RETIREMENT TRIP#7

Whale Watching and More...

                                                                  At least 50 little fishing boats anchored in an inlet along the shore about a mile outside of Garibaldi at 8:15 a.m.  Some carried four or five people with fishing poles draped in the water.  Campers with coffee stood by their trailers on the shoreline watching the show.  Now the sign posted on the wall of our room in the motel last night made sense:

                TO OUR GUESTS: PLEASE DO NOT COOK ANY FISH OR CRAB IN YOUR ROOM.

                ALSO, PLEASE DO NOT SHELL CRAB IN YOUR ROOM,

AS IT TAKES DAYS FOR THE ROOM TO AIR OUT.

                KEEP FISH OR CRAB STORED IN YOUR COOLERS.

                CONSULT FRONT DESK STAFF FOR COOKING/CLEANING LOCATIONS.

At Wayfinding pullout, early morning fog begins to clear.

As we drove south along Route #101 toward Hebo, the morning fog lifted.  “I think it’s caused by the current,” said Andy.  “The Alaskan current offshore is cold, and the land is still warm.  It creates the morning mist—the fog bank—until the sun comes out.”

He was right.  The air was really chilly as we loaded the car and later as we stopped for pictures.

The Wayfinding pullout just south of Pacific City offered beautiful ocean views.  I admired the layers of color with Queen Anne’s lace still blooming next to the grey stone wall, red apples hanging from a tree below, the deep blue pond, a red barn and waves crashing against the blue ocean.  Even the white sand and green vegetation each added layers of color to the panorama.

We stopped at Neskowin Beach State Recreation Site to walk out to the water.  The fog had retreated somewhat.  It clung in a heavy layer just over the shoreline at 9:30 a.m.  Breakfast cooked in the lodge and restaurant nearby.  We could smell bacon and onions frying.

A prime tsunami area, Road’s End State Recreation Site warned of the dangers of giant waves caused by earthquakes off shore.  Tremors in the Cascadian Subduction Zone, some 22 to 70 miles offshore, cause repeated tidal waves that can wash several miles inland.  Some of the beach homes along the water in Lincoln City looked pretty vulnerable.  And a super heavy cloud bank right over the shoreline looked all the more ominous.

The power of ocean waves is
evident at the washout.

At D-River pullout we “toured” the shortest river in the world at its mouth.  It looked like a drainage canal.  Andy guessed the source was probably a mile away in Devil’s Lake. That makes sense:  “D” River—Devil’s Lake.  Near the point at which the water streamed out to the ocean, hundreds of gulls perched on the sand.

We stopped for coffee in Lincoln City, hoping the overcast would clear out.  Unfortunately, no such luck.  It was pretty well socked in…but just along the coast.

At Gleneden Beach we saw the effects of ocean waves. An entire end of one fence, undermined from below, hung in the air.  The street had been washed away about 50 vertical feet and the cottages on the other side stood precariously close to the sandy cliff.  Huge boulders piled at the base looked like someone’s attempt to preserve a home. “That owner spent a lot of money,” said Andy, “but it was pretty much in vain.  Those houses are going to go!”

Boiler Beach offers incredible views of a power sea.

At Fogerty Creek the sun made a valiant attempt to squeeze through penny-sized openings of blue sky.  Out on the beach a lady sat in the sand with a plastic sifter.  “I’m looking for agates,” she explained.  A small school group combed the seaweed, apparently searching for plant samples.  I watched a cormorant bob up and down in search of tasty morsels.
“If you look that direction,” coaxed Andy, “you’ll see a blow hole spout every so often.”

I waited for the cormorant to reappear and for the blow hole to spout off.

Waves ceaselessly pound the coast at Cape Foulweather.

The next stop was Boiler Beach.  The grey skies were so disappointing, until someone yelled, “Over there,” and pointed out to sea. 

I had been watching a small boat with three people on board.  Two in orange vests stood on the deck and a third balanced as a spotter on a forward platform.  Andy thought initially they were fishermen. 

“

Each view is more spectacular than the last along
Oregon's rugged coastline.

There,” the voice called again, and we saw a whale spout.  Then a couple others surfaced.  We watched for at least 15 minutes, fascinated by the action.  I even got a picture of one swimming by the boat.  It had to be a whale watching vessel.

At Depoe Bay, the Whale Watch Beach was crowded with people.  We found parking, but the best shot wasn’t of whales.  It was the coast line adjoining the beach.

“It’s ironic that Cape Foulweather has the best weather of the day,” said Andy, as we got out of the car.  Others were bundled, but it was almost warm enough to shed jackets.
We walked the crest trail and looked for whales.  An old grey whale surfaced long enough for me to snap a picture, but we never saw the little seal that some said resided down below on the rocks.

Waves crash against the
shoreline at Otter Crest.

Four more whales were feeding off Otter Crest Viewpoint.  Not only did they surface, but every so often we would see the spray spout.  To the left, gigantic breakers hit the rock ledge, sending spray in huge showers.  “It’s a good thing I don’t live here,” I told Andy.  “I would be glued to the binoculars!”  I didn’t want to leave.

