Here comes the sun...any time now...

SA Guide: Nehalem Bay

"I wouldn't mind living on the northern California coast, or even up here, someday," I remarked to Laura as we headed out on our second day driving down the Oregon coast.

"You?" she rejoined, not particularly charitably. She was looking at me as if I was from Neptune. "You spend most of the Spring acting like someone shot your dog!"

Okay, let's clear something up here - I don't have a dog.

So maybe I don't generally do well in the clouds...or the fog...or even slight overcast. We'd spent three days earlier in our trip in Trinidad, a little town on the foggy north California shore. And now we were working our way along the Oregon Coast Highway enjoying the equally beautiful but cloudy scenery. It was true; we'd rarely seen the sun, or even much blue sky, for four or five days.

But I love the coast, with its beaches and bays and estuaries, and little towns on bluffs.

"I could learn to live with it," I pouted. She just smiled her 'Oh I see you're having one of your episodes' smile.

After spending a night in Manzanita, a cute little beach town, it was time to get in some paddling. For that we drove down to Wheeler, another picturesque village which hugs the Nehalem River waterfront. We found the small marina's launch ramp, and then I walked over to the kayak rental shop to see if I could score some local knowledge. The manager graciously helped us out with a great tip about the best location to leave the river and enter the Nehalem Bay estuary. (Thanks Wheeler Marina! I wanted to buy a kayaking shirt online to show my appreciation but couldn't find one.) Shortly thereafter Laura and I slid our kayaks into the water and paddled out onto the river.

A few minutes later, after I'd gone through my usual ritual of wondering if I locked the car, not being sure, and paddling back to (of course) re-lock it, we pulled our way upriver toward the estuary entrance.

The bay, at least during a fairly average high tide, is a collection of channels and islands covering about 2700 acres. It's low, flat and pretty. Occupying the western peninsula that directs the river south is Nehalem Bay State Park, which, at least from a kayak, looks like a fun place to camp and spend a few days on the water.

We sculled through the shallow channels, enjoying the quiet, the dissipating fog, and the shorebirds. Eventually we found ourselves at the southwestern corner of the estuary, where it meets the river and heads down to the open water. From here we needed to head back to the launch. Since the tide hadn't finished ebbing, and I much prefer loops to retracing my path, we paddled upriver against the combined current and tide.

As the workout was beginning to wear a bit thin we found a southern entrance to another channel, getting us out of the faster water. After a short interlude observing a mama duck and ducklings, we paddled back to the opening in the seawall that allowed our earlier entrance, then rode the river back to the marina.

We packed up our gear, walked past the town's quaint little railroad station and crossed the street to a cafe where we topped off our excellent morning paddle with some lunch, and a bit of dessert. We had more coastal traveling to look forward to, and I suspected that hit of sugar would be the only sunshine I'd get for the day.

And I was right.

Still, I think it's the kind of place I could live someday. No, really.