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Spring

Grant McOmie’s Outdoor Talk—Three for the Price of One Getaway

Dad, I mean it. There’s something or someone out there by the picnic table! I can hear it,” whispered my youngest son, Kevin, whose flashlight shone wildly through the small trailer window and across the campsite, like some out-of-kilter lighthouse beacon.

“Kev, I don’t hear anything,” I consoled him. “And there’s nothing out there to be bothering anyway. So turn off the light—you’re burning up the batteries. Roll over and go to sleep before you wake your brothers and mom—big day tomorrow.”

In fact, that day had been a very big day for us: a rite-of-spring-break passage my family enjoyed each March when the five of us become a family on the move, bound for new adventures and new places to see. We were never ones to let the grass grow under our feet when we took our home on the road; instead, we were outdoors building lasting memories like the ones I have long cherished from my own childhood travels across the Pacific Northwest.

So it was at midnight, on this first day of a spring break, that we’d finished a 5-hour drive from our Forest Grove homesite, arrived at Sunset Bay State Park in Coos County, Oregon, and quietly tried to slip into the first of many vacation slumbers.

Kevin and I shared the fold-out dining table (now a turned-down overnight twin bed) and, like most wiggly 10-year-olds, he was wired with excitement on the eve of our vacation, stretching and squirming before finding just the right spot to dive into sleep land. Suddenly his ever-ready flashlight beamed at my eyeballs to signal he was awake, alarmed, and at attention for unseen whatevers rambling outside.

“But, Dad….”

“Now, Kev, we don’t want—” My speech about getting enough sleep for the next day’s adventures was cut short by an unmistakable and loud raking of animal claws across metal. It, or whatever it might be, was scratching on the trailer door.

“I told ya,” Kevin quickly whispered, head ducking down into his sleeping bag like a wounded turtle, snug in the protection of his down shell. I rolled over and out (little choice when a child’s elbow meets your midsection) and was airborne, then dumped onto the shaking floor of our 20-foot travel trailer. The entire family was immediately grasping for consciousness and gasping from fright—and not very happy about the early wake-up call either.

“It’s, uhh, a someone … or a something … maybe a critter or … uhh, sorry,” I groaned while stumbling, bumping, finding balance then focus—and finally my pants.

At the door I quickly turned the lock loose, then slowly worked the metal L-shaped handle down and cracked the door open with my right hand. I had Kev’s light saber in my left hand, and as I slowly tilted it downward, two of the brightest beacons of reflected light I’d ever seen glowed back at me.

“It’s a raccoooooon,” Kevin cooed, “a cutey, too. Look, Dad. He’s standing on his back legs—like he’s begging or something, like he’s hungry, huh?”

Now campsite raccoons are not a bit unusual given the current state of affairs in many rural communities or parks (and even most urban settings) whenever kindhearted summer visitors leave scraps of burgers, buns, chips, or even dog food out all night. But this was a first—a raccoon shopping for midnight snacks at our RV, a critter making a wildlife house call.

“What do we do?” the rest of the clan wondered aloud. Kev’s plan came on the heel of their question: “Give him whatever he wants—look at those teeth. He’s grinning at us … or smiling … or something. Can a raccoon be happy, Dad?”

“Well, I suppose if he’s got enough to eat he’s happy—and this one looks all of 30 or 40 pounds, so I’d say he’s real happy—maybe 50 pounds’ worth of happiness. That’s one of the biggest, boldest raccoons I’ve ever seen. And he’s overjoyed that he’s got new neighbors who may share more than a cupful of sugar. But I don’t think sharing is the thing to do—once we start, he’ll be back again and again—and I’m not crazy about these middle-of-the-night meals, so let’s close the restaurant and stay closed. Besides—”

“Here, boy!” Eric’s right fist poked through the opened doorway and released its prize: a 6-inch slab of beef jerky he’d been hoarding from earlier in the day.

Now that raccoon may have been huge as a house, but it was also lightning quick, snapping up the beef chunk in midair as smoothly and effortlessly as a breezy major-league move to a fly ball blasted to center field.

And with that I closed the door! But I swear—just before latch met frame, like some furry Buddha with a knowing nod—that raccoon winked, smiled, and waved at me before waddling across the campground to meet our nearest neighbor.

