Happy New Year From Out Here

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Happy New Year, and welcome to 2024. I took up my place in the first sunlight of the day while Clayton was busy in the kitchen making coffee and presenting us with a parfait breakfast starter.  Caroline is on the phone with her mom in Germany, and I try basking in the warm sunshine while writing, but enjoying the ambiance of the Simpson Hotel is a powerful distraction.

Karthik and Lakshmi at the Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

A newly married young couple who arrived last night joined us for our morning meal: Lakshmi and Karthik, who also live in the Phoenix area. They’ve been out wandering around the area for the past week, trying to get more of the Southwest into their senses before Karthik takes off for India to deal with some of the beaurocracy involving working on an H1B visa. While he’s gone, Lakshmi will be dealing with their move up to the Portland area. When they told us about their travels from the Petrified Forest to Gallup, over to Santa Fe and Albuquerque in New Mexico, and various points between before finally landing in Duncan, Arizona, it was nice to see a mirror image of Caroline’s and my enthusiasm for sharing time together exploring our world. In the popular vernacular of the day, they are vibing. Over breakfast, sumptuous as always, we discussed the drive home, in which all four of us were traveling in the same direction but talked of a detour through Virden, New Mexico, to try catching sight of some sandhill cranes.

Sandhill Cranes in Virden, New Mexico

These large birds were in short supply, and the ones we did spot were quite distant from where we could observe them. We’d brought binoculars, but even so, nobody got a great view of the cranes. No matter, we’d seen wildlife and were able to share some enthusiasm with Lakshmi and Karthik about how incredible these opportunities are.

Cow sign in Virden, New Mexico

With nothing left to do, and instead of trying to wedge something else into the last minutes of our getaway, we accepted that our long weekend was coming to a close and that by focusing on the drive west, we’d be able to go further into In Search of Lost Time.

On a final note, Clayton left us with a quote from historian Charles A. Beard to ponder: “The bee fertilizes the flower it robs.”

Surprise Guest

Bat in Phoenix, Arizona

I stepped out on our balcony for some reason or other and looked up to check on the mud dauber wasps’ nests that hold fast to the walls and sliding door frame and saw something out of the ordinary. While I thought I knew what it was, I wasn’t certain. After fetching my 200mm lens to zoom in but still a good distance from framing this thing on the wall, I got this shot, which is cropped in more than 50% to even get this level of detail. Sure enough, it’s a bat. This is the first time I’ve been aware of a bat taking refuge on our balcony! Hopefully, it will still be hanging out when Caroline gets home so she can see it with her own eyes. As this is already a violation of my self-imposed break in blogging I’m going to avoid writing anything else, though this discipline is hard fought for.

New Mexico, Here We Come!

Trump Supporters in Show Low, Arizona

Like Satan diving into holy water, we are genuinely concerned about outing ourselves as the enemy were we to walk through the doors of The Trumped Store here in Show Low, Arizona. Claims of the best coffee in the area and the promise of hotdogs were not enough of a draw for us to cross the street and pay a visit. In these days of diminished retail presence, someone is making enough money selling Trump paraphernalia to have been planted on this main thoroughfare through town for years now. My favorite part of this enterprise is a quote from their website where grifters are grifting the grifter:

“The products sold by company are not licensed, introduced, or otherwise authorized or approved by President Trump, His Campaign or by any of its affiliates; and President Trump’s Campaign Committee does not receive any proceeds whatsoever from the Trumped Companies Sales or Activities.”

East of Show Low, Arizona on U.S. Route 60

Out of the ugly and into the beautiful. Truth be told, that stop in Show Low was a minor speed bump because the road northeast of the Phoenix area was as spectacular as it always is. There are no photos from that leg because we’re entertaining the idea that instead of spending the night in Albuquerque, New Mexico, we might be able to make it all the way to Santa Fe. Leaving earlier than anticipated helps in this equation of covering the requisite 500 miles to reach this city sitting in the clouds at over 7,100 feet (2,194 meters).

Near Springerville, Arizona

It’s so easy to see the world reflected in the still waters lying upon the surface, but do you know how to see it in the eyes of the person you love? And how should you know with certainty that what you see in those eyes is a real representation of enchantment or a façade being presented for the sake of harmony but hiding deeper unhappiness? Maybe you don’t, but Caroline and I seem to have either reached a permanent delusional state of tricking one another, or we really do see the resonant frequencies of amazement in each other’s smiles when we stop to gaze at the exquisite sights that nature deploys upon those susceptible to such murmurs.

New Mexico State Line on U.S. Route 60

We left Phoenix seemingly minutes ago, and blam! we’re in New Mexico. These roads we’ve been traveling might be at risk of growing overly familiar, and maybe we struggle to find alternative routes to mix things up a bit, but that won’t stop us from these long hauls. After previous journeys that took us over Holbrook, Arizona, to Gallup, New Mexico, or when we skirted through St. John’s, Arizona, over to Zuni before taking the route south through Mogollon, New Mexico, then cutting over through Duncan, Arizona, we find a way so the adventures continue to pile up like so many stickers found on this State Line sign on U.S. Route 60. As for the nature of what brings us out this way yet again after having been in this Land of Enchantment twice already in the past five weeks: well, those exact details will have to wait until tomorrow when I share that story.

