A Secluded Forest Home in Port Orford, Oregon - 2010

A Secluded Forest Home in Port Orford, Oregon

In late May 2010, I began an extended visit to Port Orford, Oregon. My mission was to finish cleaning and preparing my mother’s former home and property for rental. Although Port Orford straddles U.S. Highway 101 in Southern Oregon, it is remote from any sizable population centers.

 

Seventy miles north are the twin cities of Coos Bay and North Bend, Oregon. With a combined population of under thirty-thousand, full services are available there. Eighty miles south of Port Orford is Crescent City, California. With a population of less than eight thousand, it has full services, but with a small-town feel. Other population centers on the Southern Oregon Coast include Bandon By The Sea, Gold Beach and Brookings, each with fewer people than Crescent City.

 

Interstate Highway I-5 is the nearest Interstate Highway to Port Orford. It runs north and south through the interior of the state. From Port Orford to I-5 in Grants Pass, Oregon is one hundred sixty-five miles. From Port Orford to Eugene, Oregon is one hundred sixty-seven miles. Reaching either road connection to I-5 takes over three hours.

 

Because of its remoteness, I planned to stay in Port Orford until I finished packing, cleaning, staging and preparing for rental of the 1900 sq. ft. home and its 1.72-acres of mixed coastal forest. Deferred maintenance on the property and my mother’s preference for natural surroundings meant that I had work to do, both inside and outside the house.

 

While at the property a month earlier, I had rehabilitated the driveway with a new coating of gravel. Since the driveway is almost one hundred yards long, I strove to keep the “country road” look, conserving a strip of moss and grasses down the middle. Upon my return, it was time to see if rainfall had sustained my greenery. Had any grass filled-in where I had raked gravel off its delicate bed?

 

By August 2009, Port Orford running total for annual rainfall was forty-seven inches. Early this May, the running total for 2010 had exceeded seventy-seven inches. With daily rain throughout much of April and May, grass had sprouted from the composted-encrusted seeds I had sewn on the driveway only a month before. At the house-end of the driveway, the grass between the two tracks was tall enough to clip.

 

When entering Oregon via U.S. 101 North, Brookings is the first town that you encounter in Oregon. Brookings likes to tout itself as being in the heart of the "Oregon banana belt”, claiming that it has warmer temperatures in the winter than other towns along the Southern Oregon coast. Locals in Port Orford would scoff at anyone who claims that Port Orford is part of any banana belt. Although there is more than enough rain to grow bananas, in April and May, local temperatures often hover near 50 f. In order to enjoy the Port Orford climate, one must enjoy intermittent or sustained periods of cool, damp weather.

 

Black-tailed Deer thrive throughout the mixed coastal forest and wooded lots of the Port Orford Cedar Terrace Tract. If one is driving near sunrise or sunset, it is wise to proceed slowly up or down 18^th Street, which is the entrance to Cedar Terrace from town. As the road leaves the City of Port Orford, the two-lane road changes names to Vista Drive. In midday and all night, it is rare to spot a deer in the area, but in the early morning and late afternoon, the woods seem almost alive with deer.

 

Often grazing in herds of five to ten, Black-tailed Deer graze on almost any new, green growth, including poison oak. Only plants that have a distinct gray cast are out of favor for nibbling. One morning, I opened my front door to find a herd of four females, led by a single buck. Since it was early in the growing season, the buck’s antlers remained short and covered with soft tissue. Rarely staying in one place for more than a minute or two, this herd disappeared into the extensive network of deer trails that crisscross the wilds of our front yard.

 

In addition to well-worn deer trails, there are many Black Bear trails in the woods, as well. Because of their propensity for hiding in heavy undergrowth, one can easily locate bear trails in the woods. Where the undergrowth is the thickest, they will use their bodies to clear neatly trimmed "tunnels" in the foliage. Such passageways are about four feet wide and three feet high, which give you a good idea of how large a bear is while walking on all four feet. To follow one of these trails, if one were foolish enough to do so, would require crouching down and clamoring head-down through a blind alley. I wondered what would happen if I had entered one of these “bear tunnels” from one end and a bear entered it from the other.

 

Speaking of bears is all that we can do here, since sightings are rare in Port Orford. Still, the bear-shaped passageways all over the area hints strongly at their presence. Wednesday nights are the favorite time for bears to visit the Cedar Terrace Tract. That evening, trash containers stand along the roads, seemingly ready for the pickings. Early each Thursday morning, Curry Transfer & Recycling trucks pick up whatever the bears left inside the containers. Only a strong splash of ammonia inside of the trash bin will keep bears from dragging any fragrant trash bags into the forest for further inspection.

In order to further enjoy the solitude of a nighttime walk in the forest, I carried no flashlight . In the dark, I made my way by the feel of my shoes on the gravel of the driveway. With no moon to light my path, only the feel of hard or soft material beneath my feet kept me on course. I thought, "If I cross paths with a bear, he will likely be more afraid of me than I am of him".

