Day 71 Coast Walk Entry 14

ENTRY 14

Near the end. As these last two entries indicate they have in fact been moving South to North, I believe I wrote the opposite at the start in my commentary. After yesterday's happy entry, the impending end of the trip seems to cast a cloud over today's.

Monday Aug. 3, 1931

Meadow Camp

It is after eight by my watch which is not entirely relaiable and Matt is waiting for his breakfast.

We shall walk to Waldport today and take the stage for home tomorrow

Tides for Today

Humboldt Bay, California

High{ 2.15 Am 5.0 feet Low{8:54 Am 0.8 feet

3.24 5.3 “ 9.38 Pm 2.0 “

Astoria, Oregon

High{ 3.57 Am 6.7 feet Low { 10:26 Am 0.7 feet

4:42 Pm 5.3 “ 11.06 Pm 1.7 “

Tidal Differences & Constants

Alsea Bay Entrance (Waldport) Reffscience [?} Station Humboldt Bay

Latitude 44 25 North

Longitude 124 05 West

Line of tide + 0 15 +1.3 feet

By beach and by road we hiked to Wald port a hit or miss little town, less atractive although larger than Yahats.

We stopped at the first store we saw to buy fruit – the peaches were a very good flavor – 25¢ per doz. At the drug store we bought milk shakes, cookies, sundae, toothbrush & films.

We mailed cards from the P.O. Looked the town over, had a bowl of clam chowder and corn on the cob.

We crossed the Alsea bay on the Ferry and hiked up the road to enquire there about some cottages. They had no shower bath so we went on out over the sand duens to the beach. Matt rested from the wind behind a hummock of grass but the wind was so strong I hiked back to the nearest wooded sand hill for a rest in the sun sheltered from the wind.

WE met again on the weary wastes after a time and discussed what we wanted to do.

While Matt took the Ferry back to Waldport to get food and make arrangements with the rural mail carrier to take us to Newport tomorrow, I read and rested on the dune overlooking the bay.

By the time Matt returned, it was getting pretty cold so I changed my mind again and we took a cottage for the night where we could have a safe fire and wash our clothes. Matt washed his breaches in the r [end of page and it stops; I assume “river” but it's a strange stop]

Day 70 Coast Walk entry 13

ENTRY 13

Lots of photos and a break with her usual pattern for the diary. Most entrys are on a single page but this one fills front and back of two pages and has the photos between the two pages. For the first time we actually get discussion of home sites—the reason for the trip. And that she was really looking for a homestead. For those not from Oregon, “Yachats” is pronounced Yaw hots. It is also clear that the mood has improved with the coastal scenery. Re her later comment about the beach as speedway—Oregon beaches were legal highways at least into the 60s, presumably because they provided the only practical level route along much of the coast in the early days.

Sunday Aug. 2, 1931

Ideal Place already developed about a mile and a half south of Yahats [sic] on the highway. The house is below the highway on the west side, sheltered between hills with pasture in front and the rocks and sea just beond. There are big hills behind the back ranges being heavily wooded. A garden surrounds the house flowers, vegetables, a dog, chickens and cows in pasture.

The other most desirable place was at the mouth of Tenmile Creek South of Yahats but here too are several permanent homes.

One would want about 160 acres.

Camped last night at Cape Perpetua Government Camping Ground on Cape Creek.

It is a pretty spot but needs enforcement of the regulations for keeping the camp clean.

We left there about 9 o'clock to play about on the rocks around the cape. The tide was coming in and most of the people there ahead of us left soon after our arrival. It was too late to look for clams and too splash to try to fish. The wind was unusually strong it seemed and blew the spray way back upon the rocks.

Hiking along the Highway from here was enjoyable. The coast is rocky, the road follows the coast so one can see out in all directions from a greater or less elevation as the hills project toward the coast line.

We stopped may times to admire the scenery and did not begrudge the time or effort of walking.

Finally Yahats came in to view. The town proved to be a rambling haphazard attractive sort of place. We stopped at a lunch counter for Hamburgers, pie and coffee or milk and candy bars.

