Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 39: Beverly Beach and Otter Rock

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Now, we're on the northbound leg out of Newport on Hwy 101 and the going-home energy is gathering. I didn't know it quite yet, but it was there.

There are a number of just-offshore rocks along the beach just north of the Yaquina Head promontory. They're visible as you tool past on 101, and a good place to look at them is at the state recreation area just in that area, Beverly Beach.

This is a beach access I know of from little-kid time, and it has changed greatly. Yurts didn't exist then, it it has one; we walked past it after we used the toilet. It looked comfortable. Oh, and public toilet there? Immaculate. Highly recommended. 

Coming into the area, you roll up to a manned pay station and sort of a gatehouse. The day-use area is, however, free and that's where we were here. There's a little arched bridge, totally Oregon State Park style, over this small stream, which is called Spencer Creek. Getting to the beach is quick and easy as going under that McCullough-esque bridge you see in the picture above.

I took the opportunity to zoom in on that rock just off-shore through the bridge arch.

That little mesa out there just beyond the surf is the eponymous thing that eponymed the adjacent community of Otter Rock - that is to day, it is Otter Rock. 

I didn't find if there're any otters on it that day, though. I was pleased just to be able to look. 

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 29: The Devil's Churn

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This is a spot worth seeing, and we felt emotions worth feeling.

There seem to be a surplus of places in wild area's like this named for the Devil. God may own the world, I guess, but the Devil's doing well enough to get naming rights to things. The Devil has a Punchbowl up near Otter Rock, and a Churn just south of Yachats.

Maybe that's where he gets his butter, who knows? 

But, in seriousness, what the Devil's Churn is, is a very very small inlet of the ocean. A very long time ago, the Pacific started worrying at a small crevice in the rocky shore. That crevice became a cave, which probably collapsed to form a crevasse, and in which the ocean's surf just kept working away at until it gets very narrow and very dramatic.

It is said that the incoming waves impacting the narrow end of the crevasse can send spray up hundreds of feet, but even if it isn't doing that, it's still impressive to watch. 

I can still hear the crashing of the water coming in.

This is a few minutes south of Yachats on US 101, though if you aren't familiar with the craggy shore, it might seem like forever. Leaving Yachats means the end of the friendly, flat and open shore of the central Coast and Lincoln County for the aggressively uncompromising crags of Cape Perpetua. This is USFS land, and is managed by the US Government. The wayside is comfortable and impressive, and offers this great view.

But you have to have a little bit of guts to drive that stretch of OCH. There's precious little shoulder on the seaward side, which drops straight away; this caused me to grip the door handle a little more firmly on the way down, the Brown Eyed Girl (in the pilot's seat) to be similarly wary on the way back, and both of us, I think, to respect the existential practicality of the average Oregon Coast resident, who countenances this sort of thing on a daily basis.

They always did seem to be the doughty sorts.

The wayside lets you get, to a degree, a bit up-close and personal with the business end of the Churn. It's most impressive and you get a sense of the power there.

It's not a thing to be taken lightly. One can go down there; there's nobody to stop you, but it's terribly easy to get yourself messed up permanently. Not long after we visited a vacationer from Walnut Creek, California decided to explore up toward the end of the chute and lost his life after slipping and falling because of a split second's inattention. Best to stay back and take pictures, I think. 

On a more cheerful level, this was something of a peak experience for the Brown Eyed Girl. She comes from a long line of women who have had a long operating love affair with the forces of nature at work, and the crashing of the surf into the end of the channel has always had a special allure for her. She could gaze at this particular place for hours, entranced by the natural power at work here and I, taking my cue from her reverence, began to listen for the heartbeat of nature here both aurally and visually. 

As a girl, she was beholden to the whims and plans of adults as to how she came here and how long they stayed. This day, she was in the pilots' seat, and she said when we came and when we went. I was along for the ride at this point, and that was fine with me, because she was sharing this dear and mighty thing that was so very special to her. The drive back north - this was as far south as we were destined to go on this visit - created a vivid memory, one I'll never forget, of a placid happiness that was quite unique. 

That of reaching out to grab something of great value, holding on to it until one is ready to let go, and not before, and not on anyone else's word. 

