Oregon - Day 7 - to Port Orford and the coast

Bandon/Port Orford KOA, Langlois
Saturday, 7 May 2022

We had a couple of walks around the Sutherlin campground before we left this morning, accompanied by varying amounts of rainfall both times.

In this campground their degree of cluelessness about pet needs was stunning.  They proclaimed themselves "a Pet Friendly Park" in capital letters and had set aside 2 fenced-in dog parks and a small area of grass labeled as a "dog area."  Everywhere else in the large park we were greeted with signs saying "Please No Pets In This Area," also in capital letters.  Everywhere.  And their list of rules also says pets can't "use the facilities in your space," which I guess means they can't pee (i.e. "use the facilities") even just outside their RV - which mine anyway won't do because they never use whatever area is designated as ours.

But this campground, like others we've seen, seems to think dogs should be teleported from inside their RVs directly to the dog pens.  What century are they living in?  Much as we all might like that little piece of science fiction, it's still fiction and not yet reality.  So I took my dogs out around the campground while it was dark, and a second time later but before anyone else was up, and let them do whatever they wanted wherever they wanted and just picked up after them.  The problem isn't what my dogs do.  The problem is all the owners who won't pick up after their dogs.

While we were walking around, I noticed that they'd probably shown their movie last night, though I didn't hear or see it, because one of those propane fire pits was uncovered and had chairs around it, a change from what I saw yesterday, and someone had left a soda can and popcorn bag lying on the grass.  Myself, I think littering is worse than letting my dogs pee somewhere, though I agree it's not as bad as someone not picking up after their dogs poop.  Stepping on a discarded popcorn bag is by far less yucky than stepping on poop.

today's route

For the first 17 miles of today's drive, I took I-5, and then cut off just south of Roseburg onto OR-42 toward the coast.  We had nearly constant rain or showers all morning, making this mountainous s-curvy drive more challenging.

First, I passed through Winston again, pop. 5,410.  I should have noted before that here in Oregon, sometimes the highway department posts a population figure, sometimes the town does, but often nobody does.  Sometimes the highway department doesn't bother to even post the name of the town, and that seems to have nothing to do with the town's size.  Nobody seems to care about altitude here, an attitude that's odd when compared to the emphasis on it in the last 4 or 5 states I've visited.

On this road to the sea, I passed cows and horses and sheep.  I saw high hills covered with green - both crops and grass/trees.  Verdant is the word that springs to mind.  Even lush at times.  Very green.  'Course, that's what can happen when you put a lot of rain and river water into an area with soil (instead of sand).

Along this mountainous road I saw a building technique I don't remember seeing before.  Apparently they had a real problem with rock falling on the road in this area.  For miles I saw near-curtains of fencing-type wire draped over the rock faces that the road had been blasted out of.  In other places I saw miles of jersey barriers along the road, presumably to catch any rocks before they rolled onto the highway. 

At one place I saw an unusual retaining wall construction: it was a very tall concrete wall that was propped up by arms of steel or aluminum of various lengths, and each arm ended in what looked like a pencil eraser stuck on sideways and aimed at - pressed against - the wall.  It reminded me of the arms in an old typewriter or those inside a piano.  They didn't look like they could do more than hold the wall up, didn't look strong enough to hold up rocks that had fallen against the wall too, but they must have been or why use them.

Along this road I came to a town called Remote and I was curious about it.  The name came from early settlers for its distance from other settlements.  It's considered an unincorporated hamlet here.

I passed several signs along the road advertising an event in June called Tour de Fronds.  Here's the link with information.   http://www.tourdefronds.com  If you're planning to be in Oregon in the middle of June, you might want to check the various routes participants can take - or plan to stay home for the day.  It would be a nightmare to be a regular vehicle stuck on those hilly winding roads full of bicyclists.

I also passed signs all morning advertising Jesus.

For much of the drive, the various forks and tributaries of the Coquille River ran alongside and we crossed them many times.

Myrtle Point (pop. 2,583 in 2020), has a sign proclaiming it's "In the Heart of the Myrtlewoods."  Despite this, and despite the town's name, its Wikipedia page doesn't even mention myrtles, so it was no help for me to figure out what myrtle trees look like.

Online articles didn't show me any photos of myrtles that might help me identify it if I were standing in front of one, though I did find a photo of Oregon's largest myrtle.

There's a person for scale.

This tree is nearly 5' in diameter and 90' tall.  The myrtles grow only from the west slope of the Cascades to the coast in northern CA and OR - and nowhere else in the world.  I did find a commercial website that shows what the wood looks like when it's been milled - really pretty.   https://www.cookwoods.com/oregon-myrtlewood  And that's about what I know on myrtles.  Something to spend more time learning about if I had more time here.

Near Myrtle Point I came to the Hoffman Memorial State Wayside.  I can't find out who the Hoffman was who's being memorialized here.  What I did learn is that this wayside is in a myrtle grove, and that the state of Oregon says people use the myrtle leaves in place of bay leaves, because they're related.  However, a website I found on myrtles said they can be poisonous, so I hope a lot of people don't listen to Oregon's tourism department.

Nearby was the "Norway Cemetery" and I wondered who had settled here.  And I had a hard time finding that information.  Apparently many Scandinavians were attracted to the Portland/Astoria area for fishing and shipping jobs and to the Willamette Valley for agriculture.  Which doesn't explain to me how a cemetery out here away from much of those influences came to be called the Norway Cemetery.  Looks like I'll be leaving Oregon with at least as many questions unanswered as I get answered.

