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Position: 44°52’24.6″N 122°38’37.4″W
During our time in British Columbia, we were struck by the quality of their regional parks. Their excellent infrastructure, cleanliness and sheer number of freely accessible locations makes a strong case for redistributive taxation that spends money on common social goods. Now, back in the old US of A, we have since cut our local parks a little slack. In fairness, state parks in Oregon and Washington also do a good job keeping their facilities and trails in working order. Many state parks in the Pacific Northwest owe a debt of gratitude to the Great Depression and works sponsored by the redistributive power of the New Deal and carried out by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). Proving, not for the first or last time, that America and the Americans “will do the right thing once every other alternative is exhausted”[1].
Rathtrevor Beach
During our dogsit on Vancouver Island, we walked the beach just outside our door each day when the tide ebbed out a good quarter of a mile. Local tides in Lantzville swing from a few feet at first ebb and then dozens of yards at the second. Around the corner on Rathtrevor Beach the tides go out for a mile or more. Walk out with the ebb and turn back before the flood is our advice. The risks are low. Nothing gets very deep, but you may want to keep the salt water out of your boots.
Rathtrevor sounds like it was named for a 1930s Hollywood actor. Turns out the Raths homesteaded the land in the late 1800s and added ‘trevor’ to a campground they established on the site to make it sound more romantic. Certainly, it would be easy to imagine Randy Rathtrevor as a leading man. (Although AI imagines him looking more like 2000s Robert Pattinson than 1930s Basil Rathbone.)
If you have a dog with any herding instincts and want to exercise them, then the best thing you can do is separate yourselves by some distance. Hoochi felt strongly the herd should stick together. He criss-crossed the tidal flats continuously ensuring we were both hale and hearty and that we still loved him. Each walker should carry a bag of treats to sustain doggy energy.
Silver Falls State Park
It has been years since I last visited Oregon’s Silver Falls State Park. After a short tour of the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm’s remaining fields of tulips, we headed southeast towards Silver Falls. From the rich flat farmland that is the Willamette River Valley, the Cascades look high, rugged and mighty. To reach the park, you head up into the Cascade foothills where the Douglas firs grow tall and the moss grows thick. When you arrive, signs indicate a ‘Trail of Ten Falls’. But winter storms damaged part of the trail leaving only eight falls easily accessible. The park is technically, I guess, a canyon, through which the Silver and Howard creeks flow.
Geologically, flow basalt rested on sandstone. The soft sandstone washed away, leaving basalt pathways behind the falls. Those paths were further etched out by CCC workers in the 1930s. Unlike the top of waterfalls, where water rushing over the cliff edge invites a elemental longing to jump into a barrel and follow along, standing behind the falls excited no similar interest in leaping into the maelstrom. Still the walk behind the falls was beautiful and rare and very damp. The mass of water coming over the falls creates its own breezes, and you can easily get soaked in a couple of minutes if you’re not wearing appropriate gear. Many walkers strode past me in soggy sneakers. If you’re young, you might find wet shoes invigorating. Personally, I rarely leave the house these days without my trusty waterproof Zamberlan hikers on.
If you get the chance, get out and spend some time on Silver Falls’ Rim Trail and Canyon Trail. The loop runs about five miles. With so many nifty waterfalls to distract you, getting around doesn’t feel like it takes any time at all. Bring good boots and a dog (if you have one available).
If you go
Unlike British Columbia, Oregon State Parks require a $12 parking fee for out-of-state-visitors. You can buy an annual pass for $75. Still, for this level of entertainment, that seems cheap.
[1] An old maxim given to me by my former European colleagues.