This chapter of the “wild” life at Sunset Bay State Park notwithstanding, I am thrilled with each visit to this region. You actually get three state parks for the price of one vacation: Sunset Bay, Shore Acres, and Cape Arago State Parks are within 2 miles of each other and connected by road, bike trail, and hiking path. Each park serves up a distinctive flavor of the southern Oregon coastline.

Sunset Bay is a small overnight campground, with sixty-six tent sites, sixty-three trailer sites, and eight yurts. The park also features a hiker/biker camp, plus two group tent camps. Hot showers and flush toilets are available to all campers and provide a welcome comfort zone. There’s plenty of elbow room and trails to explore across the park’s 20 acres—especially along Big Creek, which flows for a half mile through the heart of the forested campground into the namesake bay.

Thomas Hirst, an early settler in Coos Bay, named Sunset Bay when it was used by fishing boats and other shallow vessels as a protective harbor during violent storms. But I feel the wind-shorn, wave-battered cliffs hint of some far-off shore—say, Polynesia? Or Alaska? Legend has it Sunset Bay was also used by pirates, and a glance toward the ocean suggests the reason: The small bay is set inside steep sandstone bluffs and has a narrow passage to the sea that’s difficult to discern from the ocean.

My first visit to Shore Acres State Park—Oregon’s only botanical garden, a mile south of Sunset Bay—is shrouded in a foggy mist that time often lends to an adult’s childhood memories. I couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7, but I remember wandering and then wondering who in the world pulled the weeds and mowed the 7 acres of endless green grass. (You see, this was my duty at home, so I always turned an envious eye to manicured yards in well-groomed neighborhoods.)

No tent? No RV? No problem! Rent a yurt at Sunset Bay State Park.

Shore Acres, built in 1906, was once a private estate famed for gardens of flowering trees, plants, and shrubs brought from around the world aboard the sailing ships of pioneer lumberman and shipbuilder Louis B. Simpson, as well as a 1-acre pond and shimmering waterfall. Simpson developed the summer home into a showplace capped by the towering presence of a three-story mansion. The grounds originally contained 5 acres of formal gardens, but fire destroyed the mansion in 1921. Simpson began to build an even larger replacement; however, financial losses caused both house and grounds to fall into disrepair in the 1930s. The State of Oregon purchased Shore Acres as a park in 1942.

Although the mansion had to be demolished, the restored gardens are a treasure open for your exploration, and if you’re lucky you may cross paths with retired park horticulturist/ranger George Guthrie. He’s the man with the green thumb who made the day-to-day operational decisions, as well as the long-term landscaping plans for the gardens.

Whether tulips, rhodies, or roses, this slightly built but enthusiastic gentleman can rattle off more botanically correct names than I might after a year of intense study. Guthrie always has a moment to sit and visit, too, and I recently asked him about the challenge of maintaining more than 15,000 plants across the 7-acre park.

“We try to create an inviting, lovely place at all times of the year, so that anyone who steps in here, even in January or February, will see something pretty and blooming,” he told me. “But we also want to be a place of learning and education, and I think that’s part of the entire state parks goal—to preserve beautiful places in the State of Oregon and make them accessible on a variety of levels—not just for looking but learning, too.”

A short but easy 1-mile hike south takes you to Cape Arago, famous as a resort for Steller sea lions. Well, perhaps resort is a bit of a stretch, but the fact is that Shell Island (adjacent to the cape) is the largest Steller haul-out and calving site along the entire West Coast. It is critical habitat for these federally protected, endangered marine mammals that can weigh more than a ton.

Any time is a fine time to visit the many viewpoints along Cape Arago’s main hiking path overlooking Shell Island, but keep in mind that the offshore rocks, islands, and reefs are part of the Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge system, which is closed to public access.

So here’s a tip: Bring binoculars or a spotting scope so you’ll have a front-row seat into the refuge proper and a chance to view fascinating wildlife behaviors. My favorite time to visit is April through June when sea lion young are born and begin their first tentative moves from sand to sea.

I try to make this collection of wonderful parks a 3- or 4-day stay—I like to linger and just loaf around the trails, viewpoints, and colorful gardens that this unique Oregon destination offers.

Like my good friend, retired Sunset Bay Park Ranger Andy LaTomme said, “What we find with a lot of folks is that once they come, they revisit time and time again because it is so special. Around every corner, over every little rise, there’s something to delight your senses—it’s a delightful place, a great place to be.”