Though sad to leave Portland, we headed back on the road, taking a little northerly detour to meet up with Kari and Collin in Centralia, Washington. After roaming the streets of that funky, antique-shop-filled town and chatting for several hours, Javier, the pooches and I headed back south, catching the Pacific Coast Highway to stay the night in Lincoln City, Oregon. Here began Javier's love of the quaint coastal towns of Oregon that we drove through, and he made a list of the ones we should move too. Lincoln City was also where the dogs had their first ocean experience, and though they remained on -leash, they loved the water and sand and did their berserk doggy dance they do when really excited. This is also where I saw a sign explaining what to do if a person should come across any objects or remains from last year's tsunami in Japan: fascinating, but eerie, and luckily we did not see anything.
The following day we stayed on the PCH and drove along beautiful stretches of road where ocean and cliffs met pine forested mountains. We camped in the Redwoods, at Prairie Creek, a campground that what recommended to us. Immediately we saw a herd of elk laying down in a prairie, only their massive antlers visible from a safe distance. Our campsite smelled delicious, of the redwoods, I suppose, and other flora nearby. Though we were unable to hike because of the dogs, we took several walks in the misty evening. This was a campground where bear and mountain lion sightings are possible, though we didn't see any. Actually, I was very proud of myself for getting up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom, despite my semi-gut wrenching fear of coming across a bear, the next morning I told Javier about this, and he said he was proud of me too because there was no way he was going to go out and escort me to the restroom.
The next day we picked up Highway 101 to hit our next campsite in the Samuel P. Taylor Campground near Point Reyes. We initially thought the campground would be more urban, but as we drove through the hilly grasslands we arrived at our campsite tucked in some redwoods along a creek. We were able to take a long walk with the dogs before setting up and and making dinner. Despite this more leisurely afternoon and evening for camping, I still failed at writing postcards before bed. Instead, I fell asleep around nine as I have been on camping nights, only to be awakened at 5 by a racoon that was circling and circling our tent, sniffing us out and causing Lola to growl and Paco and I to nervously watch it's silhouette pace back and forth.
After Sam. P. T. and the 101, we moved over to the speedy Interstate 5 and drove down the central valleys which looked as though they were ready to--actually, some had--goo up in flames. There were a lot of signs on farming land along the freeway protesting the politicking and diversion of water, and though I realize the situation and history of agriculture in the region is much more complicated than this, I question people bemoaning access to water in a landscape that cannot sustain decades of mass
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