Pronghorn Antelope off U.S. Route 60 in New Mexico

We might have had better luck catching, dispatching, and cooking this pronghorn antelope than getting a proper dinner meal here in New Mexico because it seems everything other than fast food closes at 8:00 p.m. It was just a few weeks ago on our way to Gallup, New Mexico, for the Sheep is Life celebration that we were wondering out loud why we haven’t seen any pronghorn on that trip, and then here today, we finally see a solo member of the species hauling ass trying to race past us. While it finally put on the brakes and reversed direction faster than we possibly could have, we have to have respect for this antelope speeding well over 55 mph (88 km/h), making the capture of this photo taken by me in the driver’s seat tricky, to say the least. Little did I know that the pronghorn antelope is the second fastest land animal on earth, only surpassed by the cheetah by a mere mile or two per hour.

La Ventana Natural Arch in El Malpais National Monument, New Mexico

Prior to stopping here at the La Ventana Natural Arch in El Malpais National Monument, we dipped in at the Narrows Rim Trail that we hiked last year for some reminiscing. Back then, we didn’t hike the entire trail because we arrived at the trailhead late, and this has us dreaming of a return to the 7.3-mile out-and-back hike that brings you to a cliff across from the arch pictured here for a view from above. Enough of the sightseeing; time to finish the long haul to Santa Fe.

Frog Pond

Ground Squirrels at Reach 11 Recreation Area in Phoenix, Arizona

We’d not stopped at the Reach 11 Recreation Area here in Phoenix for quite a while and we felt that today after breakfast was a great time to take a walk, before it gets uncomfortably hot to be out in this exposed area. Everything we love about this place is much the same as it was the last time we visited, lizards, birds, ground squirrels, ants, flying insects, and as much quiet as one is likely to find considering we are in the city. There is something new though; well, not new but certainly an abundance we’d not witnessed previously: we counted no less than 6 little plastic bags of dog shit tossed to the side and 4 piles of dog shit right on the pathway abandoned by those who simply couldn’t be bothered.

Frogs at Reach 11 Recreation Area in Phoenix, Arizona

Meanwhile, over at the frog pond, the croakers were out in force. Once again, please forgive the poor quality of these photos taken with my phone but it’s the best I have to offer as I left the DSLR at home since I hadn’t considered there’d be wildlife out for our morning walk.

Cold Comfort in Oregon- Day 8

Yurt at Cape Lookout State Park in Tillamook, Oregon

Stars were out in force last night, but here at dawn, the sky is overcast.

New socks using yarn from Cambria, California worn at Cape Lookout State Park in Tillamook, Oregon

Late yesterday, Caroline put the finishing touches on the new socks she’s been knitting for me. Strangely enough, it was just this past September, on our way up the California coast in Cambria, that I chose this yarn that would one day become socks. This is the shortest turnaround time ever from acquisition to socks of love, ready to wear.

Caroline Wise in front of yurt at Cape Lookout State Park in Tillamook, Oregon

It feels as though it was just moments ago that I wrote of our day that took on fairytale proportions, and here we are leaving our yurt when I spotted this fairy land-salmon snailfish poking its head out of an ancient tree. I tried capturing it, but in an instant, it was gone, and so were we.

Cape Lookout State Park in Tillamook, Oregon

The car is packed up but before we take to the open highway, we’ll revisit the beach we walked on last night.

Cape Lookout State Park in Tillamook, Oregon

Had a stream too wide to cross at the south end of the beach not turned us around, we wouldn’t have gone north. From a distance, I pointed out this sea lion to Caroline, but she wanted to believe it was driftwood until she saw the driftwood moving without the help of the ocean. Something was wrong with this poor creature, though. It dragged its hind legs, and we didn’t know at the time that this was a sign it might be suffering from a disease called leptospirosis, which is described with symptoms including dehydration, increased drinking or urinating, vomiting, depression, and a reluctance to use the hind flippers. We already know to keep a safe distance from wildlife, especially those that might be distressed; this photo is a cropped image taken with a 200mm lens.

Heron at Netarts Bay in Netarts, Oregon

As a matter of fact, the lens used to photograph the sea lion was the same one used to capture this great heron on Netarts Bay.

Oceanside, Oregon

Caroline voted to head inland to Tillamook, but I failed to take that advice and brought us to Oceanside at the end of the road.

Oceanside, Oregon

The hordes are emerging from their turkey-induced mal de puerco and are cluttering the serenity of the beach on this foggy day; just look at them all.

Oceanside, Oregon

Fine, we’ll just go this way where the beach will be all ours, probably because it’s raining on this side.