The government has reserved a part of the most attractive section of the cape her and is allowing no campers. However there are many cottages on other portions of land in and about town. Some them are very attractive looking.

A carpenter at work on some new Cottages said they were private individual cottages but would probably be available to rent anytime except a month or so during the summer.

A mile or two beyond Yahats the land flattens out again. The road is a long level stretch straight ahead more attractive for speeding than scenery. The coast remains rocky for a little ways then stretches out into a beaurtiful wide level beach – also attractive for speeding at low tide. We saw one car tearing along as fast as it could go.

Between the beach and the road is a strip of more or less irregular land protected by scrub pines and dense shrubbery. Here and there the woods has been cleared for cottages near a creek.

We left the road and walked the beach for a mile or two and were about to pitch our tent when, upon Matt's suggestion we sought out the owners of the cottages near by. WE appeared to be planning our camp on their grounds and they did not wish overnight campers. So we took to the road again thinking it would be less windy than the beach and would enable us to locate a creek more easily.

It has been running in my mind for the past few days that this is now a civilized country and one can no longer travel in an uncivilized simple fashion.

One needs a car for traveling and is expected to camp in cottages.

We were told an English Company owns a good deal of the land hearabouts and has a sales agent living at Hotel Wheeler in Yahats.

Of the towns and the country we have seen so far Yahats is my choice. I liked the towns in Southern Oregon and the Umpqua River but for the combination of land and sea I desire, the territory around Yahats seems to offer most.

The Forester who drove into Reedsport told us and others have repeated it since, that the governmnet is holding tight to every bit of land for the present and is making no concessions, sales or promises until the Roosevelt Highway is complete thru the state.

We learend that a Mr. Carpenter owns the place we considered ideal – about a mile and a half south of Yahats. We finally made our night camp in the meadow, just back of the beach and sheltered by scrub pine, fir, spruce and shrubs. We are about 6 miles from Waldport and 4 miles from Yahats.

Day 69

No coast walk today. A short narrative, perhaps the start of something bigger.

Desert Rat

Ted would not come for another two days. Till then, there was little, nothing really, to do. 

A steady trickle of runoff from the eaves was cutting a gully through the sand of the front “yard.” Nothing defined the end of the desert and the beginning of the yard, so he could have referred to all of creation as the front yard, but instinctively he drew a mental boundary some twenty feet out from the front door beyond which was the desert. He suspected the desert on the other hand ignored his existence altogether.

The rain stopped and the blue-black bellied clouds blew on toward the southwest. The last of the rain trickled off the roof and down the newly formed mini-arroyo. The air was fresh – he savored the dust free cleanliness that somehow still smelled of soil. He did not want to leave now. Wasn’t at all sure he ever had wanted to, but certainly no longer. Life didn’t permit that, however. “Miles to go before I sleep,” he muttered, as unconvinced of the necessity and as convinced of the inevitability as Frost’s watcher in the woods.

In a week he would be back on campus, in two back in the classroom, arguing with students that there was more to life than a paycheck. There was but he was going back to earn that paycheck so he could come back here next summer, and maybe in winter too, if the family let him. They had gone home a month ago. Or rather left here and made some other visits on the way home. Horseback riding, tarantula hunting, and the other distractions of the desert that had been so exciting two months ago had slowly ebbed into the mundane—a condition that the kids would be many more years coming to appreciate.

* * *

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of them.”

“I know Ted. It’s just there’s the connection. The assurance I’ll be back.”

Ted nodded, though Walsh doubted Ted understood. No that was unfair. He doubted Ted cared? No, he’d care. What was it then? What Ted didn’t understand was leaving. If you loved the place, loved the horses, then why were you packing up your stuff and going back “to the city"? Ted understood, Walsh realized; he was the one with no answers.

“Okay, Ted. I’ll give you a call if I’ll be out in December.”

“Good enough, Doc.”

Walsh didn’t go back in the house. The horses had been the last. He locked the door, climbed into the pick-up with Ted and they left. He never looked back. He had the first time and realized immediately that he’d end up like Lott’s wife he did it again.

Day 68 Coast Walk Entry 12

Entry 12

Another entry from my father. I've kept much of the crossed out material, but not all. It's clear that Matt is much more hesitant as he composes, or perhaps more prone to rephrasing.

