Nevada-Oregon Trip, Day 8: From Cannon Beach to the Mouth of the Columbia – Ending the Coastal Journey and a Blizzard on Mount St. Helens

A wild day of 200 miles that started with an agitated wake-up call and a threatening elk, continued with a drive along the water’s edge, and ended with an unexpected blizzard on a volcano and nostalgia in an old motel.

An Unexpected Wake-Up and Morning Coffee

The morning of the eighth day started in the most unexpected way possible. At five thirty in the morning, loud, determined knocks suddenly sounded on the vehicle window.

I lowered the cover and saw the woman who runs the campground standing there. She turned to me, retroactively quite agitated, and asked what the deal was with me entering the campground area without a reservation.

I explained to her that the previous evening, when I arrived, I didn't have a reservation in advance, but the automated system showed that there was an option to pay on-site for the campground for that day. For some reason, this information didn’t appear on her tablet, so I pulled out my phone and showed her the official payment receipt I received in my email. Only then did she calm down, apologize, and leave me alone.

Oh well, at least I got an early wake-up call out of it. I used the time, got organized quickly, made a hot black coffee, and set out toward Ecola Park.

Morning Viewpoint from Ecola State Park and the Scary Encounter with the Elk

Before leaving the Cannon Beach area for good, I drove up the narrow, rough, and winding road that leads deep into the thick forest of Ecola State Park.

I stopped at the famous viewpoint looking south, Ecola Point Viewpoint. At such an early hour of the morning, I was the only traveler there. The view of the famous Haystack Rock from a distance, surrounded by white wave spray and low clouds scraping the water, looked completely different and had a totally different atmosphere than the sunset from last night. From here, you can beautifully see all the giant rocks scattered along the coast. The scenery was simply one of a kind.

But the real drama unfolded when I finished looking at the view and turned to go back to the vehicle.

As I stepped onto the narrow dirt path on the edge of the cliff, a giant elk was suddenly standing there, right on the path, completely blocking my way back.

To my right was a steep cliff to the sea and to my left were several more elk, so I had no way to bypass him. I didn't want to get too close to him, but I also had no choice. I tried to advance a step or two, thinking maybe he would get startled and move, but he just stayed standing in his place, locking his eyes on me.

This turned in a second into an unpleasant and actually very scary situation. This isn't a small Bambi; we are talking about a massive, strong, wild animal, and one stomp from its head can end in severe injury. The elk began to display threatening behavior and even took a few steps toward me.

Without thinking twice, I turned my back and went into a crazy run to take cover behind the trunk of a large tree that was nearby. Amid the running and panic, I tripped and fell with my whole body directly into a deep thicket of wild blackberry bushes full of sharp thorns.

Fortunately, the elk didn't launch a full charge, but he definitely followed me in a threatening manner and advanced to the other side of the tree where I was hiding. 

I waited there for a few long, tense minutes, with the tree separating us, until he decided to turn around and wander off a bit, which allowed me to zigzag back and escape to the vehicle. I got into the jeep trying to catch my breath, entirely wounded and scratched up on my legs, because I was wearing shorts.

In short, a scary and nerve-wracking experience first thing in the morning.

In hindsight, I don't know what I could have done differently except not to progress. Maybe just wait a long hour on the cliff until he deigned to clear the area.

Starfish at Indian Beach and Toe Blisters

After calming down a bit from the adrenaline, I drove to the second part of the park, to Indian Beach.

I parked the vehicle and went down to the water's edge.

I arrived exactly at the start of the low tide turning, so the large rock shelves on the beach were still partially exposed. I took the opportunity and wandered among the small tide pools, where you could see dozens of colorful, beautiful starfish up close, numerous mussels, and sea cucumbers clinging tightly to the wet rocks.

I roamed there for over an hour, enjoying the wild scenery. From this point, I also saw the Tillamook Rock Lighthouse relatively well and clearly, standing in solitary majesty on the rock in the heart of the ocean.

The thing is, because I was walking around inside the pools of water, I chose to wear my off-road sandals that I hadn't worn in over a year, while staying in shorts. The combination of water, fine beach sand getting inside the sandals, and the continuous friction against the skin during the walk did their work: I caught serious, painful blisters on my big toe, the kind that I suffered from and bothered me throughout the entire remainder of the trip.

Seaside and the Lewis and Clark Historic Site

From Ecola Park, I started driving north.

The ocean front landscape changed, the mountains receded a bit, and I arrived at the historic resort town of Seaside.

I did a short loop on foot along their famous, old boardwalk (The Prom), which was built back at the beginning of the last century, up to the Lewis and Clark Expedition monument. This monument marks the westernmost point reached by members of the famous exploration expedition in 1806, with the goal of setting up a special camp here to produce salt for their provisions from the ocean by boiling the water.