Oceanside, Oregon

Welcome to the Blue Agate Cafe, where we took refuge from the cold and wet to warm ourselves, have our first coffee of the day, and get something to eat. I can’t tell you how many times on this trip alone when our breakfast involved seafood and this day was no different as we both ordered their seafood scramble. We sat next to the front windows, watching the rain fall and enjoying the gray from our cozy spot. Sipping our coffees, we met Aspen and Sarah, learning that Aspen was a member of a band called The Helens with a new album on the horizon called Somewhere in Nowhere.

Tillamook, Oregon

With the first meal of the day over and our drive to Tillamook having reached its zenith, it was time to head into the Tillamook Creamery and Cheese Factory, as we had serious business to tend to.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at Tillamook Creamery in Tillamook, Oregon

It was time for breakfast dessert because, on a gray, rainy day, nothing says cozy indulgence like hiding from the elements to enjoy a bit of ice cream. I should point out something that’s been nagging me this entire trip: things don’t feel as busy out here as they have during previous years. Of course, 202o wasn’t busy, but that was due to the pandemic, and after a booming summer for vacationers, I thought things up this way might have returned to normal. These days around Thanksgiving at the creamery, you’ll usually find the place packed with long lines for sandwiches, ice cream, or to check out in their gift store, but not so this year. For that matter, the beaches haven’t seen the same numbers of visitors, at least from our vantage point.

South of Tillamook, Oregon on a foggy road

We left Tillamook and headed right back out the way we came, through the coastal range.

South of Tillamook, Oregon on a foggy road

From there, we went further in order to keep going deeper into the mists hovering over the landscape.

Sand Lake at Clay Myers State Natural Area in Cloverdale, Oregon

Under the gray cover of the day, we approached the Clay Myers State Natural Area at Whalen Island and saw very little. The calming effect of so much solemnity winked at our yawns and suggested that we pull over in Pacific City to replenish our waning caffeine levels. Stimulus Coffee, that’s the name of the shop, was where we pulled in for some of their steaming hot java. With the rain comes the temptation for baked goods, and no good temptation is worth a thing if it doesn’t have at least some power over you and the power it had over us. The barista asked, “Take it for the road?” Are you crazy? The weather etiquette must be honored, and that means that we’ll sit down by a window and use the opportunity to sample our indulgences posthaste. Refreshed by pastries and coffee, we depart for the remaining 123 miles still ahead of us.

D River State Recreation Site in Lincoln City, Oregon

Maybe calling one of the earth’s shortest rivers Tiny D (although, compared to other things, it might be considered quite the Big D) became too rude and obvious comparisons, and so the people of Lincoln City called it D River in a compromise to not appear vulgar. That, or I’m reading too much into things.

Boiler Bay in Depoe Bay, Oregon

While a king tide is in effect and it’s raining, it’s not necessarily stormy, so places like the Spouting Horn and Boiler Bay here in Depoe Bay are not spitting and roaring. While the raucous ocean we love to witness is relatively calm today, the dark green color carries its own intrigue.

Caroline Wise at The Kite Company in Newport, Oregon

Over the previous days, Caroline’s attempts to bring her pocket kite aloft were met with mixed results. She was never quite happy with how things were going. Earlier today, while in Tillamook, I was assured that the shopping aspect of this vacation was finished, in large part due to the most expensive candle we’ve ever purchased, though it’s a cute one. This little candle sits in a glass bottle shaped like an old-fashioned milk bottle, albeit a small one about the size of venti coffee. The scent is listed as Trees of Tillamook and it cost us $33. Getting home, the smell might be better compared to Pine Sol. Okay, back to the kite shop, a young woman, upon listening to Caroline’s sad story about her sad kite, took her over to what would become her new kite. I tried insisting it would never fit in our bags, but when she started crying, I had to relent while informing her I’d just have to throw away my underwear to make space.

Brays Point in Yachats, Oregon

Maybe it was due to the large breakfast, breakfast dessert, and the pastries, but somehow, we skipped lunch, which worked out in our favor as we were able to take a late lunch/early dinner at Ona in Yachats. This being our third and final visit of this vacation, we revisited those things that quickly became favorites, such as the smoked Maitake mushroom pâté, beet salad, and the seafood pasta in saffron cream sauce.

Heceta Head Lighthouse in Florence, Oregon

We left before we gave into dessert, as one dessert a day is all that’s allowed, even on vacation. What we can never have too much of, though, are lighthouses, and with this one at Heceta Head and the one we’ll be staying next to near Winchester Bay, we make do with the eye sweets.

Umpqua Lighthouse in Reedsport, Oregon

We reached our yurt, made our bed that will certainly be the coziest ever, and headed over to our favorite lighthouse on the Oregon coast. Why this one? The red and white light pattern is the answer. When we first visited Umpqua, I thought the lighting configuration was something special for the holidays, so its festive display instantly became a favorite. I’m sure Caroline knew that this kind of red/white signal was something normal as she knows everything, but it was magic to me, especially how the silently turning fresnel lens throws spotlights on the surrounding forest behind the towering beacon.