The day-use area, a bit of which is pictured here above, is well-kept and comfortable even if you're just stopping by for a short visit. There's an adjacent RV parking area which you can use overnight for dropping a small bit of cash into the collection box, which we did, because why not? The place gave us both a dear memory that'll last the rest of our collective lives, and that's worth something, and a few bucks to help the cause is a minuscule price to pay for that.

The experience and memory is something that one doesn't think they'll discover after more than 30 years as part of a couple: a new shared experience that lines up next to the mileposts that one passed when one was part of a new couple. 

It's part of how those who are lucky enough to grow aged keep a little bit of youth along for the ride. That's worth it. 

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary), Part 27: Port-land, Oregon

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The symmetry of this sign pleases me greatly.

Portland is a city in Oregon, but Oregon is a Port-land as well. Waldport, Newport, here a port, there a port, everywhere a port-port.

The way the traffic has to access the bridge requires that the arrow for Newport points toward Waldport, and the one point to Waldport, Newport. Do not be misled ... or if you are, at least have fun with it. 

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 26: We Headed for Waldport After This Picture, Promise

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... however, I never promised I wouldn't ever post another picture of the Yaquina Bay Bridge, and that's a not-promise I never not am intending to not ... ah, break.

The narrow angle with the roadway (taken from the loop road around and under the bridge and next to that entrance to Yaquina Bay State Park) provides the visual punch and, not coincidentally, highlights the handsome styling of the bridge piers and supports.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 25: 2 Yaquina Bay 2 Bridge

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This is from the other side of the highway, on the street that leads down to the Newport bayfront.

I told you I was stupid in love with this bridge. 

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 24: The Yaquina Bay Bridge

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Bayside cities are defined by their bridges. Newport hit the lottery jackpot here.

Carrying US 101 over the mouth of Yaquina Bay, the bridge could be iconic of the general design of almost all notable coastal bridges: the arches, the combination of Art Deco and Art Moderne design motifs, the simple efficiency and the understated yet remarkable beauty. All these were the design gifts of the vision of Conde McCulloch, who came to Oregon in the early part of the 20th Century.

This bridge was built across the mouth of Yaquina Bay in 1936, and I am stupid in love with it.

Connecting the bluff of the town area of Newport with the flats of South Beach, it has only two lanes, which undoubtedly gets kind of awkward during rush hours in Newport; the highway north of the bridge is four lanes of arterial boulevard. 

I imagine they'll eventually, sooner rather than later, have to replace this bridge. That'll be kind of a sad thing, because it's beautiful in its geometric perfection. 

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary): Part 22: 3,365 Miles To Boston

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The longest road in America has one end in Oregon, in Newport. It goes by many local names across the width of the State: SW 4th Avenue in Ontario, NE Greenwood Avenue in Bend, Main Street in Sweet Home and Lebanon, SE Santiam Blvd in Albany, SW Philomath Blvd in Corvallis, and Main Street again in Philomath. 

When it enters Newport, it becomes East Olive Street before it ends at Hwy 101. If you're in the mind to wander down a long road, though, there's a sign there that invites you to try:

In the interests of symmetry, there's a similar sign at the other end of the road: Kenmore Square, Boston, near Fenway Park, has a sign that will tell you it's 3,365 miles to Newport, Oregon.

We're fair that way in America.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 17: A Piece Of Hwy 101 In L.C.

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This is US 101, the main street of Lincoln City, as you approach the D River Crossing at the middle of town:

Note that I said the middle, not the center. Lincoln City doesn't have a center. It has four or five of them. 

L.C. is a town of towns. In 1965, the communities of Oceanlake, Delake, Nelscott, Taft, and Cutler City, some organized towns and some not, decided they were stronger as a unit than they were separately so, like big stones on a bangle bracelet, they unified. Lincoln City was chosen by vote because it was seen as arrogant to name it after one of the larger towns. And so it became, a small town on the Oregon Coast that was scarely a mile wide ... but was about seven miles long.

And the string that holds those pearls together is US 101 (as a matter of fact, one of the rubrics for each urban center that strings together in L.C. is just that, pearls. They know what they have there, I guess).

Now this may seem a little daffy, but for me, for a visit to the beach, one of the simpler pleasures is watching the miles of L.C. roll by via a car window; watching the numbered streets count down from 40th Street in the north (at least that's where 101 joins the grid) to D River then up 69th Street in the south. 

