Then the storms rolled in, and the Oregon coast reminded me what it’s capable of. I was moving hotels from Bandon to Yachats this day, so I had all my stuff in the car, which at least meant that I had several extra layers, extra socks, two rain jackets, and some left over snacks. I would need each one of those things at various points in the day.
I probably should have hit up Heceta Head lighthouse the day before when the weather was less dismal, but honestly, I kind of love the vibe of the Pacific Northwest in these conditions. They can, however, be challenging to shoot in. I had my camera in a bag that was decently water resistant, so each time I wanted to take a picture I had quickly pull it out, then quickly stuff it back in before the rain got all over the front element of the lens.
The vibe of this image is very accurate to how it felt.
The gale force winds hadn’t hit yet, but they were already unpleasant. I found myself having to stand with my back to the wind and rain in order to avoid getting pelted in the face. And yet, because this is Oregon after all, I was not the only lunatic out in this weather. Wherever I went, there were other people hopping out of their cars, laughing and pulling up the hoods on their rain jackets, grinning from ear to ear. These are truly my people.
Where was this?
I ended up driving around without a cell signal for quite a while after Heceta Head, and if I’m being honest, I have no idea where some of these images were taken. I stopped at a number of places and took pictures, but did not take meticulous notes for each stop. I’ve tried to piece it together from Google maps and my itinerary, but nothing is matching up. So… enjoy some moody pictures of “somewhere on the Oregon coast.”
It was a lovely “somewhere'.”
As I was driving around, I happened upon this crow. We had an instant kinship. He looked about how I felt.
I … also have no idea where this was.
With still no cell signal in sight, I stumbled upon the parking lot for Hobbit Beach, which was on my itinerary. The rain was coming down hard, and I knew it probably wouldn’t be a pleasant hike, but I hadn’t come all the way out here to sit around being dry and comfortable. Sometimes the best pictures come from the worst conditions.
The trail was a sloppy, muddy mess, but the gnarled trees of the forest were fascinating. Much to my surprise, as I was going down to the beach, a group of about 10 people were on their way back up, wearing hotel-provided ponchos, giving off strong “drowned weasel” vibes, but once again, goddamn if they didn’t look happy.
For all my earlier bluster, I have to admit I gave up after the Hobbit Beach hike. I was soaked, cold, and quickly reaching the point where no amount of blasting the heat in the car was going to solve my problems. Not even the snacks were cheering me up. I hightailed it north along the coast, stopping briefly at Thor’s Well and then continuing on. The motel let me check in early, and while I was grateful for the chance to change into dry, warm clothing, the room was almost as damp as the outdoors. The only heat was in the form of a small electric stove, which I turned on max power and stood in front of for quite a while. The fact that my room was right on the coast with a clear view of the ocean did somewhat make up for dampness.
There’s a certain charm to old motels like this, built in an era where land was cheap and you could afford to spread out rather than merely up.
Whenever I travel, I often find myself needing to eat lunch at that weird hour well past when normal people eat lunch, but far too early to qualify as dinner. I drove back into town to a brewery I’d been to a couple years earlier when I stayed in Yachats, and found I was the only customer. Just me and a very damp husky. (“damp” was the theme of the day) The folks working there were incredibly kind, and I set myself up in the room off to the side so I could listen to the rain on the metal roof while I scarfed down salmon chowder. As I sat there, the sky eventually stopped dumping buckets of water, and I took the opportunity to head back to my room to (once again) take a hairdryer to my shoes so I could reasonably wear them again.
I didn’t have high hopes for photography along the coastline given the forecast, but the rain had tapered to a faint drizzle, and my feet were dry-ish, which at this point in the trip qualified as good enough. As I wandered around in the on/off drizzle, a woman walking her dog stopped me to ask why I was out there if I didn’t have a dog that desperately needed to pee. I lifted up my camera in response. I think she thought I was a bit crazy.
In one direction, everything was still shrouded in mist.
In the other, the sky was beginning to clear.
The first thing I had to see was “my tree.” I photographed it the last time I was in Yachats, and it felt like it was barely holding on then, so I was happy to find it still holding on now. (“My tree” in 2023.)
Then the most miraculous thing happened: the clouds parted and the light started to kick off right as we hit peak sunset time. People began to emerge from their hotel rooms and homes, the coastal walk filling with people stumbling around with their iPhones as though awoken from a rain-induced slumber.
Suddenly, I had that same feeling I had in Bandon of wanting to be everywhere all at once. Much to my dismay, however, I got pulled into a lengthy discussion with an older woman who was very keen to discuss photography with me. The downside of walking around with a “real camera” is that people see it as an invitation to talk photography with you, completely oblivious to the fact that 95% of landscape photographers are deeply introverted. She was sweet, and for as much as I was doing the potty dance in my head because I wanted to be running around shooting, I spent a good chunk of time talking to her because … how can you be mad about someone having passion and interest in something you also love?
You can really see just how heavy those storm clouds still were, with the light trying to push them back.
The light continued to get better and better and better. I was, once again, walking back and forth along the coastal path with all the chill of a small child who’d been given too much candy. The tide pools were reflecting the light beautifully, and each view provided a different composition.
But I know what you’re all really wondering. Did I manage to get through this shoot without getting my shoes wet again, given that the walk is set back from the water and there was no incoming tide to worry about? Nope. Misjudged a puddle and walked around with one dry foot, and one VERY squishy soaked foot.
Photography: 100% success.
Feet: 50% success.