Falling rain, short days, cold weather, all the makings for prodding one to an early sleep. Instead, we fell into conversation and talked away the void of nothing to do. Caroline had finished my socks and I wasn’t feeling the compulsion to write. The rain continued as it mostly had for the previous 11 hours, but this only added to the comfort of being in a yurt, as nothing sounds as nice at night as the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the canvas.

Measuring Things in Oregon – Day 1

Fall foliage in Eugene, Oregon

Nothing like being teleported out of the desert into a 24-degree (-4c) Pacific Northwest morning in a rental car without seat heaters or even one of those scraping things to de-ice our frosty windshield. While this disorienting shift of time zones (we gained a whole hour) is allowing for yet more experiences to seep into the potential of the day, we are somehow extraordinarily hungry and waste no time finding the closest establishment to satiate this need for hot food.

Sipping on Elmer’s Northwest Lodge Blend of coffee, we are watching the trees of fall catch the rising sun as we wait for the delivery of our first meal of the day. I’m writing with furious gusto as though that will speed the arrival of the egg dishes that should arrive any second, which in turn will allow us to get on the road pointed at an ocean beckoning for our return. Maybe part of my urgency to bounce out of here is related to our Super Walmart experience last night. Airlines should warn travelers when their destination is a parallel universe which might be contrary to the sensibilities of people who enjoy traveling to Europe, and to brace themselves for the risk of setting eyes on the homeless fentanyl crowd. Open sores and bedraggled fellows, kids hitting us up for cash in a store, that was not our scene.

Still, here this morning at Elmer’s, it is apparent that we’re in a damned slow-functioning resort for the obese, decrepit, conservative, and elderly curmudgeons. While I often enjoy eavesdropping on other tables, I draw the line when the dialog risks lowering my own I.Q. or contributing to the PTSD that grips my well-being when recognizing that I’m somewhere from whence I should try to escape posthaste.

Siuslaw River in western Oregon

Our destination might be the ocean, but in a pinch, a river will do. We’ve pulled over here next to the Siuslaw River after having passed miles of great dark green forest, some of it so frosty as to be dusted in white, and with the coastal plain obviously just ahead, this was going to be one of the last moments to share at least something from the 75-minute long drive from Eugene that has brought us to the cusp of our dreams.

Harbor Vista County Park in Florence, Oregon

Hello again, dream world; it’s great to be back for our first glimpse of the sea here at Harbor Vista North Jetty in Florence.

Harbor Vista County Park in Florence, Oregon

One of us walks in the cold sand with their shoes on…

Caroline Wise at Harbor Vista County Park in Florence, Oregon

…the other must get her feet wet and feel the sand between her toes.

Harbor Vista County Park in Florence, Oregon

There’s no time to think, no time to talk, no time to write about impressions out here in the brisk ocean air that greets the cheeks of the desert dwellers. There is only time to feel, smell, and see something that is at once familiar and new all over again.

Harbor Vista County Park in Florence, Oregon

This thin blue line and the blowing sand keeping the ocean where it belongs is all that separates the land from the sea. Consider that the surface of the United States is roughly about 3 million square miles (8 million square kilometers), while the Pacific Ocean is approximately 171 million cubic miles (714 million cubic kilometers). Remember that this is a cubic dimension and not a square. Caroline and I have spent 25 years trying to explore these American states and have barely scratched the surface; no one will ever know the sea and what really happens in its vast depths.

Darlingtonia State Natural Site in Florence, Oregon

Old travel habits are hard to break, so why should today be different than other days? We made it 5 miles before Caroline asked me to pull over to the Darlingtonia State Natural Site, home of the cobra lily of the genus Darlingtonia.

Darlingtonia State Natural Site in Florence, Oregon

This is only the second time we’ve stopped at this small wayside, and both have been during the late fall, but from the photos I took back in 2020, this year’s gathering of carnivorous lilies is looking a bit ragged, likely due to environmental factors though there’s not a botanist in sight to ask for clarification.

Darlingtonia State Natural Site in Florence, Oregon

The day this plant emerged from its egg, it already had a taste for flesh and blood; else how does one explain a plant that eats creatures and ones that voluntarily crawl into its mouth? What, you say plants aren’t born from eggs? Well, that’s news to me or at least I’d like it to be if I stop to think about carnivorous plants because I’m at a loss for how they came about out of the mysteries of evolution.

Darlingtonia State Natural Site in Florence, Oregon

Knowledge might be far away from what little certainty I believe I have, but with my macro lens, I can attempt to bring near those things typically only experienced from a distance, such as smaller details found in this leaf suffering its demise with the changing season.

Darlingtonia State Natural Site in Florence, Oregon

And then there’s this tiny piece of bark that might appear to be close to flaking off its tree, but for now, it’s a symbiotic piece of nature. On its surface, a bit of moss has taken hold, and behind the bark’s edges, I’m going to speculate that there’s a spider family, maybe some mites, or a pathway the local ants travel when out collecting stuff required for the colony. How many squirrels might have walked by or birds dropped in looking for snacks? I’d be willing to wager that I’m the first person to ever photograph this small specimen with such intimacy and that the chances of ever finding it again would be as successful as trying to locate a specific neuron in the 86 billion brain cells I have or a single plankton in those 187 quintillion gallons of water in the nearby Pacific Ocean.