And a picture of cars along 101 as you go through that gangly long town is one of the fondest memories I have.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) part 15: Breakfast At Lil' Sambos

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This is both just a restaurant and more like a landmark. It also comes with a bit of controversy in the world of today, an interesting history, a certain misconception, and no small amount of affection.

After waking in Tillamook and driving south down 101 to Lincoln City, we decided it was well past time for a real breakfast. Like legions of people who grew up in the mid-Willamette Valley the place we usually found ourselves larking of to to see the beach was the central coast, and that meant Lincoln County, and that meant, for starters, Lincoln City.

I'm old enough that I dined as a kid at what was then called Lil' Black Sambo's, a family restaurant whose brand was taken from Scottish writer and illustrator Helen Bannerman's 1899 children's tale of a clever Indian boy who escaped being bullied by tigers by convincing them to chase tail 'round a tree until they melted down into ghee, which was then enjoyed on pancakes by the protagonist's family. And the old restaurant would serve us kids pancakes with a side of 'tiger butter'. 

Latterly, it has evolved slightly. It's now simply Lil' Sambo's, the protagonist being elided in favor of the tigers, and has lived through a fire that destroyed the building in 2004 and the 2019-now pandemic. Located at 3262 NE Hwy 101 in the Oceanlake district, it has a spiffy, more modern building built on the footprint of the old ... and a proud tiger with his stolen shorts and parasol marching on top of the sign out front. 

The interior has mementos from its now-64-year history of being in the main drag in L.C., and the decor is all about the tiger.

There is also a trinket-filled gift shop part of the restaurant, because selling such things is what you do when you've been a landmark as long as that.

The history of the business is pure 20th Century Oregon Coast. It actually exists because the Pixie Kitchen did. The Pixie Kitchen is a coastal legend that existed from 1953 to 1985 in the same area of L.C. and was the place for families with kids to stop at through the 50s and 60s (I still have fond memories of the funhouse mirrors they used to have near the dining room entry). They didn't serve breakfasts, though, so in 1957 two of their cooks opened a spot called "Pixie Pancakes" a little ways down 101. 

The restaurant history does not mention when they decided to brand as "Lil' Black Sambos" or when they decided to omit the word black from the name. 

There's another misapprehension about the name, in as much as there was once a national 24-hour diner chain called Sambo's. The name similarity tends to suggest to people that Lil' Sambos was once part of this, but that never has been, indeed, the national chain's name was derived from its two founders, Sam Battistone Jr and Newell Bohnett, and not from the children's story (though that didn't prevent them from also trading on the images from Little Black Sambo for a while). 

I really ought to mention the food, because that is, indeed why we stopped, but a place with this much history and modern issues generates more than its share of digressions, I suppose; the breakfast here is not to be missed. I had the closest thing I could find to a taco omelette on the menu, the Spanish omelette, combining salsa, sour cream, seasoned meat, olives and cheese, and it was superb. The Brown Eyed Girl treated herself to her bliss, basted eggs. 

They know how to put on a good breakfast. It was worth the trip.

The name and the heritage behind it is an issue that'll have to be resolved and it's being approached quite slowly, as any BIPOC resident of Oregon presumably might not be surprised to hear. As recently as 2020, as Willamette Week reports, there are current calls for the restaurant to retire the old and problematical brand. And the current owners are, if slow to rise to it, not wholly unaware: the WW quotes the current general manager as acknowledging that change is in the air, but is reluctant to say when. 

I don't know about anyone else, but I think they had a winner in the name "Pixie Pancakes". 

After all, pixies still ride seahorses on the outside of the building. Maybe they should embrace that.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 14: The Marshmallows They Grow Round Heah

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One thing I didn't realize is how much cropland there is in Tillamook County. I mean, you don't think of coastal counties as farmland; they're mostly hills and mountains. Not much flatland.

The character of US101 changes after you pass south of Tillamook Bay. It goes from surf-and-mountain hugging vistas to meandering around small valleys and hollows with small farms. It feels more like a highway in the interior; if it weren't for the knowledge you were in Tillamook County you might forget you were near the ocean.

Many more cornfields than I expected ... and, well, this:

A bumper crop you can bounce off of. I didn't know marshmallows that large were a thing, but I wonder if it's like a connoisseur's market, you know, like Yamhill County Pinot Noir only more exclusive.

