Boat Camping the Beach

The day dawned beautiful and promised to reach 57 degrees as we towed the boat down to pick up dead tuna heads on our way to launch. We were on our way for a night of beach camping and figured we’d get in some crabbing as well.


Things didn’t go quite as planned right off the bat, as Marc slipped off the trailer tongue unloading the boat, wrenching his knee and falling in the water. I could tell he was in a great deal of pain but he said he was all right, so we launched our fully laden boat. The wind was mild as we crossed the bay but by the time we investigated a couple of areas it was nearly 1 p.m. before we tied off the boat on a lovely stretch of “all to ourselves” beach on the North Spit and I started to unload. Marc hobbled to shore and proceeded to get rid of some berry vines in our campsite. Together we erected the tent and he pumped up the air mattresses as I continued to slog stuff back and forth from boat to beach. Whew, tent camping is a lot of work!

The afternoon could not have been prettier as we relaxed in our chairs, Marc wrapped in a sleeping bag due to his wet clothing. We hadn’t brought a change. By the time we had some drinks and snacks it was really too late to crab plus the tide was going out quickly, so we recorded the progress in a series of photographs as our boat looked more and more like a beached whale. We were truly marooned now. Like magic, over the course of less than ten minutes, wispy wads of fog drifted in from seaward and soon encased us in a cocoon of grey.

It was time to start a fire.

While Marc was busy with the fire I decided to see if I could scare up some rock crab hiding in the sea grass—they often dig into the mud and hide as the tide goes out but none were to be found today.

Marc and I snuggled in front of the fire as we watched the pelicans feed and the fog bleach all color from the day and the beach.

Throughout the night as I would drift in and out of sleep I heard the constant roar of the ocean breakers on the beach across the spit. Also the drip, drip, drip of the condensation formed from the fog off the small coast pine right above our tent. One lulled, one nagged. Oh well, sleeping on the ground has been worse. We awoke to a fresh world of rosy grey light, heavy scents in moist air, and the sight of the boat running horizontal on the beach instead of perpendicular to it as we had left her the night before. The smell of the percolating coffee finally roused us to bedroom conversation as we stayed wrapped in the sleeping bags against the chill. Finally, it was time to think about the big pack-up in time to meet the incoming tide which we hoped would be high enough not to leave us stranded another twelve hours. Success; with Marc’s prodding, we floated free.

Crabbing on the way back, we managed to land one Dungeness and four smaller rock crab for our dinner. The boat rocked and rolled with the heavier seas today and water spray soaked all that we carried in the bow. Back home, it was a big clean-up process. Have I said how much work tent camping is?

One of the delights of the trip was watching the bird life; especially the big gathering of pelicans who fished right at our doorstep.

Despite being a lot of work for a short period of time, it was hours spent in refreshment of spirit; in a world all to ourselves, marooned in our thoughts and feelings for each other. Only a bay away from ordinary life…yet a sensory world unto itself.

Addictions

There are few addictions I readily admit to, but loving living by water and watching boats is one of them. In our early days together before we started owning small aluminum fishing boats and got involved in crabbing, we used to fly off and charter sailboats in the Virgin Islands. Marc sails, I ride along and enjoy the ambiance. If I could, I would live on a boat. For an aficionado such as myself, there is a difference between living right by the water and living right on the water.

In the islands it’s typical to see mega yachts floating about majestically.

Although they are certainly less common in a small town like Coos Bay, we do occasionally have one dock so we can gawk and imagine what life must be like for those who can afford to own such a magic sleigh.

We also noted the way the rich-set parties during our time in the San Juan Islands; as example, this flotilla of large to small boats.

The true beauty to my eye however is often the sailboats that populate the docks. Here Marc examines a racing hull snugged up at Roche Harbor in the San Juan’s.

Mostly what one sees in a fishing harbor of course, is working boats. Those rugged and hardy, often ill kempt, showing the vigor of facing a tempest sea that constantly tries to eat them up (one way or the other).

Then, there is always the unusual. During my many walks along the quay I noticed a seagull had built her nest atop this old hulk.

As far as I could tell, she was never disturbed during the four month period it took to raise her family. This guy obviously felt if he added a little sex appeal to his boat it would make for a quicker sale.

A few years ago, this coffeehouse boat did a booming business moored to the dock in Winchester Bay where all the RVers and ATVers go.

One large boat I have a hard time understanding is the Monitor. She sits cluttered with more crap than her owners can dance around. I often see them on the dock adding yet more stuff. She’s a big trawler and could likely be a beauty if swept clean; a definite live aboard. As it is, she leans more and more to starboard until she could possibly just sink below the docks one day. It might be the only trip she gets to make. I shake my head every time I pass by—boats like this aren’t cheap--how could an owner treat one this badly?

