Oregon Trail - Empty Nest Roadsters in Fern Canyon

Sunday morning we awoke to continuing rain showers in Eugene.   The deal was that we would take Inga out to breakfast at one of the coffee shops and then bid farewell to our sophomore.  We drove in search of our morning meal passing abundant flowering and colorful residential gardens still in gaudy bloom.  Chai tea, pastries, quiche and orange juice hit the spot.  We returned to the apartment, finished loading and hugged Inga and off we each went on our separate adventures.  Inga planned to reconnect as friends were returning to town the week ahead of classes and we had reservations in Mendocino, on the California North Coast.  With Inga planted in her new University environment and Grant left at home to dine of prestocked frozen pizza and a pile of mac & cheese - we were the Empty Nest Roadsters (at least until we returned to Texas to cook Grant some decent food and sign his high school forms, etc.).

Our evening destination was a return to the Little River Inn, one of the stops on our honeymoon back in 1986.  The streaking sunlight across the fresh, rain washed landscape made for a quick and pleasant journey south on I-5.  It was too early in the morning to stop at Rice Hill for the ice cream (is it really ever too early for ice cream?) recommended by former Eugene denizens, Tom and Esther Cook.  We broke westward out of Grants Pass, Oregon and passed the junction that would go toward Oregon Caves National Monument - fabled in Suneson Family lore: 

     In 1967 the Suneson station wagon was enroute to visit the Oregon Caves.  I was reading the Mobil Travel Guide in the backseat when I ran across the Oregon Caves description - No one under 6 years old will be admitted.  Yikes!  What a mid-journey crisis! Sister Sheri was only 5 years old!  It was then that my parents decided we would not "stop and turn the car around", but embark on a program of deception and deceit.  Sheri, how old are you? Five.  No, honey, if any one asks at the Oregon Caves, you must say that you are 6.  Sheri, How old are you? Six.  Good!  Sheri was repeatedly drilled in the lie, so much so that she began to believe it herself.  No one else was to even think of mentioning ages so as not to arouse suspicion of the Cave's guardians.

     At the entrance to the Oregon Caves, no one asked for ID or proof of age and each child got our own ticket to join the tour.  However, once inside an older girl (age 9, maybe) began freaking out, screaming about "I feel the worms falling on me!"   The freaked out girl was escorted out a secret exit, while 5 year old Sheri stayed composed all along the tour.

I savored the memory, but did not repeat the tour.

Arriving in California we had to stop for the mandatory Agriculture Inspection at the border.  As I approached the inspector, I jumped to the point, "We are carrying no fruits, plants or vegetable's, only chocolate."
She did not wave us through, but inquired, "Did you just say chocolate?"

"Why, yes I did.  Would you like some?"  I pulled out our partially empty supply bag of Dove Dark Chocolate travelling essentials and poured some into her hand.  "How about sharing some with your coworkers?" asked Sue, and doled out a fist-full of additional treats.  I figure these state employees are paid to confiscate peoples lunches, but today we willingly surrendered dessert.  Random acts of kindness.

In Crescent City we linked up with the Redwood Highway and wound amonst the giant trees cloaked in mist and fog.  One of my absolute favorite locations is Gold Bluff Beach and Fern Canyon.  A place of elk herds, where redwoods creep to the edge of sea cliffs that are bisected by straight walled canyons carpeted in lush ferns, a place I wanted to share with my wife. With but a brief bit of indecision, I turned off the highway and drove over the single lane dirt road to Gold Bluff Beach where we would take a short hike to wade up into Fern Canyon. 



Elk herd at Gold Bluff Beach State Park




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Sue wades upstream into Fern Canyon



Denizen of the Canyon

Sue in the upper reaches of Fern Canyon

Wall of Five-Finger Ferns

We were smart and wore hiking sandals into the canyon whose gravel floor was a shallow streambed at this time of season.  Upon returning to the vehicle I set the floor heated to blow on our frozen tootsies with the ultimate remedy to be an early dinner at Lazzio's Seafood Restaurant, at the foot of C Street in Eureka; another old Suneson Family tradition.  Alas, C Street still exists, but Eureka has been transformed since my last meal there in 1975.  We found another dining establishment near the harbor and tucked into calimarri, some clam showder and scallops.

Darkness had descended as I left Highway 101 for the storied  Coastal Highway 1.  It was a severly sinuous pass from Leggett over the mountains to the edge of the Pacific.  Sorry to miss the setting Sun over the ocean horizon, but our dally in Fern Canyon was a delight not to be missed.  Tomorrow, we will watch the Sun set.