Happy Kamper Yarn Barn in Florence, Oregon

Contemplating things some days earlier, I sketched a few rough ideas of how this first day on the coast might play out, but things are not going according to that guesswork and instead are being usurped by spontaneity and routine. Maybe 500 feet (150 meters) north of the wayside and across the street is the Happy Kamper Yarn Barn that we first visited ten years ago, nearly to the day. As anyone who’s read about our travels and stops at yarn stores already knows, we’ll not be leaving without new yarn, especially this fingering weight yarn that is destined to become yet one more pair of hand-knitted socks for me.

North of Baker Beach in Florence, Oregon

With instincts directing the wheel of the rental car, we drove north, though by now we knew that we’d not be attempting a slow walk in the rainforest of Washburne State Park as by the time we’d get out of that trap of the senses it would be seriously late considering we’d still have to make our way to the south coast where we’re staying this evening. So, if that’s not our goal, we might as well take our time, and it was right about then, while we were discussing options, that I thought I spotted something that required a turnaround. No, not just this view; although it’s certainly worthy, it was a little anomaly in the continuity of the coastal universe.

North of Baker Beach in Florence, Oregon

Just behind the guardrail, I thought I saw what looked like a small trail, and sure enough, that tiny gap quickly descended to a well-worn trail that took us right to the ocean’s edge and a place we’d never been to before.

North of Baker Beach in Florence, Oregon

It’s just a clump of rock with some barnacles on it, but it’s more than that. Maybe it’s part of primordial earth, or did it emerge as lava in the relatively recent past, ending up here on the beach reflecting itself back at me from the wet sand? Like the clouds overhead, it inspires me to find form in its shape; I see a whale here, albeit a small one. Should we ever revisit this particular beach, the likelihood of seeing this rock in just the same way is virtually zero. The sands will have shifted, the rock will give way to further erosion, or maybe a high tide will obscure it, and so in our view, the rock will be forever gone, just like a cloud passing overhead or our own lives passing down the beach.

North of Baker Beach in Florence, Oregon

How many countless steps have we left in the sand, in the transitional, never-to-be-seen-the-same-way-again, shifting earth below our feet? From out of the distant past, we’ve witnessed with our own eyes the impressions of dinosaur feet frozen into stone. There’s a place where a child’s steps are right next to those of a wolf or large dog, and right over in New Mexico at the White Sands National Park are the tracks of a toddler and woman traveling across a playa that includes imprints from a mammoth and a giant sloth, and while those reminders that other species and people have walked over places we can visit today, the majority of impressions left by modern humans will fade and disappear. So, unless I figure out how to cast these words in stone, they, too, will become nothing more than the amorphous fabric that was left behind and recaptured by the elements, leaving no trace of what was there.

North of Baker Beach in Florence, Oregon

Even stone is not impervious to the ravages of time and the elements. All things will return to the sand and gasses of what in another form might have been the sustainers or protectors of life. Bastions, ramparts, armor, lungs, or thick leathery skin is no defense to the passage of this rare commodity measured by days, nights, and the cycles of a planet in relation to its sun. Knowing that you and everything you were will one day disappear, will you be content to simply have existed when, if you are reading this, you were likely born to a kind of privilege the majority of people on our planet can never know? Even if I’m but a grain of sand on this beach, I hope it’ll be the glimmering fleck that captures the eye of something out of the future that is enjoying its brief moment in existence.

Heceta Head Lighthouse and Sealion Beach Vantage Point in Florence, Oregon

In a previous age, the lighthouse was a beacon to seafarers, warning of the dangers that they were approaching land. Nowadays, lighthouses act as tractor beams drawing us to their light, even when those lights were extinguished long ago.

Heceta Head Lighthouse and Sealion Beach Vantage Point in Florence, Oregon

Instead of keeping us at a safe distance, they encourage us to come closer to revel in their rare existence and cherish their unique architectural characteristics. It’s easy to be drawn to a unique building, while a historic one offers intrinsic values that dig deep into our fascination that these things are still around. Take Jonathan, the tortoise who lives in Seychelles: he’ll celebrate his 190th birthday on December 4th this year. None of the curious people I know would turn down the chance to meet and touch this ancient, gentle animal. And for those of us fortunate enough to visit the over 4,000-year-old bristlecone pine trees of the Great Basin of Nevada or the prehistoric redwoods in California, we know the attraction of those things that have survived far longer than any of us gazing into the distant past.

Heceta Head Lighthouse and Sealion Beach Vantage Point in Florence, Oregon

If we take pause and think about it, we also enjoy and are drawn to experiencing the effects nature has played on the evolution of things, such as with sea lions basking in the sun below us as we were positioning ourselves to admire the Heceta Head Lighthouse. It was right here along the Oregon and Washington coasts that it’s believed the first flippered pinnipeds first showed up about 17 million years ago, but when we modern humans stop to look upon a tiny aspect of their lives, it is as though they just emerged from the sea for our enjoyment with little thought given to how many generations of sea lions came before them. My sense is that we have not yet developed an innate ability to appreciate the spectrum of time that life requires to arrive where it has. Maybe this is a negative side effect of religion, where we’ve used stories of magic and the supernatural to explain the mysteries that early humans were unable to comprehend.