The weather outside was cold and rainy, but when looking around at the infrastructure, it is very easy to imagine how this place turns in the summer into a bustling hive full of thousands of tourists arriving to enjoy the long, sandy beach strip.

From Seaside, I continued toward the next historic destination, Lewis and Clark National Historical Park.

Visiting the site, and especially the replica of Fort Clatsop, is an experience that throws you back in time to the winter of 1805. 

Walking among the giant trees leading to the replica of the small log fort, where the famous exploration expedition spent long months of nonstop rain, dampness, and cold, is very tangible and beautifully illustrates the harsh living conditions of those pioneers. The visitor center at the site beautifully presents the story of the expedition, the relationship with the local tribes, and the original equipment they used, making this stop a fascinating history lesson in the heart of the wild nature of the Columbia River estuary.

From there, I returned back to the coastline and continued driving north, until I reached the northernmost geographic point along the coastline of the state of Oregon, the exact place where the massive Columbia River empties into the Pacific Ocean.

Driving on the Sand at Fort Stevens State Park and WWII Bunkers

My next stop was Fort Stevens State Park. This is a one-of-a-kind park, and the first stop in it was to see the remnants of the wrecked iron ship, the Peter Iredale. The large, rusty metal parts of the ship still protrude from the sand on the beach, standing there as a monument since it ran aground on the coast in 1906.

The big hit here is that there is an organized access to the beach that allows driving with the vehicle right on the water's edge. 

It was an awesome experience and crazy fun to pick up speed and drive on the hard, packed sand, right alongside the crashing ocean waves.

I continued with the vehicle even further north to two excellent viewpoints: the first along Jetty Road overlooking the massive Columbia River, and the second at the South Jetty, where I went up the Columbia River South Jetty Observation Tower.

From there, I continued to a visit at the concrete fortifications and old bunkers of the fort, which were used to defend the American coast during World War II. I stopped at several massive bunkers, which in the past formed the base for the giant cannons that protected the entrance opening to the river.

At the Old Fort Stevens site, I ran into a group of history buffs performing a live reenactment of that era; they had set up a small military camp, wore matching soldier uniforms from those days, and displayed period equipment. An amazing detail I remembered is that Fort Stevens is apparently the only military base in the continental US that was actually shelled by enemy forces during the war, when a Japanese submarine surfaced in 1942 and fired shells toward the coast. It turned out that on my trip along the entire coast of the state of Oregon.

I visited the only place that was bombed from the air, way down south, and the only place that was shelled from a vessel, on the northern edge of the coast.

Astoria, the Giant Bridge, and the Maritime Museum (CRMM)

From there, I entered the center of the city of Astoria, which is full of beautiful Victorian houses built on the hillside. 

I passed by the giant bridge, the Astoria-Megler Bridge, which forms the official finish line of my coastal journey. This bridge spans nearly 4.1 miles over the massive Columbia River and connects Oregon with the state of Washington. 

The sight of the giant bridge towering to a great height above the rough waters, as monstrous cargo and container ships pass directly beneath it, is an extraordinarily powerful scene.

From this point, I looked back at Oregon and summarized for myself 360 amazing, shifting, diverse, and stormy miles of continuous driving along one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world.

Since I had visited Astoria several times in the past, I skipped the city’s other attractions; this time I decided to visit solely the Columbia River Maritime Museum, which I remembered fondly from the past.

This museum is simply excellent, and its main building, designed in the shape of a giant sea wave, is impressive even from the outside. Inside, there are rich, modern displays that take you on a journey through the maritime history of the region, famously nicknamed the "Graveyard of the Pacific" due to the thousands of ships that sank at the treacherous river opening.

One of the most powerful displays there features a real, full-sized Coast Guard lifeboat, suspended in the air above you in the midst of a simulated storm wave, alongside interactive videos illustrating how bar pilot crews risk their lives to safely lead large cargo ships through the churning waters.

The highlight of the visit awaited me on the pier outside, the historic lightship Columbia WLV-604, which formerly served as a floating lighthouse out at sea to mark the safe entry lane for ships. The crew lived on the ship for long weeks and would rotate via a regular supply boat that brought fuel, water, and food. The tour inside the ship, through the narrow corridors made of heavy iron, in the wireless room, and the crew quarters, is a wonderful experience of stepping back in time to the 50s and 60s.

For me, the peak of the ship visit was descending into the belly of the vessel, into the engine room. The place is phenomenally preserved and maintained, and feels as if the mechanics just stepped out for a moment on a break.