[In Ruth's hand]

Friday July 31, '31

[In Matt's hand]

Saturday July Aug. 1, '31.

Saturday morning Aunt Ruth said what time is it, I said about 3 o'clock. We go up soon after and when we found out the time after leaving camp we figured it had been around 5 o'clock. She had asked me and I had answered and turned over to sleep. Said good by to the Bassfords and got out to the highway around 7:30. Waited until nine and saw the the Postman that was to pick us up go by without stopping with a look. We hiked to where they were graveling the road and got a ride as far as one of the gravel trucks went. We walked on and came to a point with a beautiful view [a?] road woundde with the up steeply below us. It proved to be our source of another ride. This time it was a truck carrying beach sand. I road with the folks in the back of the truck. Aunt Ruth rode with the driver. An oil truck met us and we transferred to it. He went farther than the other man. We road through beautiful forests on the old Coast route. Came to Hecata bridge, work is being pushed fast down here. Saw the entrance to the tunnel at the end of the bridge. Wound around the hill at Hecata Point and rode a few miles further. Walked through terrible dust and finally got a ride on a load of logs pulled by a Cletrack tractor. Rode to Ten Mile Creek and walked from there to a free auto camp. The scenery is beautiful from the road. There are man little coves, some wooded and some not. We stopped at one them for the night. All the evergreens are Spruce around here.

Dinner. Pancakes

Baked beans

Apples

Breakfast Pancake

Bacon

Apples

Sunday August 2^nd.

Breakfast Pancakes

Bacon

Apples

Day 67 Coast Walk entry 11

Entry 11

In which it is evident Ruth was not as invested in the argument as was Matt. No photos today.

[In Ruth's hand in red ink as commented upon later]

Lake Munsel

Friday July 31, 1931

Florence Ore.

Breakfast – bacon, eggs, pancakes blackberries and cocoa.

We intend to start on for Heceta point as soon as our washing dries.

Matt is having a lovely time laughing at what he thinks is my lack of reason.

This has been a delightful camp. We get our drinking water from the pump on the owners back porch. There are cottages for rent but we have stuck to our tent under the trees.

Mr and Mrs Basford have 160 acre homestead here. There are three pretty lakes among the wooded snad hills. Yesterday afternoon we took a trail around the sand dunes and thru the woods to visit the other lakes and to pick black berries.

Yesterday Mr Basford took me to town to buy supplies and a fishing lisence [sic]. Matt and I caught one nice bass. I tried again in the evening but was unsuccessful.

There was a heavy mist over everything this morning so we got up early and went down by the bathing house for a bath. It surely felt good to clean up and change clothes.

[the rest is in pencil]

These are red letter days but that is not the reason for the red ink. We lost one fountain pen and the second one had poor ink and rand dry. [which of course does not explain where the red ink came from]

This has been a lazy day – have done nothing new. But Mrs Basford took us to town where we leared our films had been found and sent on to Portland. We bought supplies and tried to find the Rural Delivery postman to arrange for a ride to Hecketa [she continues to experiment with the spelling of this locale] Point on Yahats. The Ford Garage took our message to have the Postman pick us up. The Garage people were also very nice about cashing a traveler's check.

Cottages here went for $8.00 per week or $1.50 per night. G. C. Basford Florence Ore. on Lake Munsel.

[The address apparently provided as a plug for Mr Basford to future readers of the journal, as seemingly is the following menu]

Breakfast – Sliced peach or pear

Blackberries

Bacon, eggs, pancakes, cocoa

Dinner – Potato and onion soup with milk

Canned Baked Beans

Rye bread and butter.

Sliced peach with cream or pear

Supper – T. bone steak, whole wheat bread

Lettuce & fresh crab salad – sandwich spread dressing [mayonnaise?]

Hot cocoa.

Pears in between times

Day 66 back to the coast walk

Today we have an entry from my father. The bucolic photos that follow belie its fiery nature. In previous entries Ruth has often referred to them as having argued. Here the tensions between 15 year old male and 31 year old female are front and center Certainly as I knew her later my Great Aunt could be very stubborn and confident in her own view, but as this entry makes clear there is nothing as annoyingly self-confident as a 15 year-old-male (especially when he's actually right).

