"When it clears, it's really pretty," said Andy as the sun popped out. The metal roof of a barn sparkled and horses, draped in wet blankets, grazed contentedly along Route #20 as we headed back toward the coast. A lumber truck zipped past, sending splats of water from the puddles against our windshield. Deep green blanketed the hills of the coastal range with interspersed patterns of lighter ferns, yellow aspen and gold maple. A few puffy white clouds dotted the blue overhead. "We should just about get to Newport when the next rain wave comes in," said Andy."Poetic justice," I told him. "I just composed descriptions about the sunny day."
Cape Foulweather, named by Captain James Cook in 1778 when he couldn't even land, lived up to its name this morning. But sun broke through momentarily at Yaquina Bay Lighthouse, built in 1871. "I'd move in right now," Andy told the gift shop volunteer.
"You and a very long list of others, and you'd be at the bottom of the list," she answered. In the early 1870's, Yaquina Bay was a choice appointment for Charles and Sarah Peirce and their nine children, West Point friends of Ulysses S. Grant.
A young couple stood looking out to sea at Ona Beach, their fishing poles propped against a boulder. "I've lived here all my life, and I've never seen this before," said the young man. It was nearing high tide. The waves broke and washed into a tidal inlet, flooding the beach above the treeline. "We got caught by a big one just a few minutes ago." Just then a small black spot appeared in the surf. Just as quickly it bobbed out of sight. "That's a seal out fishing," said the man. "No use staying here. He's getting all the salmon that head for this inlet."
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