One Wednesday evening, I took a nighttime stroll down the long driveway. I walked from the house to

 

The next morning, I noticed something askew in the open-top waste bin that sat near the driveway. Overnight, someone or something had tipped a heavy futon cushion upright in the bin. Now, most of its length stood above the side of the bin. Upon closer inspection, I could see several large, muddy paw prints on the fabric of the futon. Claw marks extended out from each print. It was then that I realized that overnight, a bear had visited my front yard. While sniffing out a small garbage bag, the bear had used one mighty fore paw to lift the fifty-pound cushion.

 

Soon, I found two of my small garbage bags torn open, their contents strewn around in a clearing behind the waste bin. Having found nothing there to eat, the bear deposited a scatological calling card and then departed. Had the bear watched me walk the up and down the driveway the previous night? I consoled myself by thinking that bears only come out in the dead of night, when nothing is stirring. Either way, that is the last time I shall walk the driveway at night, under a New Moon, and without a flashlight.

 

Over the years, my mother and my stepfather had added on to their house three or four times. Starting as a rectangular box, including a one-car garage, it blossomed into a 1900 sq. ft. home. Now there are three wings in the front, plus an attached two-car garage and shop. Inside, I painted both bathrooms and did touch-up painting everywhere else. On hands and knees, I cleaned away any carpet stains. I cleaned the kitchen as if it were my own, spending over two hours on the oven alone.

 

After many days of cleaning, packing and organizing the contents of the house, I rested one morning inside my travel trailer. From my vantage point inside my coach, I saw a lone Black-tailed Deer grazing voraciously on the far side of the front yard. Not straying far, she quickly trimmed any adjacent foliage. From the quiet security of my coach, I shot some pictures of her activities.

 

Soon, she moved off-camera to my left, but then returned to the clearing. As I watched in astonishment, a newborn fawn followed her out of the forest. Opening my door, I shot several more pictures of the doe and her young fawn. Tiny, with a trembling gait, the fawn appeared to be only days old. Waiting for the fawn to find and follow her, mother led child out into the clearing, and then back towards the forest. As I continued shooting pictures, the fawn stooped beneath its mother and nursed.

 

After nursing, mother and child moved toward the side yard, which affords greater protection from prying eyes. Still hungry, the fawn dutifully followed its mother. As quickly as I could watch and perceive, the bonding between mother and child was complete. A few minutes later, I spied the doe, standing still in the forest foliage. Likewise, she watched me from the shelter of her forest redoubt.

 

Reflecting on that amazing scene, I wondered if our front yard was the birthplace of the fawn. During the thirty years that a house has stood on that lot, there were never any dogs or other known predators on the property. With my mother's quiet lifestyle, the deer and the bears had their run of a forest lot comprising over 1.5 acres. Since this was their shared home for so long, deer appeared to be comfortable birthing, nursing and grazing all over the property.

 

As I departed Port Orford in June, 2010, only the ten-cubic yard waste bin remained as proof that I had done so much work. Within the hour before my departure, a large truck backed down the driveway and then hauled the bin away. I was ready to leave and the house was ready for a lucky new owner to come and enjoy life in the forests of Cedar Hollow Terrace. Two years later, in July 2012 the property sold to a lucky new owner.

 

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By James McGillis at 12:07 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Oregon - One Step Forward and One Step Back... 2008

Oregon - One Step Forward and One Step Back...

In July of any year, one of the nicest places to visit is the southern coast of Oregon.  U.S. Highway 101 is the primary access route, north and south.  Additionally, several highways cut east and west, winding along the river valleys and upper canyons, providing a change of scenery from the coastal strip.

 

Driving north from California across the Oregon border brings a couple of shocking revelations.  When you arrive in Brookings, which is the first town you will encounter, you will notice that motor gas prices are about twenty cents cheaper per gallon than in California.  The lack of a retail sales tax and lower state fuel taxes makes Oregon a great place to fill your tank.

 

 

Well, maybe not so great, once you realize that Oregon does not allow self-service filling of one’s own fuel tank.  The supposed “positive result” of this archaic law is that it keeps thousands of Oregonians employed as gas station attendants.  The downside is that during the summer tourist season, motorists queue up at the lower-priced stations, engines idling and pollution spewing from their tailpipes as they wait. 

 

Despite the many “Keep Oregon Green” signs that one sees along the highway, old energy and old-style thinking are adding an immense load of greenhouse gases to the Oregon air shed.  If estimates are true that the average vehicle produces about one pound of carbon dioxide for each mile driven, how many additional tons of carbon dioxide do Oregon motorists produce in order to make dead-end jobs for some of their residents?  Additionally, how many hours of lost productivity do Oregonians suffer as frustrated motorists wait in line for fuel that they could safely pump without assistance?

