So many campgrounds along the coast, from California through Washington state, are reserved to capacity all summer. There are but a few short months during the summer when the sun shines for any extended periods and during those periods everyone and their shirt tail cousin are camping in their RV’s and tents. It’s hard to find places to stay and it’s no wonder. This part of the world is stunningly beautiful. It’s also relatively cool when the rest of the US is firecracker hot. Carl Washburn Memorial Camp Ground is one tremendous exception to that booked out rule. It is first come-first served. We got there early and found a great spot.
So, here you have the pacific coast with long sand beaches broken by giant boulders and cliffs, rocks of every kind and sort. The waves are crashing in constantly. It is dramatic, inspirational, and sublime all at the same time. There is a trail that begins at our camp site that courses through a wood of medium height live oaks and shrubby fir trees for maybe a quarter mile to the beach. Moss hangs from every branch reminding you of a swamp in Louisiana. The ground itself is like a sponge, soft and pliable under foot. Mushrooms appear daily everywhere, some as large as dinner plates. A little spring stream bubbles and gurgles along the pathway to the sea. Clouds and fog roll in and out morning and evening granting the sun a limited stint each day to spread its life-giving rays. It’s as if you are on the set of some Hobbit movie. I declare it to be a separate reality here on Earth...like nowhere else I’ve ever been.
On some days Diane and I would drive along the coast, either north or south, and check out the little villages settled along the cliffs of the coast. One day we took in a tour right on the coast called Sea Lion Cave. I half suspected it to be some type of tourist trap, but was overwhelmingly delighted to find that located below the shop and store where you buy your tickets was indeed, a sea lion cave. You find yourself about 100 feet below the cliff looking into a cave carved by wave action of the sea. Waves are crashing against rocks while dozens of sea lions and other sea mammals are barking and snorting and carrying on. One or two huge males hold court over everyone else in the cave. They keep the other males at bay by throwing their weight around, literally. The females fall right in line with the largest of the males. Smaller seals bring freshly caught fish in and feast on the rocks within the cave. The smell of the place is atrocious at best, but I didn’t mind too much as the spectacle was just too much to be ignored or washed over by smells of dead fish.
Cindy and Dusty joined us at our camp ground for one day. We strolled the beach together for a couple of miles. Not far from our start a dead sea lion, enormous, had washed up on shore. Lord, have mercy it stunk to high heaven, or low hell, not sure which. It was a sight, (and smell) though!
In Florence, not far from where we are staying, lies a terrific lighthouse perched on the rocks up above the waves. It’s a national historical treasure set in brilliant white against the backdrop of the impossible blues of the sea and sky and the emerald hued trees of the bluff it rests on. Out beyond the surf, perhaps 300 yards out in the ocean, Diane spotted a whale spouting and rolling in the sun. Such a beautiful and immense creature, caught playing in the sun while it leisurely searched for lunch. We watched in quiet admiration and gratitude for some 30 minutes or more. Sometimes, out here in the real world, it seems difficult to find what we feel is ENOUGH gratitude. Sometimes we are overwhelmed by it all. This is certainly one of those times.