Probably won a blue ribbon in France, or something.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 12: Passing By The Blimp Hangar

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If there's one thing Tillamook is known for, it's for what was once there, just a little south of town.

The municipal airport (Port Of Tillamook Bay, to be precise) is, as some large airfields that seem too large for the small towns they serve turn out to be, is a legacy of the USA's air defense during World War II. Tillamook Naval Air Station, commissioned in 1942 and decommissioned in 1948 once had two huge hangars, Hangars A and B. Constructed of wood and built in a hurry, they were made to house blimps, and was the home of Squadron ZP-33, with a complement of 8 so-called "K-class" ships. They were, and Hangar B remains, one of the largest wooden buildings in the world.

In 1992, Hangar A was destroyed in a fire. Hangar B remains and is home to the Tillamook Air Museum, which seems to still be going great guns, somewhat contradicting the news down the last decade which suggested that the Air Museum, featuring WWII aircraft, was destined to remove to Madras. 

Still, anything is possible one supposes: while Hangar B is an architectural wonder, wooden structures require constant attention ... and anything that large has got to be a maintenance armful.

Still, it's impressive even if you don't go, which we couldn't, this time. But at the corner of Long Prairie Road and US 101, about 5 or so minutes south of Tillamook, it's easily visible from the highway ... one full mile distant.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 7: The View From Neahkahnie Mountain

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At the northwest corner of Tillamook County, there's a headland called Neahkahnie Mountain. US 101 cruises along it.

Neah kah nie, according to MacArthur (Oregon Geographic Names) might be translated as the place of the god Acarna in the language of the Tillamook, the indigenous people of the area (if you see the name 'Necarney' elsehwere in the area, the derivation may be similar). 

In terms of a scenic viewpoint, it's close to incomparable.

 

The viewpoint, about 400 feet up as the GPS metadata from this photo indicates, is looking approximately southeast, and takes in a number of notable locations.

I've pointed them out in this annotated version, herewith:

We take in quite a bit of territory, yes? All gorgeous.

The beach at our feet is interesting because, unlike most of the beaches one gets do in this section of the coast, it seems quite rocky rather than sandy.

It's a testament to the super-zoom powers of the point-n-shoot, the Canon PowerShot SX 230 HS, that I can get this short of Wheeler, on the shore of Nehalem Bay, more than 5 miles away.

Sur La Mer (our 31st Anniversary) Part 6: Considering Oswald West

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If you enjoy the Oregon Coast, and stop to think how much easy access modern Oregonians have to so very much beach, think of Oswald West.

Oswald West, born in Canada, was Oregon's 14th governor; he served one term from 1911 through 1915 (he declined to run for a second term). His legacy is a decidedly mixed bag. Not only was he a ardent prohibitionist, he promoted Oregon's Eugenics law of 1913 (Google "Portland Vice Scandal", where gay men were victimized. Not a pretty picture.)

However, in another important way he was visionary. It's because of him we have all this beach access, access to a degree that leaves visitors to Oregon typically stunned.

At the Neahkahnie Mountain viewpoint, looking south on US 101 in northwestern Tillamook County, there is the following monumental plate:

The monument reads thus:

IF SIGHT OF SAND AND SKY AND SEA
HAS GIVEN RESPITE FROM YOUR DAILY ARES
---
THEN PAUSE TO THANK
OSWALD WEST
FORMER GOVERNOR OF OREGON (1911-1915)
--- - ---
BY HIS FORESIGHT
NEARLY 400 MILES OF THE OCEAN SHORE
WAS SET ASIDE FOR PUBLIC USE
FROM THE COLUMBIA RIVER ON THE NORTH
TO THE CALIFORNIA BORDER ON THE SOUTH
---
THIS MARKER IS ERECTED AND DEDICATED
BY THE GRATEFUL CITIZENS OF OREGON
TO COMMEMORATE
THIS OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENT
IN THE CONSERVATION OF NATURAL RESOURCES

This much is truth, too. Under Oswald West, the Oregon Highway Commission - the forerunner of today's ODOT - was created in 1913, and proclaimed the Oregon Beach Highway Law, which declared Oregon's beach coastline as a public highway to the high water line. This was the seed which finally bore fruit as the Beach Bill, HB 1601 of 1967, during the Tom McCall administration.

This is why Oregonians have all that beach to play on.