 

Once you get past the pros and cons of Oregon’s fuel pricing and dispensing methods, you can breathe a sigh of relief as you motor north towards Gold Beach, some twenty-five miles beyond the California border.  If you have breakfast or lunch in Gold Beach, you will notice that the pace of life is a bit slower than California.  If you allow yourself to slow down and match the natural pace in Southern Oregon, you will enjoy your experience far more than if you simply rush towards your destination.

 

In the early days of travel along the Oregon Coast, towns sprang up along the highway approximately every twenty-five miles.  The ostensible reason for this spacing related to how far a horse-drawn vehicle could travel in one day.  With that idea in mind, twenty-five miles north of Gold Beach is the sleepy town of Port Orford, famous in its heyday for the “Port Orford Cedar” trees that covered its coastal slopes.

 

Although hidden from the highway in many places, the coastal strip between Gold Beach and Port Orford has several direct openings to the sand and surf.  Owing to the gentle slope of the continental shelf in this area, low tides pull far out from the beach and high tides rush in on large breaking waves.  Flotsam from Asia and driftwood from the Pacific Coast are among the prizes awaiting the intrepid beachcomber.

 

Although the commercial port at Port Orford is so small that they haul out the fishing fleet with dockside cranes, it is the only deep-water port along the coast between Portland, Oregon and the San Francisco Bay.  Protected by headlands to the north and west, the small port remains vulnerable to storms approaching from the southwest.

 

As with several other Southern Oregon coastal towns, much of Port Orford lies within the “tsunami zone”.  Once erroneously called “tidal waves”, Americans have adopted the Japanese word “tsunami”, which means, “One or a series of huge sea waves caused by earthquakes or other large-scale disturbances of the ocean floor”. 

 

Nearby Crescent City and Eureka, California has each experienced tsunamis in the past fifty years.  Many places along the Oregon coast show geological evidence of large-scale tsunami activity, although contemporary coastal dwellers tend to downplay or ignore the potential threat.  At Port Orford, one has to travel nearly a mile inland to find ground high enough for the state to declare it a “tsunami safety zone”.

 

Whether it is for reasons of tsunami safety or lack of sewage plant capacity, Port Orford qualifies as the only town along the highway where recent commercial development is almost unknown.  Although there is a new library adjacent to the highway, there are no chain restaurants in town.  The pharmacy closed its doors a few years ago, leaving only a clinic to tend to the healthcare needs of the many retired residents.  The infrastructure is so antiquated and poorly documented that the local water system was recently losing between one third and one-half of its stored water to leaks in the system.  Many leaks are nearly impossible to track down and fix in the wetlands and other marshy areas around the town.

 

Founded in 1851, Port Orford is the oldest town along the coast.  Its population of less than 1500 is not much different than it was in the late 1800s.  In its heyday, Port Orford featured a sawmill that efficiently transformed the old-growth Port Orford Cedars into planking for sailing vessels and later for insect and mildew resistant cedar-shake shingles.  Both the sawmill and the old-growth cedars are gone now, leaving retirement living and tourism as the top two economic engines for the town. 

 

If you are looking to live far away from city life and can accept that the nearest major medical center is in North Bend, almost sixty miles away, Port Orford allows a pace of life and a heavily wooded landscape not often seen in contemporary America.  If you do build or buy there, you might want to check the tsunami map before doing so.  There has been no tsunami lately, but that is no guarantee of future calm waters

 

Unlike coastal areas farther north, the Southern Oregon coast rarely experiences frost, although the area can be windy and rainy in the fall, winter and spring.  During the summer months, the weather can be clear and beautiful.  It can also be overcast and gloomy, but rarely is the area hot, when judged by standards of the inland Western U.S.

 

Viewing the area from the air for the first time can be quite a shock.  What looks like untouched forests, when viewed from ground level, looks like a logger’s paradise from the air.  Often loggers leave only a fringe of untouched forest along the highway.  Forest products are an essential industry in Oregon, but every time I see a load of scraggly and twisted old-growth tree trunks barreling down the highway towards the chip mill, I cringe.

 

With its many coastal state parks, Oregon makes amends for its questionable logging practices.  To its credit, forward thinking Oregonians, such as the 1960s Governor Tom McCall helped pass legislation setting aside most of Oregon’s 363-mile coastline as parkland or open space.  No other coastal state can boast such forward thinking in its use of irreplaceable coastal environments.  Additionally, there are many public campgrounds and private RV parks tucked into the shady groves along Highway 101.

 

If you have an RV and have the time, a trip north or south along Oregon’s Highway 101 is well worth your time.  Just don’t let your engine idle while you wait in line for fuel.

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By James McGillis at 07:58 PM | Environment | Comments (0) | Link