"For a little state population-wise, Oregon does an amazing job with its parks and waysides," said Andy as we walked along Newport Beach just before dark. The tide was out and several couples walked dogs and played fetch with rubber balls and sticks.
Prepared for miserable weather, we decided not to travel too far from the spectacular ocean backdrop. But instead of rain this morning, we woke to blue skies and sunshine. So today was a time to retrace our travels, catch the morning rays and revisit the overlooks of yesterday from Neskowin Beach to the Devil's Punchbowl.
At North Fogarty Creek Andy skimmed the information board and headed toward the water. I stopped on the sand to snap photos. "The tide is going out," he called from the basalt island rock extension just offshore. The information board warned about sneak waves, driftwood logs, submerged rocks and rising tides.
I looked up. He stood half way up the rock outcropping, maybe 15 feet above the water, grinning and waving. I snapped another picture.
Just then a series of waves crashed behind the island, swelling high and sending spray every direction. Andy shrugged his shoulders. Picking his way down the rocks, he was ready to start back on the narrow isthmus between rock and beach. But now there was no isthmus.
"Take off your shoes," I yelled over the roar of the water.
He held up his hands and looked around for a way back. He was marooned on the island.
Cupping my hands, I called again, "Just take off your shoes!"
Instead, he waited through four or five waves. With each one the water filled in a little more. With the ebb after the fifth breaker, he dashed across the partially submerged sand bar.
"Low tide, huh?" I teased. His pants showed a high water mark around the ankles and his shoes squished and bubbled with each step.
"It was, I swear," he insisted. "In Tillamook this morning it was high because the whole bay was filled in. I should have just waited a little longer."
"Yeah, right," I said. "And I got a picture!"
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