Highway 101 looking south towards Florence, Oregon

It is out on the horizon of time (and trying to understand my relationship to it) where I look for the peace of mind that while I may not be able to experience the longevity of a tortoise or bristle cone pine tree, I’m at least capable of considering that I’m able to look back and forward into time’s domain and consider what I’ve learned from its passing and what I might still be able to do with what could lay ahead for me should I be around to explore new moments that are yet to be experienced in the future.

Looking out over the Pacific Ocean from Highway 101 north of Florence, Oregon

Out in the chaos of everything, the order of it all remains in constant flux as the energy of nature shifts things across time. The way I understand it, even constants have slight variations, but the contrivance of the arrogance of humans to find stasis is, in my view, hostile to the nature of our potential. Mind you, particular laws of nature and society should be respected, such as gravity containing oceans in their basins and our rules for penalizing transgressions against fellow humans and probably against the creatures with whom we share our space, too. Not that people are even near the precipice of unleashing our potential as the effect of centuries of uncertainty and the modern age exploiting fear has left our species afraid of the future, hence why we strive to contain variations that disturb the superficial surface of things.

Driving south on Highway 101 in Oregon

Where does the time go? One minute, you’re eating lunch at the Little Brown Cafe in Florence, not Italy, and the next moment, you become aware of the blur of having been driving south for hours, which is required if are going to reach Brookings down near the California state line by sunset. Being inland for much of the drive, it’s not like we could be distracted with a dozen oceanside stops, while the forest roads often barely have a shoulder, so even if we wanted to stop for photos of the afternoon sun lending a vibrant glow to the moss and hanging lichen on tree branches, we were stymied by highway engineers who neglected to add those important pullouts.

Port Orford, Oregon

Choose your battles wisely, they always say, and so it was as the Wises pulled over at Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford for the sunset as it was obvious that if it wasn’t now, it might not happen today if it was our hope to see a spectacular sunset.

Port Orford, Oregon

While the famous Face Rock is found a couple of dozen miles north of us in Bandon, Oregon, this equally well-worn sister rock in Port Orford should be noted as a monument, too. Sadly, it is not, but from where I’m standing, I’d swear this is an Eastern Island Statue Face Rock and deserves recognition as such. Come to think about it, just on the left of it is Nipple Rock, and while you might want to jump to conclusions and see the two humps behind the nipple as boobs, I’d strongly disagree, though, as camel humps, I could see that. So, while not given the status or official name it should have, I present you with Camel Hump Nipple Statue Face Rock. [Nice try, John, but this rock is already noted and has a name – Tichenor Rock – Caroline]

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

As soon as I’m satisfied that I’ve captured the various perspectives available from this overlook, we’ll turn our attention to putting ourselves down on that beach with the others to experience the sunset here.

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

In my intro from yesterday morning, I spoke of things near and far and the lenses I’d bring to capture these spaces. I also offered hope that I’d do the same with the thinking I’d put forward in this post. While I may fail in the thinking and writing, this silhouette image contains elements from two images above the one prior, the trees in golden light and Camel Hump Nipple Statue Face Rock. In those two photos, I used a 70-200mm lens to bring to me what might have failed to be seen in previous visual encounters with the exact same places. The point this opens is that our perspective is often myopic. but more important than our vision being nearsighted, we need to look at our minds and those 86 billion brain cells whose capacity we cannot fathom. What if that gray matter in our skull is like the impossibly giant ocean, but instead of a great diversity of impressions and life, it were filled mostly with goldfish, plastic trash, and a fixed view that everything we know and will ever know is already mostly had? Well, if they are the brains of John and Caroline Wise, we will not relent in trying to discover what’s hidden in the places right before our faces as we share the idea that the onion-like layers of life experiences are near infinite while the time we’ve been afforded to glean them is but a brief interlude on the stage of the universe.

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

As above, does not always convey equally to, so below. While the height differential is minimal, just a short walk down a sandy trail and the changes offered to the senses are tremendous. Above, we cannot touch the shore, the surf, nor hear the world around us in quite the same way; we must go forward inching our way closer to touching the abyss of unknowns. Will the water be cold, the sand soft, and the sounds sharp or pleasant? We’ll not know, and should you accept conventional wisdom, you might come to believe that the Oregon coast would be too cold and hostile for your comfort or enjoyment at this time of year. I’d counter, even dare you to glance over the more than 100 posts on this blog that detail our experiences and see what we’ve captured and enjoyed. You can trust that we’ve heard, more times than we can remember, the voices of uncertainty that challenge our discretion about heading to such an inhospitable destination. I believe these are the same people who are able to convince themselves that most everything outside of their narrow routines could be fraught with discomfort and danger. Discovery is, after all, a dangerous curve that could challenge current beliefs, blinding one to mistaken certainty as though they’d looked into the sun.

