Say "Port Orford Port" quickly ten times

That's the Rolling Steel Tent on the upper left

There's an overnight parking area on the bluff overlooking Port Orford Port (or the Port of Port Orford, depending on the sign). It used to be free. Then there was a suggested donation. Now it's $10/night. But, hey, there's an excellent 4G signal, the town has a real grocery store, and there are no trees blocking solar exposure—which is extra important on overcast days like today (and which is one reason I'm not at Cape Blanco).

The actual port

The port doesn't have the usual docks. Instead, the commercial fishing boats are kept on trailers on the jetty. Cranes lower them to the water and haul them back out. Pretty slick.

Going up!

Awaiting their turn

In the deciduous zone

I'm at Edson Creek, a BLM campground four miles east of Sixes, Oregon. Though I'm only slightly inland, the micro environment is different from the pines and firs I usually see along the coast. Oh look, leaves.

There were about a dozen campsites taken when I pulled in this morning, but now half of them—weekenders—are gone. Plenty of room. Quiet. Perfect temperature. Four bucks a night for old farts like me.

Change up

I guess it's windsurfing instead of kiteboarding today because the wind is from the south. Or because it's Saturday. Or something.

Why?

"Hey, Bubba! Help me get rid if this old cylinder head."

"Where do you want to dump it?"

"Out by the shore, of course."

Waiting for the sun

Any moment now

Second by second, the planet is turning. Inch by inch sunlight creeps over the tree line and toward the Rolling Steel Tent's solar panel. Get a move on, cosmos. I have batteries that need charging.

Windy, in a good way

Boice Cope Park is on the shore of Floras Lake, which is a couple of dunes from the Pacific. The wind today is out of the north at a bazillion miles an hour. Okay, 15-ish MPH. That's good for keeping the bugs away and for attracting kiteboarders.

The darker band of blue above the dunes is the fog on its way in

Woo, action photography!

It's not all kiteboarders, though. The creek that feeds or drains (I couldn't tell which way the current was flowing) the lake is good for some less frenetic kayaking and nature watching.

The campground is behind the trees

Long before water sports were popular, something else brought people to Floras Lake. Developers and dubious plans, as this sign explains:

Doh!

Not without justification

I consulted Google Maps to see how far it was from Coos Bay to Boice Cope Park, near Langlois. As Google Maps usually does, it offered an alternate route. Besides the obvious way down Highway 101, it thought I might like to detour through Coquille (the county seat) and follow the Coquille River back to 101. Okay, why not? Besides, the route sort of looked like a profile of Conan O'Brien, with Coquille at the tip of his nose.

Highway 42 to Coquille and points beyond is four lanes. Piece of cake. But 425 from Coquille to Bandon is two lanes, rather narrow, curvy and with no shoulders most of the way—the type of road that can make me a little nervous. The Rolling Steel Tent seems wider and more wallowy under those circumstances. But I took it easy, a little slower than the speed limit, telling myself the road was plenty wide enough and I wasn't going to run off into the river or anything.

About two-thirds of the way along (in the middle of Conan's chin, I'd guess) I came upon a couple of guys waving handheld stop signs. So I stopped.

"Up ahead there's a car that ran off the road into the river. The road is totally closed down. You can wait an hour or more while they pull it out, or you can turn around," one of them said.

I turned around, my anxiety vindicated.

Ork ork ork ork ork ork ork ork...!

I took a drive this morning, out along the mouth of Coos Bay (the body of water, not the city) and out to Cape Arago.

Sunset Bay is serene

There are tide pools I didn't want to hazard climbing down to

One of the big draws is the sea lions out on Simpson Reef. Hundreds of them. Birthing, mating, catching some sun, making a racket.

The sea lions are the strip of brown things

I don't have a huge telephoto lens, so you sort of have to take my word that those are sea lions in the photos

Meanwhile, farther down the cape, I saw some people out on the rocks. I thought they were just exploring, but then I saw the lone sea lion they were trying to get close to. The guy in the white shirt had his camcorder and tripod all set up. The people kept trying to get closer and the sea lion would keep skooching away.

I thought, "This sea lion is probably over here, away from the others, because he/she is an introvert and needs some space and quiet time. Then these people come barging in." I was totally sympathetic.

Mmmmm, yes

One of the disadvantages of wandering around the less populated areas of the West is that it's hard to find bagel shops. Bagels made on site, or at least fresh from the oven, that aren't circular dinner rolls pretending to be bagels. And with a variety of schmears. I've pretty much given up the quest.

But thanks to a long traffic light that gave me time to look around, I spotted a bagel shop in a strip mall. And I was in the proper lane to turn into the parking lot.

It looked good and smelled good when I walked in. And it tasted pretty good. Not as chewy as the best bagels (the magic of gluten), but infinitely better than anything you'll find in a grocery cold box. I'm happy.

Meanwhile, back in Redmond...

All done and ready to hit the road

Lou is happy, even if he doesn't exactly look it. That's just how he smiles.

It'll do

After a couple of nights again at the Salmon Harbor Marina in Winchester Bay, I headed twenty-something miles south to Coos Bay. Groceries, some frozen yogurt, a little wandering around town, then off to the dry camping area at The Mill Casino.

It's just a big patch of gravel between the highway and the bay. It used to be free, but now they're charging $15 a night. I should go have dinner at the all-you-can-stuff-in-your-gut buffet to make up for it. See how that affects their profit margin.

From what I understand, back in the free days this lot would be packed. Not so much today. Maybe the fee has thinned out the crowd. It's better than being squeezed between big Class A rigs and fifth-wheelers. If I wanted to do that, I could pay more to stay in the casino's actual RV park on the other side of the bushes. As I was registering, there was a woman who was very unhappy about the selection of sites in the campground. There wasn't one available large enough for their RV and cargo trailer. I thought, "Hey, you need room? Come join us out in the gravel patch. You could set up your own village out there."

Not what Odysseus had in mind

The Sirens were beautiful but dangerous creatures whose enchanting songs lured sailors to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island.

The spooky song of sirens like this one, though, are meant to do the opposite, to chase you away from the coast in the event of a tsunami. Having yourself tied to the mast while the rest of us plug our ears is not advisable in that event.

Meanwhile, there are signs along the coast telling us to be on the watch for debris, like that from the 2011 Tōhoku tsunami. The concern is hitchhiking invasive species rather than radiation. Unless, I suppose, it's a radioactive invasive species. You wouldn't want to take home an oddity that floated here from Japan only to have a bunch of Godzillas hatch in your man cave. That would really drive down the property values in your neighborhood.

FOLLOWUP: On a far more serious note, the Cascadia Subduction Zone.

More from the fog zone

At Seal Rock, with no seals

Wishing for bad luck

Not for me, but for the guy nearby trying to start his generator. Oh please please please don't go adding your noise to the world. At least not so near to me. Grumble grumble grumble...