Not far down the road I came to the town of Coquille, and we stopped for a break at Sturdivant Park alongside the Coquille River.  This looked like it would be a really nice park if the roads weren't mostly flooded - we had a hard time walking even along paved roads there.  I imagine the town's life centers around this park in the summer.

My mind worried at that name Coquille for a while.  I've thought for years that the word meant scallop (that you eat) in French, and it seemed odd to me that there would be scallops here and that the French would be heavily involved in settlements here.  Turns out the word "coquille" refers to scallop shell, that "coquille St. Jacques" refers to the marine critter scallop, and this town had nothing to do with either one.  Instead it was named for a local Indian tribe.

Just after leaving the park, we crossed the Coquille River and saw that it was really swollen.  In fact, we saw it for miles because the road continued to follow it.  After passing the appropriately named town of Riverton, I got my first thank you this month from someone who passed when I pulled over.  Oregonians are good about passing when I let them (instead of stopping behind me as if they can't drive without having me in front of them), but they seem to take it for granted.  So my first thank you was appreciated.

The sun came out - first time all day - and it made the landscape much brighter.  I've been seeing lots of blooming azaleas and rhododendrons, and along this area I started seeing banks of wild pink rhododendrons in full bloom.  I'm not much of a rhodie fan most of the time - I think the drooping leaves look depressing - but this time of year they're absolutely glorious.

At Bandon, I hit famed US-101, which almost everyone who has driven on the West Coast has followed for at least part of their drive.  It begins at Los Angeles and ends in Tumwater, just south of Olympia, WA.  Because in this area the road is sometimes running right along the Pacific coast, I started seeing signs here and there warning of Tsunami Hazard Zones.

And I started seeing masses of what I think are goldenrod.

internet photo of goldenrod

I passed a facility for Ocean Spray Cranberries, and now I know cranberries are grown here.

The only radio stations I could find along here were either country/western or religious.

The sign for Curry County, in far southwest Oregon, told me "We Honor Veterans and First Responders."  All the other counties honor only vets.  Wonder what the local discussion was that resulted in that decision.

Then I came to "World Famous Langlois," according to their sign.  I found conflicting information online but have concluded the population of Langlois in 2020 was 135, a decrease from the 177 they had in 2010.  Nonetheless, the town is proud of itself, as you can tell from its sign.  Here's their website explaining why they think they should be world famous.   https://www.worldfamouslanglois.com/why-langlois-or-should-be-world-famous  Oddly, that website doesn't mention the Langlois Market, which is what Wikipedia says is "world famous."   https://en.wikipedia.org/Langlois-OR  I passed that market without realizing I should have stopped - a good reason to do my research before I drive instead of after I've seen things.  Otherwise, what I saw was an artsy kind of town strung along the main road, and I wondered where people parked.

I passed fields of cows and of sheep.

I passed the town of Denmark, which was founded in the 1800s by Danish immigrants who had a thriving little dairy industry, with a cheese factory and creamery.  There's not much left of the town any more.

I was aiming for Port Orford, pop. 1,190.  It's a commercial fishing town on the Pacific Ocean but, most unusually, it doesn't have a natural harbor.  The dock fronts directly onto the ocean without protection.  They must be tough here.

I couldn't get a photo of the fishing facilities without having a lot more faith in gravity than I do (very steep unpaved road made me afraid I'd either roll over or not be able to get back up).  But I did find a vantage to get a couple of views of the ocean.

This is a sort of overview.

This shows a little more detail of the land . . .

. . . while this shows a little more detail of the ocean.

Online I'd found a place called Battle Rock Wayside Park and thought it would be a nice place for us to stop and walk before heading to tonight's campground.  But it wasn't like that at all.  Instead I found a very few parking spots at the top of a very steep hill.

Even if I could have inserted the RV into one of the spots, we'd have had to walk down that steep hill that went straight down to the beach by the ocean.  I could see an active Golden Retriever halfway down, which meant I could have trouble hanging onto my dogs to pass it.  And then once at the beach, I'd be dealing with Gracie who's afraid of the sound of the ocean surf.  Maybe you can see in my photos that though there wasn't exactly the perfect surfing wave, there still were waves coming in.  And then we'd have to climb this very steep hill to get back to the RV.  When I saw the situation, I turned around and started hunting for someplace else in town for us to walk.

And Battle Rock itself has an ugly history anyway.  If you're interested in yet another local Indian vs. stupid white settlers argument, here's a link.   https://yourenotfromaroundhere.com/battle-rock-port-orford

As I was driving around trying to find someplace else (and we were all really ready to stretch our legs), I happened on a sign that pointed us to the Buffington Memorial Park, a nice grassy area that was almost solid with play equipment of various kinds.  Not much place for us to walk, but we managed.  I talked with a woman about my age who was coming back from walking her dog, and she said she liked living here in Port Orford very much.  She said there's absolutely nothing at all to do here - you have to be self-sufficient, she said - but after living here 6 years, she felt very much a part of the community.  That seemed a reasonable amount of time to me, meaning folks weren't too clannish to accept a newcomer.

As we were leaving town, I noticed a window cleaning business called I Can See Clearly Now.

We got to our campground and the owner gave me incorrect instructions for how to get to my campsite.  Fortunately, I got it figured out for myself without much trouble, I walked the dogs a couple of times, and we were settled in.  I was a little surprised that almost no one was here on a Saturday night.  They had about a dozen full-time campers, but only us and one other RV were here for short stays.  I finally decided it was because of the very rainy and cold weather forecast, which was in fact turning out to be accurate.  Not what holiday-makers are looking for.  But it seemed fine for one night for us.