The Lost Coast

A photo of a lighthouse in Eureka for my buddy Alex!    

The road to the Lost Coast

Horses and cattle graze within yards of the ocean

I left Brookings Oregon shortly after 8 in the morning with the intent of stopping at the nearest café for breakfast. Dinner the night before was dismal since I did not stop at a store before making camp and removing my many layers of riding gear. A chocolate mint brownie clif bar would have to suffice.

I was cold in the morning after having so few calories to burn during the night. But as soon as my tires hit the road and the cool morning air rushed past my hunger faded and the thought of California ahead caused me to drive right by all the little roadside cafes.

I was warned that the coast would be grey and dismal and WET this time of year, but when I compared 45 degrees and raining to the 30 degrees and snowing that I might experience east of the mountains there seemed to only be an illusion of choice. Despite the weather I am so happy to have chosen this route along the coast. I am always in awe at the beauty that exists in America’s backyard. I arrived in Eureka with thoughts of finding a place to stay to escape the impending storm. The place seemed grim and sort of uninviting so I decided to take my chances at finding a hidden campsite a park ranger had told me of earlier in the day. The directions seemed easy enough- turn right at Fernbridge, follow the road to Ferndale, and then continue on for 30-40 miles to the Lost Coast. Were these driving directions or the beginning of some sort of quest in the next Harry Potter book? The latter probably describes the trip more adequately. I wound my way through the streets of Ferndale and then happened across the portal to the Lost Coast. The road came to an unlikely fork, right headed to the harbor, left headed abruptly up a steep hill on a narrow ill-traveled road that was little more than a modern version of a carriage path. The left fork was adorned by a rusty overhead arching sign reminiscent of an entrance to an amusement park that had long ago disappeared. The oxidized slightly misaligned letters read “Petrolia”. After entering this seemingly secret portal the landscape abruptly changed.  The road climbed steeply for many miles and suddenly emerged into Scotland, or at least a Hollywood set that was made to represent Scotland. Huge rolling pastures covered the hillsides and met there terminus at the ocean’s edge dipping their green toes directly into the pacific. Massive sea stacks and islands could be seen beyond the green pastures. Cattle grazed lazily along the hillsides and gave me sideways glances as I motored by that seemed to say…you wish you lived here... The road twisted and turned rising over high pastoral landscapes and then descended sharp switchbacks into green valleys that emptied there rivers directly into the sea. After many miles the road dropped down to the beaches edge. The road was within 200 yards of the crashing waves, but even within that space horses and cattle grazed together forming beautiful peaceful silhouettes against turbulent ocean.

I found the campsite. Just over a small dune from the beach. As I attempted to set up my tent the winds were feeling a bit mischievous. Ten or so minutes later I was stuffing my tent back into the panniers feeling a bit defeated. I thought about having to pay for a place to stay and my investment in making this area work was renewed. A lull in the wind. I rushed to get the tent setup and guyed out like I was preparing for another windstorm on Rainier. I was in the tent by 5:00 ready to wait out the foul weather. Two hours later a knock came during a lull in the wind and rain. Another fellow had arrived in his truck and asked me if I wanted to hang out and have a beer. Steve and I hung out for a couple hours in the front of his truck to escape the torrential rains and talked family, friends, and the need for every individual to follow their unique path. At around 8 p.m. I bid him goodnight and headed for my tent to try to sleep through the howling winds and pounding downpour.