On a much grander scale, Coos Bay recently saw the demise of the infamous New Clarissa carcass. A scrap company was brought in from back east where they fashioned two huge floating barges to serve as a work platform to cut the rusting hulk into tiny pieces. (New Clarissa) It was a success and she no longer sits forlornly among the foaming waves.

It actually feels like a sad loss to our community to have her gone.

Beautiful October

Today is one of those pristine coastal days that make one glad to be alive—what clouds there have been quickly scudding across the sky to leave it sparkling blue. Since it is supposed to remain mostly ok in the weather department I think we have decided to try the boat camping within the next few upcoming days so keep your eyes peeled for an update of a unique nature. Marc says he can’t imagine why I would want to do such a thing but he is game! I told him sitting around a fire with a jug of wine and the sound of the surf very close might be a huge stress reducer. With the way the economy is going and the recent loss of his job and insurance, any method for stress reduction is probably a good thing.

Marc’s out helping his buddy Paul wire his house today. Since Paul is the one who originally got Marc into the business of being a Superintendent by taking Marc on as his assistant to learn the ropes, we owe him a deep debt of gratitude. Maybe a $2000-3000 gratis wiring job on his new home will help repay the debt. Meanwhile, Marc also continues physical therapy three times a week.

Finally

Now that we’ve lighted one place long enough we are getting some computer work done and just finished updating our main web site, Itchyhitch. For your convenience you will now find a new link to this blog directly on our main site.

We also were able to add previously written entries and videos; you will find a new Fulltime Journal entry here: Dancing with the Rain along with its accompanying photo story of our life at the beach. You will need a high speed internet connection to watch this as file size is approximately 20MB. In addition, there is another Wing video under the Wingin It page on May Bike Trips entitled “What About Me”. This link will directly open a media player (if one is available on your computer) for viewing a great ride we enjoyed one warm day through central and eastern Oregon.

It’s nice to be all caught up!

The Doldrums

Any sailor knows the feelings— full sails suddenly luff and deflate—slated to merely make a half-hearted attempt to fill with air. Forward progress comes to a stop; you’re dead in the water. It happens when you’re headed into the wind.

Earlier this past week I wrote an entry about Marc’s new joblessness. His former employer didn’t like it; called him to task for his errant wife’s prose, so out of deference to a very nice guy, I deleted the post. Why the company should be all shook up is really beyond me since their story is all over the newspapers, including the Wall Street Journal. It’s not like this is some big secret or anything.

So, be that as it may, Marc is now officially laid off. We would be part of the national statistics of the newly 159,000 jobless for the month of September if not for the fact that Marc isn’t even eligible for unemployment due to his surgery—he is simply unable to work right now. We’re trying to figure out all the insurance ramifications, which elusively still seem to remain in limbo until a possible switch over to Cobra.

Given no employment and Marc’s slow recuperation (still in much pain when he bends his knee) we have been staying very close to home. Add three days of recent rain to that and it’s called the doldrums.

I have been checking for local jobs and about three possibilities jumped out at me: 1) motel maid; 2) motel maid and laundry; 3) Fred Meyer deli worker for 18 hours/week. Coos Bay, at 8% unemployment rate, isn’t exactly a hot bed of job opportunities heading into winter.

I told Marc I want to go camping. If we can get the weather to cooperate, I’d like to pack the gear into the boat and head across the bay to Clam Island. We would have it entirely to ourselves since no one ever thinks to camp there, even though it is BLM land and free to do so. Just one overnight under the stars with a camp fire and the ocean surf pounding mere yards away—now doesn’t that sound like something to get us past the doldrums?

Picnic...or Not

This was Marc yesterday as we enjoyed a brief respite outside on a simply marvelous coastal day of 77 degrees and no wind. Rarely has Coos Bay ever reached this degree of temperateness!

With sunny skies promised today and thinking that with such cooperative weather we really needed to get out for a seaside picnic, instead by the time we had driven to Sunset Bay SP we found this:

In actuality, instead of being able to be nonchalantly relaxed as we enjoyed the sight, sounds and smells with our picnic spread out before us, it started to sprinkle. Burrr, this was no fun—hurry, pack up and head back home so I can make a hot pot of coffee!

At the Coast

The raucous cries of the seagulls seemed to beckon me back as I strode purposely down the quay of Charleston, taking note of the gently blowing breeze making the sea grass dance. Boat owners were out in force, working on their boats instead of playing on them, which seemed a shame given the gorgeous day. Coos Bay has welcomed us home with a spectacular fall day.

Earlier we had driven out to our friend’s house to pick up some of our things he had been kind enough to bring over for us in his truck from Bend. Paul is building a new home and has made quite a bit of progress since I was last there. Marc is going to wire it for him once his knee is better—having already finished the rough in weeks ago.
This morning dawned the quintessential coastal foggy morning as I rushed to get groceries and restock the park model and unpack all our stuff. It felt fresh and smelled so good, awakening senses as to why we like it here so much. The ride over was long and quite difficult for Marc. After all, it was only days ago that his knee looked like this: