That old expression, “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone,” doesn’t necessarily apply to the four weeks of sunshine we enjoyed on the coast while many inland areas experienced Del Norte’s more natural state: fogged up or clouded over.
Most of us instantly appreciated the rareness of the dry streak that began in late November and pretty much ran until Christmas Day. We could pretend we were getting used to it, but all that blue sky was lighting up a North Coast dependent on different weather for its lushness.
Still, this week’s return of soaking rains does make those meteorological memories all the more special. Our beaches are remote even during tourist season, but in late fall they’re downright private. Strolling the consistently sunny sand, it was hard not to muse, “If only the inlanders knew what’s going on here.”
I’ll be forever grateful that our massive clear spell lasted through Christmas Eve. That was the day my visiting family coaxed my 89-year-old mother to a perch partway down a Pebble Beach stairway. It was December’s highest tide, and the muscular Pacific pounded the shore’s natural rock wall.
Storm waves without the storm.
We spent an exquisite half-hour or so there, applauding the performance scene by scene and snapping off a few hundred digital photos as the surf exploded like fireworks shooting ocean spray impossibly high. For once, the occasional whale spouts were only a sideshow.
If it rains all winter, I won’t complain — although the recent showers aren’t forecast to return until later next week. This was an autumn for the ages, and it stuck around long enough for Santa to complete his work.
Now our rejuvenated rivers can serve up their tardy salmon. Our redwood forests can quench their thirst. And we can all rejoin the reality of where we live.
After driving my parents home to Salem, Laura and I actually looked forward to running our windshield wipers on a long journey south along the coast highway. We started with old haunts in Lincoln City – driving by the beach house we used to rent at Road’s End, lodging and dining in the high-rise Inn at Spanish Head, breakfasting at the Wildflower Grill with its sublime wetland scenery, sipping coffee at Salishan, gawking from the precipice at Cape Foulweather.
We never turned those wipers off as we motored south through Depoe Bay, Newport, Waldport, rising to Yachats and descending into Florence’s Old Town for lunch. The sideways-mist machine had two settings — high and higher — as we continued along the flatter, dunier stretch through Reedsport and Coos Bay before stopping for the night at a newer haunt, the Bandon Inn.
Of course we spent as little time as possible out in the open, dodging the downpour as we dashed from car to short-term destination and back. There was no let-up as we passed through Port Orford (lunch at the soon-to-close-for-the-season Redfish Café), Gold Beach (coffee and bookstore browsing) and Brookings.
If not for signage and the stop at the ag inspection station, highway travelers would have no idea they’d entered a different state until reaching that tall-tree corridor south of Smith River.
It’s all the Northwest Coast, it’s all green and gray and beautiful, and it’s all wet.