The space is filled with massive, heavy diesel engines, which were used to propel the ship and run the powerful generators that provided continuous electricity to the lighthouse bulb and its formidable foghorns. The faint smell of oil and machinery, the analog pressure gauges, and the polished copper pipes instantly brought me back to another engineering era. The combination of the displays inside the building and the tour in the belly of the ship made this visit a particularly fascinating experience.

I highly recommend it to anyone passing through the area.

A Twist in the Plot: Changing Direction toward Mount St. Helens

With the conclusion of the Oregon coastline, I faced two options for continuing the trip:

• Option 1: Head north deep into the state of Washington and drive to Olympic National Park, with its rainforests, wild beaches, and snow-capped mountains.

• Option 2: Drive east toward Mount St. Helens, located in Washington State, just north of the city of Portland.

Since I had already visited both of these places in the past, and driving north to Olympic would have distanced me significantly from the remaining planned route of the trip, I chose the second option and turned east toward Mount St. Helens.

I began a drive of about 120 miles (around two hours on the road) toward the high area of the mountain. The weather, which was relatively pleasant and comfortable during the noon hours in Astoria, started to change as I advanced and turned cloudy, gray, and rainy.

A Blizzard in the Heart of the Mountain and a Sense of Missed Opportunity

When I arrived at the park's first visitor center in the lower area, I was informed by the rangers that it was currently actually snowing up on the mountain and the road was closed at the final climb to the top of the mountain. 

I told myself that since I had already made it all the way out here, there was no way I was turning back, and I definitely kept climbing up.

As I gained elevation, the clouds grew thicker and thicker, completely covering all the scenery around. It was a real shame, because it was impossible to see anything of the famous volcano or its unique environment that was shaped by the massive explosion of 1980. I hoped that maybe luck would play in my favor again like at Cannon Beach and the weather would clear up later, but this time it didn't happen. 

I stopped at a few viewpoints along the way, but they were completely blocked by clouds and nothing could be seen from them. I passed by the Mount St. Helens Forest Learning Center and kept climbing up to the Coldwater Ridge Visitor Center, but I arrived there exactly the minute they closed the gates and locked the place up.

At this stage, the snow began to fall seriously, and it quickly covered the whole landscape and the main road in a thick, white blanket. 

I drove down with the vehicle toward the Coldwater Lake Picnic and Boating Site and went out for a short walk on the trail adjacent to the lake shore. 

Everything around me was wrapped in low clouds in a completely closed-in look, and a heavy, cold rain was falling. I returned to the vehicle with a rather heavy feeling of a missed opportunity. But that’s how it is on trips of this type; nature dictates the rules, and not everything always works out according to the written plans.

I started making my way driving back down, with a full-on, heavy snowstorm raging around me. 

It was simply unbelievable to think that just four days ago I was traveling in the desert heat and salt flats of the eastern part of the state, and here I am now inside a winter blizzard. Happily, as I descended in elevation, the snow weakened until it stopped completely.

Nostalgia at Motel 6 in Vancouver

It was already seven in the evening, and I needed to advance south toward the Portland area, to be close to my destination for tomorrow morning: the Columbia River Gorge.

The area of the cities of Vancouver (in Washington) and Portland (in Oregon), which sit on opposite sides of the Columbia River, is a large, dense, and very crowded urban sprawl, and I had absolutely no desire to start looking for isolated corners on the sides of roads or sleep in the vehicle on the street in such an urban zone. 

After a whole consecutive week of field camping on the road, I came to the conclusion that I deserved a good, hot shower and sleep on a normal bed inside a room. I decided to get a hotel for the night.

Not out of budget or cost considerations, but purely out of raw nostalgia, I chose to book a room at a Motel 6, in memory of those days, thirty years ago, when we traveled in the United States. 

On those old trips, I would always book rooms with this chain; they were very cheap, and they had a small, always available paper booklet with a list of all the locations, arrival maps, and phone numbers for reservations. 

Today, as we know, this is considered a highly budget and basic chain, usually with motels of a pretty low standard, and the branch of Motel 6 in Vancouver, Washington, definitely justified the current reputation of the chain: its surroundings were not great to say the least, the room was basic to an extreme, rather old, and not particularly inviting. 

Oh well, at least there was a hot shower and a bed. As part of the nostalgia, I wanted to eat at a Denny’s restaurant chain, but there wasn't one in my area.

When I asked my wife if she could guess which hotel I slept in, she guessed immediately...

This was the official end of the eighth day of the journey: 200 miles of driving that took me from the wild northern edge of the Oregon coast, through pioneer history, and up to a wintry experience of a blizzard on an active volcano.

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