Yesterday we ticked off the 23rd state of our journey as we crossed the border and began breathing in the sweet air of Oregon, which admittedly is a lot like the air in northern California, if noticeably a little cheaper, as there is no sales tax here. We found a nice, family-run motel perched on the cliffs in Bandon, a typical Pacific Northwest fishing community, and took the opportunity to have a much-needed rest day between exceptionally long drives. There's a storm brewing out to sea, the wind is howling, and raindrops are beginning to flick the window. It's pretty atmospheric.
Bandon is a town so reminiscent of Middle America that its residents must be constantly surprised when they wake up each morning and discover the crashing Pacific at the end of the main street; it's the only thing that rescues this otherwise sleepy community from aching banality (that and the apparently popular golf course, though as a general rule I feel the less said about golf the better). After the occasionally maddening sprawl of the cities we've been to however, such rusticity is quite welcome, and it's not exactly a backwater - we had some incredible thai food last night, for
instance - unlike, say, Kansas, which really is just empty, with even Kansas City preferring to situate itself in Missouri than in the state whose name it bears. We've been for a couple of walks on the beach; rugged and windswept, the sea forbidding and grey, it is extremely beautiful, and reminds me quite a lot of Guernsey in the winter, even if at home you're unlikely to encounter any signs that caution 'Warning! It is illegal to harass the sea lions!'
The Pacific Northwest is, to my mind, one of the most fascinating parts of this country. It's not one of the more talked-about regions, but in many ways it is a microcosm of America - a whole host of diverse cultures (the Indians of course, the Russians, who established a series of outposts in the 18th century, the Euro-Americans, who flocked here during the Gold Rush, and even the Greeks, would you believe) competing and interacting in a frontier society, all strewn amongst astonishingly beautiful scenery.
And boy, is the scenery beautiful. After Gualala, we spent two days in Redwood National Park, in a cosy hostel that had expansive views of the ocean (it's becoming a pleasing theme of our overnight accommodations at the moment). There really are some big trees in these forests. The tallest stands at a neck-craning 364 feet. There is no viable way to fit an entire redwood into your field of vision, or indeed a photograph, though we had a good go at it, as you can see. They're fairly old too; the most ancient is no less than 2200 years old, which means that when Jesus was born it was already a pretty old tree. That's simply unimaginable.
We hiked a trail through the forest that, although only six miles long, felt a lot longer as it sneakily went up and down hills. It looked a lot like 'Return of the Jedi', which I suppose isn't that surprising since that's where it was filmed. As we traipsed along we had to resort to our full repertoire of songs, appropriately including those from 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers', to try and keep the bears at a safe distance; we may have sounded a bit like we were trying to keep our spirits up in a collapsed mine, but we didn't see any bears so it obviously did the
trick, although it was a little embarrassing when we came across other bemused-looking hikers, who clearly had not been given the same advice (though who knows whether they made it to the end of the trail!).
We did occasionally work up enough courage to desist from singing long enough to listen to the unforgettable silence created by the towering canopy. As Scarlett pointed out, it's so quiet it actually hurts your ears, as they strain to hear something, anything. Unfortunately, after a while this precious silence was shattered by a lone fly, who appeared to take great delight in pursuing us doggedly for several miles along the trail. You've honestly never heard a fly so loud. We were told to 'keep the wildlife wild', but given the chance I would have killed that fly, so as I would.
I'd better sign off, otherwise I'm going to miss the beginning of the Lost three-hour season finale event, which ought to be incredible, even if it will be punctuated by adverts that say things like 'too old for acne but too young for wrinkles? Your skin is practically perfect, but don't worry, you can still spend money on it by buying this wholly unnecessary product'. Tomorrow we're making a right turn and heading inland to Crater Lake, before dropping back down into California on our way to the Arizonan national parks. Watch, quite literally, this space.
- Adam
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