Driftwood logs form a beach shelter
and a posing prop for Andy.

“We’re really high up now,” said Andy at the next loop pullout.  We could see the Devil’s Punchbowl from the top of the crest.

At the Cape Foulweather Gift Shop, where I bought lighthouse salt and pepper shakers six years ago, elderly viewers crowded the windows to watch grey whales feed right along the coast.

This is one of many grey whales feeding
along the Oregon Coast.

Closer into town were more whales, more views of Devil’s Punchbowl and a few more tourists.  The sun broke through, warming the air enough to shed jackets, but a foggy mist cut off the beautiful blue for photography.

This stump belongs to a Sitka spruce
that was 4,100 years old.

A huge log jam blocked the mouth of Spencer Creek where it dumped into the ocean.  Since the tide was going out, we managed to pick a path across the rounded rocks and jump across the water to sandy dryness.  There an ancient stump covered the ground.  The mass of petrified wood once supported a Sitka spruce, buried in the sand when it dropped off into the sea.  Preserved for 4,100 years it surfaced in 1998 and was washed down to the mouth of Spencer Creek in 1999.

Yaquina Head Light Station dominates the promontory.

On the other side, visitors had built two beach shelters out of piled driftwood, a lady tossed tennis balls for a golden retriever, and a group of about 20 college-aged kids played beach soccer against an ocean and cliff backdrop.  One team rallied when a female player earned them a penalty kick.

Yaquina Head Lighthouse charged admission to the park, but visitors with Golden Age passports were free.  I guess it’s nice to be old!
Yaquina Head is a narrow, coastal headland formed by ancient lava flows.  The basalt cliffs and coves have endured the pounding ocean surf for 14 million years.

Flowers cling to the rock
in the cleft of the cliff at
Yaquina Head Light Station.

We walked to the Light Station, built in the early 1870’s, after finding parking in the crowded lot and then took Lighthouse Trail to Cobble Beach.  Volunteer Guide Linette showed us pictures of tide pool creatures.  A rocky, intertidal ecosystem, Cobble Beach teams with life—sea stars, urchins, anemones, whelks and small fish.

Sea anemone and sea urchins
decorate the tidal basin at
Yaquina Head Light Station.

We spent an easy 45 minutes balancing on the trillions of rounded rocks that lined the beach and exploring the tide pools for mussels, sea anemones, urchins and whelks.  Twice I sat down unexpectedly as pebbles tumbled under my feet, but the barnacles made for secure footing at the water’s edge.

Resistant basalt piles weather the waves outside of
Yaquina Head Light Station.

The area was first identified by Captain James Cook, when he anchored approximately ten miles offshore on March 7, 1778.  President Andrew Jackson signed an Executive Order in 1866 that set aside 19 acres for a light station to be constructed at Yaquina Head.  Finally, in 1980, a 100-acre site was established by Congress as an Outstanding Natural Area to be managed by the Bureau of Land Management.

A seal rests on the rocks of Quarry Cove at low tide. His
camouflage coloring blends perfectly with the rocky coast. 

At the end of the Quarry Cove Trail near the base of the basalt cliff, an elderly lady from Portland helped us identify a grey harbor seal resting on the rocks.  “It’s unusual to see him there at low tide,” said the lady.  “The ranger was saying that someone heard it coughing so it could be sick.”  He blended in perfectly with the rock.


By late afternoon the Port of Newport
is quiet, except for the sea lions.

Late in the day we parked in downtown Newport at Yaquina Bay.  It was a long and sandy walk across the beach to the water, but from the shoreline we could see all the way up the beach ten miles to the lighthouse on Yaquina Head.

With their own platforms for sleeping,
sea lions recline on the dock
at Newport waterfront.

From Newport Harbor we heard the tremendous yakking of seals.  What a racket!  “How could anyone sleep in this town?” asked Andy. 

Exiting the car and walking a few blocks to the scene of the racket, we learned the truth.  Sea lions, not seals, have taken over the Port of Newport.
Sea Lions have ear flaps and large front flippers which they use to move on land and swim.  California Sea Lions are dark brown and sound like barking dogs.  Steller Sea Lions, a federally threatened species, have light brown or auburn fur and sound much like roaring lions.  Seals, unlike sea lions, lack external ear flaps and have smaller flippers.  On land they move clumsily by flopping on their bellies in an undulating motion called galumphing, but in the water they gracefully propel themselves with their rear flippers.

Lining the dock area were hundreds of sea lions, all squawking for dock space and fighting for room.  We read informative signs in the viewing area:  males grow up to 1,000 pounds and eat 5% to 8% of their body weight a day.  Squid, octopus and fish is the preferred diet.  And that’s at least 50 pounds a day!  Females often reach 250 pounds in weight.
Like us, the tourists were fascinated with their angry antics.
But it's no wonder fishermen hate sea lions!