Simple People!

June 7, 2010

Two days in a row now we’ve crossed coastal bays on small boats motored by guys working at small stores on the other side of each bay. The first cross was from a city called Manzanita to Tillamook. Manzanita seemed like a pretty upscale beach city. It had several charming cafés and boutiques in town, a number of tourists walking about, and just a very clean and well kept feel.

The other side was a bit of a contrast. Over the distance of a ten minute boat ride, I felt as if I had gone from The Country to, well, the country. People dressed and spoke plainer. Right off the boat, we ordered fresh oysters from a guy wearing overalls and a trucker’s hat. The oysters were damn good and huge. We asked the guy where we could throw away the shells. He picked them up with his hands and threw them right into the bay. “We’re simple people!” he said.

Damn big and good oysters. They don't look too big in this picture, but they were. At least the biggest I've ever had.

Seafood Shack in Tillamook, across the bay from Manzanita.

Dad standing outside store in Tilamook, on the other side of the bay from Manzanita.

After the oysters, we walked south to a city called Girabaldi, apparently the oldest seaport on the West Coast and similarly to Tillamook, a contrast to Manzanita. I kind of feel bad characterizing cities as “country” or as contrasts to upscale cities, but I’m partly taking these impressions from words spoken by the people there. The guy who took us across a bay from Girabaldi to Ocean Bay Spit himself said, “when I first moved here I wondered to myself, ‘why in the hell would anyone live here.’ There seems to be nothing going on.”

My impressions were colored with an additional element of desolateness because it was raining in Girabaldi. In fact, my dad and I had to walk two miles along beat-up-but-still-used train tracks in the rain. The wooden tracks were uneven and slippery, adding extra pressure on our legs. My dad was walking ahead of me for awhile. He suddenly turned around and asked me, “David, do you think I am strong?” I said, “Yea, dad, you’re pretty strong.” He said, “I am. This strength was what built the Myra House and Ecoterra. Your ordinary person couldn’t have done that. In fact, of all the things I am proud of in my life, it’s not being an architect or getting a PhD. Anyone can do those things. It’s building and creating Myra House and Ecoterra. And also raising you and Lydia. And keeping mom happy till this point. So those four things I am most proud of in my life, not my licenses or degrees.” I said, “You’ll probably have five things after walking 450 miles by foot.”

Dad and guy who took us across a bay.

Me in the boat going for contemplative. The stick usually works for that. Not sure about the sunglasses.

So from Bay Ocean Spit, we walked 10+ miles to our campsite for the night called Cape Lookout State Park. It’s right along the coast of Neetart’s Bay, apparently the cleanest bay on the West Coast since the rivers running into it are too small to be used for dumping wastes. The water is the clearest of ocean water I’ve ever seen. It makes me wonder about the quality of our ocean waters generally in the States and how amazing it must’ve been when all the world’s ocean waters were, if not more, just as clear and uncontaminated as Neetart’s.

Dad along the coast of Neetart's Bay. Me getting artsy with the camera.

So now, I am in my sleeping bag, in my tent, listening to the sound of waves crashing on the coast of Neetart’s Bay in Northern Oregon while typing my memory and thoughts of the past few days away. Through the zip up screen window of our tent, I can vaguely see the horizon outlined by a dark black line, and right above, the last shadows of the sunset, a fading dark mix of orange and red, and right above that, the light blue sky rising and filling up the night.