While I’ve only been so fortunate to be looking into this face of love for the past 33 years, those eyes that have been searching for knowledge, truth, and deep experiences have, in effect, been cultivating love in her heart her entire life. Instead of crashing into the wall of disappointment that love would never be found and shared, Caroline and I discovered one another and learned how to negotiate bumps on the shore, the gray clouds that occasionally obscure the sun, and have catered to each other’s insatiable thirst for the wow moments available to those who enjoy smiling. When I look into those eyes, I don’t only see a wife looking back; I see a long history of her delight in all the other things I’ve caught her smiling at, such as sand dollars, forests, rainbows, rocks, yarn, art, old people holding hands, a kite taking to the sky, her mom laughing, and words printed on a page. I’m fairly certain that Caroline doesn’t hold any secrets about the universe; I don’t believe she cares about having all the answers, but what I want to feel she has an abundance of is an intense curiosity that’s amplified by having someone with whom to share the experiences that arise from that.

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

What if I told you that the sun setting does not bring darkness but offers inner illumination of the heart for those who witness its descent below the horizon? How can I make such a claim? Caroline and I have watched the sunset countless times by now, and every time we do so, our smiles are beaming at one another for the rest of the day, which can only be explained by hearts bursting with energy fed by the sun, or do you have a better explanation?

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

And what about those who just keep on seeing more sunsets? You guessed it, we likely have to giggle with each other at some point to let go of the abundance of beauty we were absorbing.

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

As for the effects wrought from gazing upon silver blue and golden orange water in those waning moments of the sun? We have not quite worked out how perfection cubed influences what is already beyond the charts of total wowness.

Battle Rock Wayside Park in Port Orford, Oregon

With senses aglow with the giddiness of having experienced a fantastic sunset at a wonderful spot nearing the end of our daylight hours, we were able to continue our adventure south. The dark silvery-gray sheen of the sea on our right, with a thin line of red-orange warmth of civil twilight, kept the purr of happiness moving along with us as the road ahead grew darker. Only an hour left before reaching the next magical place on our travel map.

Yurt at Harris Beach State Park in Brookings, Oregon

The crescendo hits as we drive into Harris Beach State Park and check into yurt C-26. The heater was already on, so the only thing left to do was drag our stuff in and make our bed before heading out for dinner while something might still be open. At this point, our elation nearly falls off a cliff as we’d be a whole lot happier to dip into an ice chest and crate of things from the car, but that was sacrificed in order to claim the extra time along the coast gained with flying up, so back to the car we reluctantly crawl.

Yurt at Harris Beach State Park in Brookings, Oregon

I have always loved pulling up to these tables for a writing session in the various yurts we’ve rented over these many years. Tonight, though, I find myself lethargic, apathetic even. As the pen meets the paper, the mind feels like the tide is going out. Sure, we are nearly 15 hours into this day, and a myriad of reasons can easily be identified, including last night’s late arrival, the difficulty found in sleeping on the first day out, a timezone change, my recent COVID recovery, and of course, that taskmaster called aging but none of these factors are welcome here on our vacation. I have demands, one is that I find productivity in the exercise of word transference from the mind through pen upon the open notebook that won’t be filling itself.

If I can find 10,000 steps, I should be able to locate a couple of thousand words that emerge from an experience that took in countless impressions. Instead of playing with a flow of words, I’m being drawn to the great outdoors, where stars beckon our imagination with silent calls to stand in awe of their magnitude filling the expanse of the inky sky we can hardly comprehend. The wind picks up and shakes bits and bobs from the trees that fall upon our yurt, nearly tricking us into believing it could be raining, though we know full well that the clear star-filled sky is the canopy set high over this campground tonight.

The rumble of crashing waves blends with the occasional passing of vehicles out on the highway, not that we expect the world for merely $50 a night but from our perspective, we are getting just that – the world. This form of perfection may not fit other’s ideas of luxury but for the two of us here this evening, our shared time is too fleeting not to understand the gift of the incredible when we find ourselves within it.

In my tired mind and body, I can find no profundity to wring out the intensity of today’s experience, which remains elusive to my right hand. Instead, I flick my wrist and see the clock ticked into the next hour, which can be perceived to be later than it is, at least back in Arizona. Now, I’m struggling to continue this splashing of ink onto paper and must concede that it’s time to splash a sleepy mind upon the waves of dreams that lay over the horizon of wakefulness. If I’m fortunate, tonight’s sleeping adventures will sneak in from the ocean, blow in on the breeze, or simply emerge from the delight of two traveling nerds deeply in love taking refuge in a cozy yurt.

Rainbows of Contemplation

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

You can be certain that we were nearly the first at breakfast as we were uncertain at which point they’d run out of food. Should you wonder why we didn’t head somewhere else for dinner or breakfast, well, “somewhere else” is Jacob Lake, about 45 miles away, which requires an easy hour to drive in each direction.

