Oregon is a beautiful place, raw and epic. I felt dwarfed by its immensity and the foreboding ocean that sometimes had me locked to the beach, staring out across some of the largest swells I’ve ever seen.
Nowhere to go - no headland holding. It seemed the whitewater stretched out as far as my eyes could sea.
A lot of the coast is sparsely populated, and even in regions with small towns there is plenty of forest to camp in – no rangers, no RV’s.
I woke on one morning to find that I’d set up the tent in the middle of an elk bed. A bull, his 20 or so does and their calves relaxed around me as I cooked my morning oatmeal. The forests felt a lot less beary than up north - only saw one black.
I didn’t meet many other surfers on the Oregon coast, just miles and miles and miles of empty beaches. It seemed most of the time I was trying to find refuge from the swell, just trying to find anywhere that could hold it. There were days that I couldn’t.
But there were days that I did.
A majestic coastline.
At one point was riding along, when all of a sudden I thought I saw Bells Beach, Australia. Had to stop the bike and do the double take. Had I somehow been instantly transported back home for a moment? My gosh, it looks exactly the same. Was that the torquay pub? Surely not…
Of course not, that’s ridiculous. This was called Indian beach – definitely a little reminiscent of something somewhere though…?