Bermtopia-by-the-Sea: Chasing sunsets

   

True confession. I nearly burned The Miz's artisan bread on Christmas Eve. I'm pretty sure my daughter-in-law would have forgiven me. I had a good excuse. I was out chasing sunsets.

We are here on the Oregon coast, once again, for the holidays. Yes, I know. It's getting to be kind of a habit, isn't it? A good habit, I'd like to think.

This is my view as I type. 

It's been like this since Monday when we got here. In all the years I've been coming to Arch Cape (and I'm talking 55+), I've never experienced the sun in a December like this on the coast. It's magical.

But back to burning bread and chasing sunsets. . . .

An obvious dividend of these clear, sunny December days is the fact that you actually see the sun set each night.

Each one starts out so differently.

Sometimes with a silvery splash. . .

That keeps getting better. . .

and better. . .

It's hard to know when it's perfect. . . because it's pretty much perfect all the time. That's how I managed to almost incinerate our Christmas Eve bread -- standing out on the lawn, trying to get the most perfect of perfect sunset shots instead of attending to a 475 degree oven.

Last night, the late afternoon sky blazed at first . .

Before settling down and dusting the horizon with a soft, shell-pink ribbons of light. . . 

And in the south, the sky was nearly teal. . .

Until darkness fell. . .

Hushing the waves below us.

Travel is so edifying

I picked up a few science tips while pinging around Portland and the Oregon Coast last week:

1. The First Rule of Recliner Physics: If a recliner has an ocean view to the west and a large flat screen TV with college football going to the east, it will be occupied.

Corollary: Recliners manned by toddlers and preschoolers defy gravity.

2. BENedetti's Law of Wind: For every action, there is a reaction, usually involving the ears.

3. The Tent City Theory: Where there are small children, there will be tent cities.

4. The Sparkler Phenomenon: When armed with a sparkler, you will be endowed with the powers of a Jedi knight.

5. The Baby Doll Paradox: In restaurants, as with most places, two heads are always better than one when dividing up the check.

6. And finally, BENedetti's Law of Sofas: Where there is sofa void, there shall be a proportionate amount of dog.

Bermtopia-by-the-Sea: Seaside

December 26

A stay at the beach isn't complete without a pilgrimage to Seaside to visit the aquarium, feed the seals and troll the arcades for a few rousing games of Skeeball.

Seaside is a funny little town. Despite a fancy new logo and some storefront rehab, it has never quite shaken the wonderfully tired tawdry feel of a resort town still living in its 1920s-1930s glory.

Growing up as a beach rat, a trip to Seaside was magical. There was an amusement park in the middle of town, a saltwater natatorium and penny (literally) arcades where you could watch old silent movies on hand-cranked wooden projectors. We would devour corn dogs smothered in mustard, salt water taffy and cotton candy, chased by toe-curling sweet lemonade.

Some things remain frozen in time.

These awnings haven't changed in 50 years! Seriously.

On the other hand, the natatorium was torn down for this.
Ahem.

Sadly, the amusement park is gone, replaced by pizza joints and T-shirt vendors. So is the natatorium, which was an amazing, magnificent shout-out to everything art deco. As was much of the Seaside of my childhood.

But not all things change. . . .

The Seaside Aquarium is tiny yet charming in its own fishy way. I've been going there for 50 years (gulp - can't believe I just typed that) and it's still magical. There are no dolphin shows or leaping orcas. Instead, simple tanks showcase many of the denizens who reside in the surf and tide pools of the Pacific Northwest.

Pipefish

The octopi are still mysterious, the sinister dogfish and rays who used to circle silently and eternally in the center tank have been replaced by wolf eels for an updated aquarium creep factor.

I'm really quite nice once you get to know me.

The harbor seals continue to be incorrigible showmen who will do almost anything for a piece of herring, including dousing you in water from head to toe which the Wonderfully Patient Spouse and Number One Son learned from first hand experience. (Since our last visit, the aquarium apparently acquired the plans for the Berlin Wall and re-fortified the seal tank making it virtually impossible to take pictures but visit this link and you'll get the idea.)

We think there must have been a harbor seal somewhere in Ben's family tree. The resemblance is quite startling -- aside from the fact he hates the water.

From the aquarium, we meandered along The Prom to the Turn-around and headed down Halladay Street, Seaside's main drag, looking for some fun. It didn't take long to find it.

One of the last vestiges of art deco in Seaside

We played Skeeball, had several invigorating games of Shoot Out

and wrapped things up with some Tic-Tac-Toe. Sadly, the Whale Races were closed for the day.

You can't have everything.

Little known fact: The Lewis & Clark expedition almost imploded
after a particularly fierce round on the bumper cars in Seaside.
William took a hard hit from Meriwether
and developed a BAD case of whiplash.
That's the real reason they wintered over at Fort Clatsop.
True story.
And trust me. I'm a history major.

Dog meets beach

Despite all his (reluctant) "frequent flyer miles," Ben, our dog, has never been to the beach. He's been to rivers and lakes, wineries and country weddings and rehearsal dinners, jaunty sidewalk cafes, world-class urban parks -- but never the beach.

I'm not quite sure how we came to be so negligent. I mean, what dog doesn't love running along the beach, splashing in the foam-specked surf, chasing seabirds and rolling among dead fish carcasses?

The short answer.

Ben.

Sort of.

Last Saturday was Ben's first trip to The Beach. The Mom Unit, The Miz and I decided to brave Oregon's frequently frivolous fall coastal weather and make a run down to the coast. The Miz graciously agreed to share the backseat with Ben.

It was destined to be an interesting day. This is a dog with a serious aversion to water (we trace it back to an unfortunate, excessively noisy experience with a jet ski when he was a puppy) and an obsessive-compulsive fixation with his feet. That part is a herding dog thing, so I've been told.

So off we went. First stop, Arch Cape -- beach of my childhood. To this day, a relatively undiscovered beach where most dogs lope along, off leash, foot loose and fancy free, chasing seabirds and biting at the waves.

Ben knew he was on sacred ground. Nostrils flaring, he pushed his way into the front seat before I had barely set the emergency brake.



He flew out of the car. The massive thickets of blackberry bushes flanking both sides of the path down to the beach met with his immediate approval, laden with scents only a dog could appreciate. And then he reached the end of the path.



W.T.F.??!!

Throwing us a brief, inscrutable glance, he clambered across the rocks to the sand. Rigid, in full alert, Ben's tail gave him away as he walked along the waterline and listened to the surf for the first time.



Ultimately, canine curiosity trumped caution. Ben stooped to sniff the briny surf.

Just as the tide surged, covering his feet with a foamy blanket of salt water.

We were rewarded with a lively dog's interpretation of The Funky Chicken as Ben hastily put it in reverse and beat a somewhat undignified retreat to dry land. Beach 1, dog 0.



And yet.



Ben was intrigued. He sensed the wildness, the freedom of an empty beach scoured by wind and water. After a moment of two, he turned and began to run, chasing sticks and bird feathers, pouncing on crab shells, biting and nipping at the ropes of kelp I whipped back and forth through the sand.

And then he stopped for a minute. To laugh.