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

It’s a rare day in a national park that we pull up to the best seats in a lodge to just sit back and watch the weather pass, but that’s what we are embarking on right now. From a still-dark canyon when we first peeked into this fog-filled void prior to our visit to the dining room, the rain comes and goes. Also on the move have been some whisps of clouds forming off the edges of cliffs and nearby outcroppings.

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

In between, the sun pops out and brings golden light to small corners of the vast landscape sprawled before us, while at other fleeting moments, rainbows spring into their ephemeral existence and just as quickly fade away. The canopy floats by or is it hovering over the canyon? Whatever it’s doing or how it might be characterized, it’s beautiful.

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

Sitting here, I think about how, previously, we’ve seen others passing their time at this picture window and thought they were wasting an opportunity when they could have been on the go and capturing so much more outside on the trails. Maybe that was a testament to how much more contemplative those people were as compared to us at the time because here we are today, just like those people, monopolizing the comfy leather couch facing the panorama window.

Rainbow at the Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

Just one of the many rainbows we watched come and go.

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

There won’t be a lot of variation in these photos aside from shifting weather and light as our plan to hit the North Kaibab Trail for a few miles of hiking today has been scratched due to the rain and our general satisfaction that not only had we hiked a considerable amount yesterday (about 12 miles), but we have these great seats that seem to be encouraging us to keep them warm (and get some sock knitting done).

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

A funny aside, when people want to step in front of the window we are camping at, they often excuse themselves as though the view was all ours.

Peggy Walker and Caroline Wise at the Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

Funnier yet was meeting Larry and Peggy Walker, World Travelers. Larry first tried passing his wife off on me; well, he threatened that she might sit in my lap if I objected to sharing the view. This was followed up by him moving slyly into my spot next to Caroline when I had stood up to snap a photo or two. His smiling face of “Gotcha” was certainly worth a good laugh. It turned out that these two were celebrating their 50th anniversary this week while also accompanying some friends who were renewing their vows in Vegas. Larry and Peggy are just an awesome happy couple and an inspiration to both of us. Hopefully, we, too see our 50th anniversary someday.

Grand Canyon National Park North Rim, Arizona

We sat a bit longer and started to learn that many people want to stop and talk, so contemplative moments are not all that easy to have. With this realization, we consider that it’s time to get moving again, but just then, another weather front is coming in from the east, and I’m curious to watch the canyon disappear again. As we got up after sitting there for close to three hours, we saw that all around us, the trappings that make the lodge a comfy place had been disappearing as the crew, anxious to be finished for the season, had been busy clearing the place out.

Vermilion Cliffs seen from Marble Canyon, Arizona

This must be a record year regarding how many times we’ve passed through the Vermilion Cliffs area, and each encounter is as worthy as any of the other travels through here.

Over the Colorado River on the Navajo Bridge in Marble Canyon, Arizona

I’ve taken countless photos over the years of the Colorado River from the Navajo Bridge but I’m not sure I’ve ever taken one in this kind of light. I took this thought not as yet another iteration of this scene but as an establishing shot of what comes next. First, though, there’s a tiny detail at the top of the cliffside on the right, and while you can’t see it right now, it’ll all become clear in the next photo. Oh, and consider that the bridge we are on is 467 feet (142 meters) over the river below, which should give you some idea about the scale.

Condors at Navajo Bridge in Marble Canyon, Arizona

On the lower right sits an incredibly rare bird, rarer than its parents, above it to the left. That black spot is a fledgling condor born in the wild, one of a small handful. These are just three of the approximately 115 condors that are hopefully still alive in Arizona, and if I had to guess, I’d say that Caroline and I have seen no less than 15 of these giants of the scavenger world or more than 10% of all condors in our state; that’s simultaneously cool and tragic. Think about it: we are barely holding on to the 500 or so California Condors that still exist, although that’s from a low point of just 27 birds left in existence back in 1987. If we are having this difficulty keeping a species of bird with a 10-foot wide wingspan alive, what would make us believe we can keep ourselves going into the future? And if you believe it’s natural selection, the demise of condors was due to humans using lead ammunition for hunting and leaving animals and entrails in the wild where the birds would naturally finish them off. The resulting lead poisoning nearly brought them to extinction.

Rainbow seen over Highway 89 north of Flagstaff, Arizona

Since leaving the remarkable sight of the fledgling, we’ve been hitting intermittent rain, sometimes heavy. Just south of Flagstaff, the intensity of this rainbow demanded we stop. Sadly, the photo does it no justice.

Flagstaff, Arizona

From a distance, we thought we were looking at sun rays shining through the clouds onto the forest that sits on the flank of San Francisco Mountain below Humphry’s Peak, that’s well out of sight. Nope, it wasn’t until we pulled over that we saw the thousands of Aspen trees changing color with the change of season.

Rainbow seen over Highway 17 south of Flagstaff, Arizona

Hmmm, maybe Sedona is the magic place so many believe it is, as here we are at Highway 179, which is the exit for Sedona, and it was double-rainbows all the way.