We like to joke as we travel to the Oregon coast, about an hour away from our home, that we’re going to New Zealand. But it’s free, no air travel necessary. The rugged cliffs, empty beaches, deep forest and mysterious trails of the central coast are just amazing, world-class wonderful. If we ever took them for granted, that would be a shame.
So we don’t. We appreciate them all the time and talk about how lucky we are. I’ve camped out on top of giant dunes and watched 90-minute sunsets in a rainbow of color. I’ve caught fish, foraged wild berries, built sand castles, taken naps, hiked for hundreds of hours, and the coast still has endless experiences to give.
For anyone who suffers from hay fever, June is a terrible time to be in Eugene; all the grass pollen from thousands of acres of seed farms in the Willamette Valley is swept south by the prevailing winds and dropped on Eugene. People who are allergic try to stay indoors. My solution is to get out of town as much as possible and come back when the grass dries up and the air is clear. The Oregon coast is a perfect fresh-air getaway, and every June we head down to Charleston, a small coastal town far away from larger cities and near Cape Arago.
The coastline around Cape Arago is nothing short of sublime. Angled cliffs jut in rows, like sharks’ teeth, into the churning Pacific. Rollers explode into fifty-foot plumes. Gray whales poke along the rocky shore, shockingly huge if you happen to glance down and see one.
When the sun angles low, we like to find nooks in the cliffs to hide from the wind and take in the scene. I recently painted the view from one such place. It’s hard to reach, not exactly safe for the public. About a four or five-foot wide ledge separates us from the barnacled chasms below, and sandstone blocks loom above our heads, clinging precariously to the eroding cliff. But that erosion shaves off some sand into a tiny pocket beach just big enough to spread a blanket and have a picnic, like nesting puffins.
From here, you can see south along the coast to the tip of Cape Arago, and the offshore rocks crowded with noisy sea lions and elephants seals. The little observation building at Shore Acres State Park - where visitors can watch whales protected from the elements - is the only visible structure for miles. We prefer being out in the elements, in any weather, as the tiny figure represents, as the sea churns timeless below.
Painting this place is such a joy. Over the course of a few days, my hands and brush come to know what I feel inside for this place, why it’s so amazing. What the angles of rock do to light and waves. How the forest marches to the edge of the cliff, and right over. I’ve painted a few scenes of this area that capture a little bit of its magic, and I’m sure I will for a long time to come.
If feel extremely lucky that this stretch of coast was protected by making it a state park 1932 – a time when philanthropy and public investments were near a high point. There was a strong sense of commons; people were put to work building a legacy of national and state parks to help lever our nation out of the Great Depression. That was most certainly a gift of foresight for all of us. Here we are, generations later, enjoying that gift.
It makes me wonder, how far forward are we looking today? What gifts can we leave for future generations?
For me, these paintings give a little back. I know there are others out there who will find the beauty as compelling as I do and will want to bring this magical place into their lives.
It also reminds me of many other amazing places on the coast that aren’t protected. In the coast range, the vast majority of lands – nearly all – are working forests. A few pockets of ancient forest and clean, clear rivers and creeks – spawning grounds for salmon and steelhead – remain.
I’ve visited many of them over the years, and again recently. I’ve spent many wonderful hours among the giant spruce and chest-high ferns, trying to figure out how I can express something so vast and moving. It’s like painting the inside of Notre Dame. It’s nearly futile – one can only hope to offer a glimpse somehow, reveal something of the spirit of place.
In the coming months, I’ll be sharing a series of paintings showcasing special places for a partnership that aims to improve protections for waterways all over Oregon. I’m super excited to tell you about it when the time is right.