Thursday July 30, 1931

Thursday morning we went fishing. Got some takle from the manager of the camp. Ruth got a fishing license in town and lost two rolls of exposed films. She brought back supplies and mourned over the loss of the films. She said she got so mad she could cry when a man in a store was doubtful about her signature on a traveler's cheque. She couldn't see what difference it made since she knew her acount was good. [It's hard to tell here if Matt's cynicism is already apparent or he is as innocent of the workings of traveler's cheques as apparently Ruth was.] We caught a twelve inch Bass and made a good meal, the best we've had yet. Aunt Ruth was rowing and the boat struck a snag. After she had tried different maneuvers with no success I suggested both standing at one end of the boat to lift the other end of the snag. I said this with tact, as much as I had at first. She immediately on my first words began to row straight ahead. Stubbornly she tried to force the boat over the snag. But with no success. I spoke to her again and told of our not making any progress.. We went around in circles then would stop. She rowed with one oar and then another.

Finally quite exhausted both in stuborness and tiredness she came to my end of the boat and we gently drifted off the snag. This kept her quiet for a while. But her stubborness was insatiable. The broke out that was to be expected. She refused to give in to masculine dominion of an idea. I don't know why she came to my end of the boat. We walked up to the othe two lakes after fishing and looked around the camp. At night the moon came up and the question of time arose. We made our guess and drifted to a statement that Ruth had made. Ruth said the Moon is bigger than the Earth. I, Matt, said the Earth is bigger than the Moon. I tried to show by reason why I was positive. Ruth said she learned the facts that I tried to reason it out. I said I learned the facts and the reasons too, that's why she got twisted. We made a bet that I would give her a fresh fish if I were wrong and she would me a chicken dinner if she were wrong. I always wanted to bet someone on something like that. In a way it's cruel to put all this down in words on paper when I know I'm right.

[Running down the left margin]

Signed this statement Matthew Coleman

[And below his chronicle in Ruth's hand]

I still maintain the moon is larger than the earth.

[signed] R. C. Babb.

(Matt insists on the full name)

Day 65

The Desert

It's not sterile.

The blue of the desert sky

Dry

Crystalinne

But that's not it. 

It's so fucking alive.

There is all this life.

People not from here – they say, look all this emptiness; we could put solar panels all over this and . . . What? Put the whole fucking eco-system into shade? In the morning it's as humid as Connectictut, 59%, for like two hours. The whole fucking underside of everyone of those antennas would be dripping. Four hours later its 10 %. But then it'd all be in shade.

Do you know how many fucking animals are living out there?

Horny toads, snakes, foxes, coyotes, lizards, Road Runners (yeah they're real), scorpions, tarantulas.

It's not fucking empty.

It's fucking full.

Every damn inch of it is alive.

It's like saying, oh well shit it's all fucking pines man, who needs them?

Day 64

At a conference so no diary work.

So a sketch:

 Nature red in tooth and claw

I've seen fog roll in, but, usually, it's just there. One moment you're looking at the stars then someone says something, you talk and look up again, and nada. They're gone. You look around, and someone says, “sure is thick.”

It's thick tonight. Pea soup. Cut it with a knife. Can't see your hand. . . . all that shit. It's a love hate thing fog. Sometimes, when all's good, fog's good. But the least little thing . . . scary shit. And when isn't there the least little thing right?

Then there's the sea. Breakers. Love the sound of surf. White noise – put you to sleep. Except if you're on the beach. You ever just lie there listening to the surf? It ain't white noise. Each one is different. They get closer, they move away. They don't sound the same. Man, surf only sounds monotonous when it's not real. Nature. Nature's like that. Crickets? Frogs croaking. Sounds “bucolic” and restful when they're playing William Tell in the background. In the woods, they're just a mask for the more sinister noises that you need to hear and can't quite because of all the din.

