Southern Oregon Coast

The southern Oregon ccoast feels like no other part of the Northwest.  From Portland,  it takes five hours to get there along I-5 south with a cut through the coast range near Eugene.  Take the 101 from Tillamook or Seaside, and you're looking at seven hours of winding road reminiscent to the 1 in California.   Because of this remoteness, the area gets limited visitation in the summer and in the winter, well its all but a ghost town.   Think of it as Twin Peaks with a few bags of meth borrowed from Deadliest Catch, and without the cute girls.

After a few weeks of the Pacific Northwest's signature rain and gloom,  I headed south along the coast on my way to California.  Like most Oregonians,  I grew up spending weekends during the summer playing on the rugged northern beaches of Short Sands and Canon Beach.  My knowledge of the coast goes from good to nonexistent around Lincoln City.  With my buddy, Spencer Phillips, sitting shotgun, we worked our way down the coast searching for waves and views in the heart of winter.

Blasting.

Lagoon.

Ripping a few hundred yards out.

Late night.

Foaming.

Locs only, bro.  These gulls hold it down.

Dodge Rampage.

Sometimes slide film has a mind of its own.

Fixings.

Deers,  beware.

Holding it down.

Sunrise with Portra 160 and an Olympus XA on January 7th.

Traveling is always best in places that you don't know that well.  The parks were empty save for a few dog walkers and retirees in their RV's.  If you ever get the opportunity, head to this part of the country.  Bring your surf board,  there are plenty of waves.

Here are some more links,

Southern Oregon (Facebook),

Foreverenroute,

Twitter.

Loose Ends

This week I'm doing some house keeping, working on a few projects,  surfing and waiting for some film to develop.  Regular, Tuesday and Thursday, posts will be back next week.  In the mean time,  head over to the A Restless Transplant Facebook Page to see some flicks from the Oregon Coast that I shot on an Olympus XA.  I accidentally dropped the camera and the back popped open, giving the roll some light leeks.  Also, check out my travels on Instagram @fosterhuntington.

More links,

A Restless Transplant (Facebook),

#vanlife.

Twitter.

L.A. to Washougal

"How many days do you want to drive it in?" I asked my dad on speaker phone at a stoplight in Ventura.

"Well, at minimum, three but I would like to do more than that...I'm looking at flights right now into Burbank.  They are dirt cheap.  60$ one way with tax."

"I'm all for more days.  Three days would be a schlep.  Plus, the Syncro doesn't like I-5 much.  Lets take our time up the 1, or go up east through Death Valley and the Sierras."

"In December?  Are you fucking kidding me?  I'm not flying down from Washington to spend more time in cold weather. I want to see palm trees and eucalyptus groves."

"Ha I guess you're right.  Lets do the 1 then."

"Cool.  Tim and I will fly down on the 20th and we'll head back up to Washougal for Christmas.  This will be a blast."

As planned,  I picked them up at the Burbank airport a few days later and we headed north.  We took our time meandering up Route 1. Surfing, hiking and skateboarding, we made a few hundred miles each day.  At night,  we crammed into the back of the van and had snoring contests.

Picture this, three six footers (I'm 6'3, Tim's 6'8 and my dad's 6'1) in VW van, listening to the Grateful Dead and eating at taco trucks.

December denial.

A surf session in Bolinas.

Jalama Beach.

Shred sticks.

Could be anywhere in Latin America, but no, its Lincoln Heights.

Tshirts.

The Channel Islands.

We left the bulk of the driving for the last day and made it back to Washougal early Christmas morning.  I couldn't say exactly when, because Tim and I were asleep in the backseat.

Some memories are better captured on 35mm film.

Here are some more links,

Facebook,

Twitter.

Fire on the Mountain

A few cars parked on the shoulder made me take a second look as I rounded the bend on 101 heading north on the Oregon coast.  Seeing cliffs, ocean and foam though the sparse trees,  I deliberated.   If I head back to Portland now,  it will be dark by the time I get back.  No point in hurrying. Some few hundred feet past the pull out,  I turned around in a gap in traffic and headed back to investigate.

Turning off the ignition, I unplugged my iPhone from the stereo and kept Fire on the Mountain Cornell 77' playing through the speaker phone.  An unseasonal south wind blew in warm air,  making January 1st feel like April and I left my sweater in the backseat.  "Blooop Blooop" my alarm sounded as I shoved  my phone in my breast pocket, and grabbed my camera.

Disregarding the family of four walking towards me on the trail,  I continued my air guitar solo and passed with a smile, hair still wet from a surf session at Short Sands.

"I wonder if they can guess which car is mine?" I chuckled to myself.

The sound of waves bashing against the cliffs beckoned.

Soon,  the trees and land stopped, abruptly,  a few hundred feet above the ocean.   From this vantage point, the swells' dark shadows lined up towards the horizon. Hopping the fence,  I brushed some gravel off a ledge and sat. Fire on the Mountain wound down to some cheers from stoned college kids now in their 50s.  Being in no rush,  I pulled out the my phone and pushed repeat.

What if...

Pebble throwing,  idea jotting.

As far west as it gets.

Narrow.

An hour of daydreaming,  pebble throwing and wave watching passed.  Despite feeling like April,  January shadows reminded me of my hour and a half drive back to Portland.  Taking one last look,  I climbed back over the wire fence and walked back towards the pulloff.

Happy New Year.  Longer days are coming.

Here are some more links,

Scarlet/Fire on the Mountain (Cornell 77),

Out of Reception.

Facebook.