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| Bandon Beach, Oregon, December sunset |
My
friend and fellow children’s book author Caroline Hatton went on this trip in December 2021 and took
the photos in this post. Caroline is a frequent contributor to The Intrepid Tourist. I thank her for sharing her interesting travels!
As the moon and sun move across the sky, all the water on Earth
surrenders to their pull, strongest when they come the closest and all three
celestial bodies are aligned. This causes the highest annual tides, casually
called king tides, around the turn of the year.
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December 2021 tide height predictions in feet at Bandon, Oregon.
Credit: NOAA (red dot added for targeted tide)
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To look up king tide dates on the Pacific coast of Oregon, I visited
the Tide Predictions web page of
NOAA (U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration). I clicked on Oregon in
the left column list of states, then on “Bandon, Coquille River” because I had
heard about Bandon’s picturesque offshore rocks. Not only did I want to see
them, but I hoped that high tide might splash against them for a good show. I entered the dates of December 1 to
31, 2021, and discovered that the highest tides would occur on Saturday and Sunday, December 4 and
5. Clicking on the high point on Sunday displayed the corresponding time, 11:50
a.m.
That morning, my husband and I drove from our home in Eugene, Oregon, westward
toward the Pacific Ocean. With every passing minute, the tide was rising,
surging eastward, as if to rendezvous with us. My foot eagerly, literally,
pressed west on the gas pedal.
By then I had learned online about the Oregon King Tides Project,
a citizen science program collecting photos to anticipate damage by sea water
rising due to global warming. But I would leave documentation of vulnerable
spots to locals familiar with them, and focus instead on admiring the natural
spectacle.
Googling “Oregon waves” I had found a video of “wave explosions” at
Shore Acres State Park,
a good viewing spot on our way to Bandon. We got there an hour before high tide.
To keep our distance from others during the Covid-19 pandemic, we stood in a
wide space between two of the few photographers at the ready with their
tripods.
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| December
2021 king tide at Shore Acres State Park, Oregon |
The sun was shining, the sky was clear blue, and the ocean was… very
calm. Nature reminded us that a high tide (high water level) doesn’t guarantee
high surf (large waves), more likely on windy or stormy days. We watched seawater
wash quietly over reefs. Friendly strangers, who were there on past dates, were
happy to show off on their smart phones their old photos of huge wave explosions.
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| Tafoni
(eroded sandstone). Perfect hole sizes for storing anything from a kumquat to a
grapefruit. |
After the king tide hit its peak without much splashing, we strolled
through a rocky area to marvel at tafoni--not an Italian dessert, but a weird sandstone
structure resulting from erosion by ocean waves.
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Barking, stinky California Sea Lions (Zalophus californianus),
Aug. 2021
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From Shore Acres State Park, we could have driven 1.4 mile (>2 km)
south to Cape Arago State Park to see wild seals and sea lions, but didn’t
because we had been there and done that previously.
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| Rough-Skinned
Newt (Taricha
granulosa) ~5 inches/ ~12 cm long |
Instead we drove south to the Bandon Marsh National Wildlife Refuge at
the Coquille River estuary, a salt marsh where migrating birds feast and rest
in spring and fall. We didn’t see any birds, but we successfully avoided
stepping on rough-skinned newts (Taricha granulosa) crawling in slow
motion across the grassy trail. The shiny little darlings ooze tetrodotoxin, a
poison that can kill a human, so it’s best not to lick them!
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Myrtlewood (Umbellularia californica), native to this region
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At the refuge, we also walked through the grove of Myrtlewood (
Umbellularia
californica), an evergreen tree native to the southern Oregon and northern
California coastal region. It produces leaves you can rub on your skin to keep
bugs off, nuts you can roast and eat, and hardwood you can take home as carved souvenirs
from roadside and fishing harbor gift shops.
In Bandon, we walked along the beach in the vivifying cold. The sun,
sinking through light clouds, put on a glorious show for us and the handful of
photographers planted in the sand beside their tripods. (See photo at the top
of this post.)
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Face Rock. See the nose, lips, and chin profile down the right edge.
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On Monday, a gently rainy day, we strolled around the hibernating town
of Bandon, went beachcombing for smooth pebbles during a break in the weather,
and made sure to see Face Rock, an offshore rock that looks like a human
profile. According to a Native American legend, it is the face of an unfortunate
princess, turned into stone by an evil spirit while she was staring up at the
moon.
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On the Humbug Mountain Trail
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With no rain forecast on Tuesday, we drove 33 miles/~ 53 km south to
hike up Humbug Mountain. Its lush ferns and tall evergreens are unusual for the
coast, as is an opportunity to enjoy a climb.
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View from the Humbug Mountain Trail
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The lollipop-shaped trail (3 mi/ ~ 5 km total walking distance) took us
through morning fog, which dissipated at the top (1748 ft/ ~533 m) to reveal a
panoramic view of the coast under a sunny blue sky.
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Humbug Mountain (in the middle), the highest peak above the Oregon coast
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Even though the king tide turned out to be not much to write about, we
had a rejuvenating rendezvous with a variety of natural wonders.