Fog is supposed to make things quiet, but it's like the crickets and the frogs, it just masks what you need to hear. The surf too, though, sometimes you need to hear it. Some things are masks and threats. I need to rest. It'll be a long day tomorrow. Stupid. They're all the same length. But it's more energy. That's it. Somedays you need more energy. Not longer, more consuming. Eating away at you. Like waves at a beach. You ever watch a beach cliff recede? I don't know how there's any land left after all these years. Seems like it should all have washed away.

I'm safe here. Should be. Tent's protected from the wind. I'm way above tide line. A little fog, some waves, it's a good thing. Hides me not just them. I really need some rest.

Day 63 Entry 9

What follows I list as Entry 9 though I realize now it really is an extension of yesterday's. I didn't notice the “It” at the end of the previous entry and it was followed by a photographs page – which up to here have always separated entries. It wasn't till I started to type this one and it began with a lower case “blew” that I realized the error. In fact I think Ruth didn't catch it until later either and thus the intervening photograph and the marginal note in Entry 8 when she picked it up again in the morning.

ENTRY 9

Tuesday, July 28, '31.

blew up last evening but was not heavy until this morning.

Matt seems rather homesick and blue.

We shall pull out as soon as dishes are done and the packs made up

Tides for July 28, 1931 Tuesday

Humboldt Bay California

High { 12.12 – 4.7 feet Am || Lows { 5.28 Am. – -1.1 feet

48. – 6/7 “ Pm 5.01 Pm. – 2.8 “

Hiked along the beach in bright sunlight. Mist is still hangin in the hills and a fog bank out to sea. Hike all day and camped again on the beach.

Wednesday July 29, 1931

Had walked 3 or 4 miles along the beach when we saw the puff of smoke which proved to be that of a Donkey engine – at the same time the fog lifted and we saw the Jetty. The later [latter] proved we had walked way out the sand spit missing the creek. So we went on out to the Jetty and watched four fishing boat trying to get out over the bar. Even the biggest boat had to turn back because of the rough sea.

We plodded thru soft sand and over drift wood then, up the to the Donkey engine.

[Here the handwriting changes so dramatically that I'm pretty sure it's now my dad's—confirmed in 9^th sentence]

Four men were working a donkey engine on the river bank. A log raft had broken off shore 4 years ago and these men were putting the logs in the river. They were dragged across the sand spit to the donkey and there pushed into the river. After finding out where we wanted to go the men offered to row us across the river but since they were busy could not. Allot of good that did. After the fishing boats returned we struck up a conversation with with [sic] one of the fishermen. We foud that the coast is sandy up to Ten Mile creek the North side of Arcata [?] point. We were offered a ride to Florence if the boats couldn't get over the bar. I, Matt walked out the Jetty and saw that they got over the bar. I had a long walk back and could see a long stretch of wooden rails, (the Jetty) and then the four miles of shore we had to walk to Florence. We walkied through wet soft sand and dry sand tiresomely until we got to a wooded shore. The trail turned in through a beautiful wooded path.

[I think it now returns to Ruth's hand—certainly it does so by the final paragraph]

We crossed the Ferry and looked for a place to buy supplies. Stopping at a Restaurant we go clam chowder and desert. We followed a road out of Florence to the state highway. Bearing a sign advertising a lake with Auto [?] camping we walked three miles along the road to another road that runs of towards the lake. It was about ten miles it seemed to us. It was really about two miles. The manager was a nice fellow. He lives with his wife and daughter on a homestead. There are three lakes here; we saw them all next day. We made camp Wednesday night on the shore of the lake. Matt found out that all this brush we've hiked through is balck hukelbarie [I assume black huckleberry].

The first photo (like some previous) is a double exposure--for the young among us, this was particularly easy with the Brownie camera because it had no lock out after you took a picture. If you didn't wind forward then, your next shot would expose the same film you'd already shot--and of course if you couldn't remember whether you had already wound the film, you hated to wind unnecessarily because film was expensive and you didn't want to waste an exposure.

Day 62 Entry 8

I have been preserving Ruth's spelling and punctuation. It is remarkable to me how much it and her handwriting varies. Even things like the date on every entry, which you would expect to be consistent seems to vary in detail almost daily.

