dream—ghostly silhouettes of oaks fading in and out, the road vanishing just ahead before revealing itself once more.