While I had come to Portland to check out the town, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to look around a little, especially at the coast. I live just two hours from a popular coastline, in North Carolina, but those miles of flat golden sand don’t attract me. I like my coasts rocky, with cliffs and coves and breakers. The Oregon coast sounded perfect.
KC had kindly volunteered to drive, and I had made us a reservation at a hotel in Cannon Beach, planning a route via Astoria. This was prime Lewis and Clark territory, and I was a little stunned to realize that their epic trek across the continent, so much more laborious and adventurous than mine, had occurred just two hundred years ago. For someone who grew up in England, two hundred years is nothing, and yet it encompasses the whole history of European settlement in the Pacific Northwest. The history of the preceeding millennia seems to have been largely lost (I should put in another plug for the book “1491”, which would suggest that the history was lost because of the devastating epidemics that wiped out most of the existing population).
Astoria turned out to be a nice enough small town, definitely a tourist destination, but with some pretty older houses. Its main attraction was the Astoria Column, a tower memorializing the history of the area erected in 1926. We dutifully climbed the 164 steps, and the views were quite good, although the coastline here, at the mouth of the Columbia, was decidedly flat.
We had coffee in town, and I picked up a brochure that mentioned a waterfall south of town. Well, I can never resist a waterfall, so we set off in pursuit. And it was a pursuit, the waterfall being several miles away down a remote road. A pickup turned off the rural highway just ahead of us, and then left, and I did feel a little nervous as we ate our lunchtime sandwiches by the otherwise admirable waterfall. What if the driver came back with another guy and a gun? Such thoughts never occur to me in Europe or Asia, but I do feel more vulnerable in the U.S.
Getting back on the main road we made a stop at Fort Clatsop, to pay homage to Lewis and Clark. I had previously encountered Meriwether Lewis at the end of his life, on the Natchez Trace Pathway, and was pleased to connect with this earlier, triumphant, phase of his story. The fort, the expedition’s winter quarters, didn’t look especially comfortable, but was certainly better than tents. I hadn’t previously realized just how professional the party had been, manned by the equivalent of today’s Seal Team Six.
The weather had turned cold and damp, perhaps to give a more realistic feel to the reconstructed fort, but not the best conditions for Cannon Beach. The Wayside Hotel, however, proved a real find. Our suite not only had a separate bedroom with two queen beds, a full kitchenette and a balcony, but TWO bathrooms. We had arrived at a resort town ahead of the season, and at mid-week, so not everywhere was open, and dinner choices were a bit restricted.
The next morning we woke to much nicer weather: windy but clear. Although we would overnight in the Willamette Valley, we spent most of the day exploring the coast, from the State Park north of Cannon Beach, via the Tillamook Creamery, to the Three Capes drive. I was seriously disappointed by the creamery, although I suppose it was silly to expect any kind of artisinal production in such a much-publicized operation. The factory was clean and efficient, and the cheese not bad, if you like cheddar, but not my style.
KC was pleased by the cheese, and by Cannon Beach, which I found overly touristy, although admittedly it was high-end touristy. Expensive glass and paintings rather than kitschy souvenirs were for sale, and steak and salmon dominated the menus. The coast itself, however, I found nicely dramatic, at least in some parts. I was glad to have seen it, but still preferred Cornwall or Pembrokeshire.
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