Onwards Through Oregon

We'd done Portland, the Historic Columbia River Highway, mountains and waterfalls. Time restrictions had left us unable to go inland to Hells Canyon, so only the Oregon coastline remained. Most of our travel in the Pacific Northwest had been on Highway 101, and we greeted it again like an old friend. It runs along most of the west coast of America but we only planned to take it as far as the start of Highway 1 in California, for as it goes south it becomes a busy commuter router. In Oregon, however, it hugs much of the coastline. And the coastline is worth hugging.

Our first stop was Lincoln City, a small coastal town which, back in 2000, developed one of the most innovative ways I've ever heard of to mark the new millennium. Seven miles of beaches make Lincoln City a popular place for beachcombers, especially during winter, after storms and very high tides. The prize finds have always been colourful Japanese blown-glass fishing floats, which have made their way across the Pacific. These are becoming increasingly rare as they're no longer used, even in Japan. So, Lincoln City decided that it would randomly scatter 2000 replica floats, hand-blown by local artists, along the beaches over the winter months. A few everyday (weather permitting), at different times and in different locations. The Float Festival has now become a tradition, with one extra float being added to the total each year. We scoured the beach but, alas, if there were floats around at the time they eluded us. We did, however, find a couple of harbour seals playing in the shallows.

We sat and watched them for a while - they were surfing the waves where a small river hit the water. Lincoln City also has an epic skate park. Really, Daniel looked like a kid in a candy store. This thing was so gnarly I was worried he was going to break an arm just by looking at it (or climbing all over it despite it being wet and thus slippery).

Luckily his limbs are all still intact, but he's talking about taking up skating again... We'd been planning to stay in a treehouse at a place called Treesort (no kidding), but we soon worked out we weren't going to make it before sunset - there was simply too much to see and do along the way. There was also a burning truck blocking the road - apparently American cars don't only catch fire in the movies.

We got a pretty good view and some awesome footage - should have sold it to a local news station. Slightly sad that we weren't going to be sleeping in a treehouse, we pulled up stumps at a place called Gold Beach, just north of the California border.

Highways and High Ways

Leaving Portland was easier than finding our way in. Getting from Portland to the Historic Columbia River Highway was then not supposed to be a problem. "It's easy," Daniel tells me. "We just take Exit 17 into Troutdale and follow the signs to the Highway." We take the said exit and he then proceeds to drive past all the said signs, in the wrong direction, even though I'm pointing them all out.

The Highway itself was extraordinary - it's an old road which winds alongside the river and takes you past multiple waterfalls. I was a bit waterfall-ed out by this point, to be honest, but these were pretty good. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, every other person in the area thought they were good. The best was the two-tiered Multnomah Falls, which has a total height of 189 meters. You can imagine the power with which the water falls, but the streams below are so still and clear that you can see the salmon just hanging out.

Multnomah Falls (upper tier)

Salmon

We took a detour off the Highway to visit Sherrard Viewpoint, from which you could supposedly see five mountains. Of course, we didn't consider that the lookout itself was probably in the mountains (Larch Mountain, to be exact). We may or may not have ignored the snow and ice signs on the way up, but with about four miles to go more and more white stuff began appearing around the road...

Snow...

Snowy...

Snowier...

Snowmageddon...

As the road became whiter so did our knuckles. In hindsight we probably shouldn't have been up there, but oh my god are we glad we were. It was a small hike from the car park to the viewpoint, and we were slipping all over the place in the ice and snow. We passed two people coming back down as well as a hiker who left as we arrived. Then it was just us and the trees, on top of the world.

Top of the world, or at least the 4056 feet below it...

As far as the eye could see...

Nothing moved other than the odd branch shaking off a snowy burden and readjusting itself. The resulting rustle was the only sound. When still and quiet the atmosphere was so palpable it was as if you could hear the mist, smell the snow and view the silence. We could see Mounts St. Helens, Rainier and Adams. Unfortunately, Jefferson and Hood, in the other direction, were obscured by cloud. We finished our travels for the day by driving the Mount Hood scenic route, but the cloud never lifted and we didn't actually see the mountain. Another time.

Things We Wish We'd Never Eaten #2: Paseo

Paseo is a Seattle institution. Daniel apparently came across this little Carribean eatery on the internet and wouldn't have looked twice (ok, thrice) except for that it has more than 1500 reviews and a 4.5 star rating on Yelp. It's not in Seattle proper but a suburb called Fremont, which has a reputation as a sort of artist's enclave (much like Fremantle). It didn't look like we were going to get there (see previous posts about our mood in Seattle) as it was our last night, late, dark and raining. But, feeling adventurous (and hungry), we somehow managed to get on a bus that took us in the right direction but dropped us off ten blocks early. We walked up a dark, deserted hill in the rain and amazingly found this place. It was tiny and absolutely packed. We both ordered their most popular sandwich - the Cuban Roast. This concoction of marinated, slow-roasted, pulled pork shoulder with lettuce, caramelised onions and mayo was life changing, and I don't usually like this sort of stuff.

It was even better than it looks. By the time we'd finished it was 2100 and there were no buses in sight, so we walked back down the hill and in the direction of the Fremont Troll, which lives under the Aurora Bridge (it's a giant statue). Somehow, subconsciously, we decided it would be a good idea to walk across the 898 meter-long bridge, into the nothingness on the other side, to try and flag a taxi. No luck, but a bus arrived and took us pretty much straight back to our hostel. One delicious adventure.