ENTRY 8

Monday July 27, 31

Gardoner [sic] Oregon

Matt said he slept well.

I was so burned its a wonder I didn't set the hotel on fire. I was cold inside and flaming outside – a good one on me who has boasted of avoiding a bad burning by care. It was dawn before I could really sleep.

Had breakfast about 9 o'clock at the hotel Grapefruit, ham and eggs coffee and milk.

Looked the town over and now awaiting the next ferry back to Reedsport.

This is a quaint little isolated town which the inhabitants, not least the hotel, hopes to boom as soon as the new highway is completed.

The country is beautiful, the Umpqua river very wide at this point (Matt says 1/3 mile)

I'd like to spend a summer here taking trips out in all directions from here.

Left the Hotel – packs on backs at eight minutes of four. Walked over the Roosvelt [sic] Highway going north. Scenery is beautiful here because of the high wooded hills in all directions and the many streams.

A man offered us a ride after we had hiked about a mile and a half and we accepted. He took us as far as the road goes to the bridge now in construction over an arm of Lake Tahkenitch. From here we hiked out over the sand dunes – waded the creek and argued as to a camping place in the woods.

We decided on a beach camp among the drift wood. We found the bottom of an old boat which we draged up and braced agains a log and a battered mariners guide. This protected us a little against wind and drifting sand.

The smoke from the fire in front of the tent bothered Matt a good deal his eyes became very sore.

Supper of boiled carots, bacon, large biscuits or pancakes made of pancake flour, bananas.

My watch doesn't work at all.

Matt guessed it was 10.30 when we got into bed.

We kept a big log fire going most of the night for warmth and cheer.

[in margin in red ink apparently added later] Tuesday July 28, 1931

Breakfast: cornmeal mush, bacon, apples and raisins.

Emptied the packs of everything and cleaned out the sand and repacked.

Matt is going now to whittle a clam shovel ready for low tide this afternoon.

The wind has died down a little but there is a cold gray mist hanging.

Day 61 Coast Walk Entry 7

I should note that the photos with printing on them are actually postcards, some of which were mailed back home with notes on the back. So in this group, only the picture of the fishermen is Ruth's.

ENTRY 7

SECOND ENTRY ON SUNDAY JULY 26

Sunday July 26, '31

Gardiner Hotel

Ore.

On the Umpqua River

At the forks of road according to directions we hailed a passing car but the boys were not going to Reedsport and I thought one – the driver – did not have a very pleasant expression so they went on. Then I was cross to Matt because I didn't want people to think we are hitch hikers – “beggars.” I was really irritated with being stared at by every passer by and by what seemed to me the sneer on that driver's face.

A little farther along we bought carrots and beets from a woman also some fresh milk and some home made cookies. These were just a reminder to Matt of how hungry he was and we looked eagerly for a place to camp where it was safe and there would be good water and a place to build a fire. We had hiked about three miles when two men in a roadster bearing the sign fire patrol stopped and offered us a ride in the rumble seat which we accepted most gladly. We offered to pay but he would not accept.

The officer took us as far as Reedsport where we took the ferry to Gardiner. On the ferry we obtained some information about the coast and a place to camp, the roads and hight house.

A woman on the ferry told us again about the old Stage Line, the roads and invited us to ride with them to within a few miles of Florence.

We did not accept as we want to go back to Reedsport in the morning for mail and to look the town over. And perhaps we can get a ride in a fish boat.

The trail which the Forest officer pointed out proved to be pretty and led back up behind the reservoir. By the time we reached the place it was dark, there seemed to me no place to build a fire. Poor Matt was starving hungry and I didn't feel like cooking any way although he said he'd eat cookies and be satisfied.

We hid our packs and went back to town which seemed to be asleep at about nine o'clock.

Finally we reach a Hotel. The proprietor hunted up somebody who made us some sandwiches with cold roast beef some sliced tomatoes, good black berry pie and coffee for me and milk for Matt.

By the time we had finished it was very dark so we made arrangements to stay overnight at the Hotel.

We went back for our packs and Matt phoned home t let them know we are safe.

I'm burned to pain inspite of the Santiseptic lotion.