Trekking the NW Oregon Coast

 Haystack Rock, standing at 235 ft and making it the world's 3rd tallest monolith rock formation accessible by land, was the film location for the truck rally scene in Goonies. 

 Walsh House in the Goon Docks. Still standing.

Fort George Brewery

Enter the Vortex

   Once or twice a week, a vital flight from the farm was needed and I'd set out to explore what the Northwest Oregon had to offer. Most notable included a trip to the Oregon Coast. Many Americans growing up in the 80's could appreciate the allure to check out Haystack Rock & Astoria's 'Goon Docks', both on-location settings for Goonies. 2010 turned out to be good timing on my part too. The port town wears the filming as a badge of honor and fittingly celebrated the 25th Anniversary of it's filming last year. Made sure to purchase beer and shot glasses commemorating the event for a couple friends and a keychain for myself (bumber stickers were all out, so it was the next best thing). For a Fall day in the Pacific Northwest, there was no sense in complaing with the mid 50 degree temperatures, as long the sun was beaming. Moreover, with it being midweek well after the end of the tourist season, it seemingly felt at times as if I had my own private beach to stroll.

   I came for the beaches and Goonie attractions, but stayed to sample the local, hoppy flavors at the Fort George Brewery & Public House.  According to their description on its facebook page, the fortress of brew is the "original settlement site founded in March 1811 by Captain Jonathan Thorn...Under temporary British authority it was renamed Fort George after King George the 3rd". Beginning in the 1920's, the building housed an auto repair shop till it was vacated in the late 1990's. By good fortune, out of town passersby and local regulars, alike, should no longer be wary of british control or grease monkeys, and can get their bitter-fiber fix in the Oatmeal Pale Ale, a little post-work pick me up with the chocolate/coffee combo Working Girl Porter or, my personal favorite, the biting, potentially dizzying 7.4% ABV, Vortex IPA. And for the icing on top, the adjacent seasonally-derived, local-supporting, organic Blue Schorcher Bakery scrumptiously fills your sweet tooth.

  Wanting to get back to Harmony before nightfall, I got the VW in gear just shy of 5pm. During the march on OR- 202, over a sedately manageable pass on the Coastal Range, past a pair of rivers and accompanying valleys, the pestering initial stages prior to the break of the seal beckoned me, when a well-timed rest stop area appeared. An out of the ordinary rest stop indeed. Before getting the chance to take care of business, a herd of Roosevelt Elk, tallying well over the century mark, caught my fancy beyond a fence line situated just past the parking area. I had stumbled upon the Jewell Meadows Wildlife Area, an animal refuge serving as a winter habitat for the hoofed creatures, amongst other creatures at various points of the year, and managed by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. It was great to witness such a vast number so close. Till then, I had seen two before; one enclosed at a zoo, and the other resting within a parking space next to the Hoh River Trailhead, situated at Washington State's Olympic Peninsula.

   Speaking of hoofed mammals, a 15-mile excursion from the farm down to Forest Grove, OR presented me with the L Bar T Bison Ranch, which houses an average of 15 bison a year. Having been a proponent of its red meat for some time, I was already aware of its more flavorful healthier benefits over beef and was happy to see a meat purveyor not relying at the standard agribusiness/concentrated feedlot model. As mentioned on their website, their animals 'spend their lives on grass much as they always have, and very little time in the feedlot. Because of this, there is no need for artificial growth stimulants or sub-therapeutic use of antibiotics. Comparison of the nutritional values of bison meat is low in fat and calories and high in protein and nutrients.'

   The last outing of mine worth noting was the last Saturday in Oregon before venturing southbound to California. Carlos took off soon after he and I finished work early in the afternoon and since the Matthews weren't expected for another 4 hours or so, I decided to treat myself to a celebratory drink at the one and only bar in town; and hopefully catch some playoff baseball in the process. Upon entering and descrying the seemingly ubiquitous w/in Oregon slot machines, I grab the closest empty bar stool and take in game 6 of the Giants-Phillys NLCS with the widely elder crowd.

   Two drinks and three innings in, a fella in his mid 20s, sporting a red sox cap, walks into the establishment (Later I'd find out he's from Arizona. Red Sox Nation is an epidemic).  The fast-talking, napoleon syndromic dude introduces himself as Warren and mentions he's passing through the area foraging for wild mushrooms. Mushroom hunting has intrigued me for quite sometime for its high risk/high reward. The booze tallying up 'kept my heart alive but bemazed my brain' and Warren ably persuaded me to take a trek at that drenching night hour after I considered the alternative of returning to Harmony.  We got into his Jeep and after travelling about 3 miles Warren takes a dirt covered service road turn off the highway.  Soon enough the dirt road morphed into a muddy pool and the anticipated fungus junket quickly became a mired down immovable wheeled encampment with the jeep getting stuck.  In vain, Warren pulled the gear down to reverse and back to drive and back once again and so forth. Placing more force on the gas didn't help the situation any either.

   I got out of the car at some point and instead of finding a way to help the situation, I managed to make matters worse for myself by losing my balance and slipping in the sludge. Careless me also left my fleece behind in my van. It was going to be a restless, frigid night! Where we were? Warren was unable to get service on his phone, so I lent him my phone. To get help, he tried calling some of his buddies and girlfriend, who were all seemingly somewhere between Portland and Salem. A text left on my phone went 'hey baby im on some random guys phone stuck out in the woods somewheere (sic) near the coast car died and i dont know whre (sic)i am'.

   To make a long story short, by midnight I decided my best prospects for making it back to the farm was to sit tight till morning and, with the aid of daylight, walk back to the bar to pickup my van. Though Warren wasn't able to get through with his buddies for help, at least he had a dry seat with cover I could crash on till daybreak.

   Equally grim to the failed adventure was the promenade back to the car. Luckily, my phone had enough juice to start up it's GPS and get me back on the main road. I timed the remaining battery life just right cause as soon as I hit the familiar street, the phone died. Immediately after, the cold showers poured once more, and for 2.5 miles I was walking on the side of the road with nothing but drenched clothes consisting of dirt stained jeans along and a t-shirt. Half-way thru the walk, I lost track of the amount of vehicles screeching 50 mph right by me in both directions. Ultimately, I made it back to the van in one piece and drove back to the farm realizing the most gloriously comforting hot shower ever waited for me. And that my friends is silver lining. You only can be sure of living just once in this realm. Enjoy what you can.


   Road Trip Tunes
   Sigur Ros, ' ( ) ' (Untitled #8)
   Neil Young, 'Live at Massey Hall 1971' (A Man Needs A Maid/Heart of Gold)
   Iron & Wine, 'The Creek Drank The Candle' (Upward Over The Mountain)
   Wilco, 'Kicking Television' (Ashes of American Flags)