Southern Oregon Coast
Comfortable after a good night’s sleep and a great dinner, we were feeling lazy. Alan wanted to walk the sand at Agate Beach, but with so much coastline still ahead, we compromised on a late checkout. We were still waiting to hear from one of the Thor servicers about fixing Bessie’s stubborn diesel leak, so there was no rush.
We rolled out around 12:30, heading south toward Newport and Nye Beach—the official starting point of U.S. Route 20, the longest road in America, stretching 3,300 miles all the way to Boston, Massachusetts. Just past town, we stopped at the Yaquina Head Lighthouse, perched inside the Yaquina Head Outstanding Natural Area. Locals call it haunted, but even ghosts would have to pause for that view. At Cobble Beach, the black stones clattered and sighed as the tide pulled out, and we watched harbor seals and sea lions sunbathing between the waves.
Back in Newport Harbor, signs for Pacific Seafood promised fresh black cod and albacore tuna. Breweries and fish houses lined the streets, and the Oregon Coast Aquarium drew families with bright umbrellas against the fog. Further south, we stopped at Seal Rock Recreation Area, where Kodi and I hiked the trail down to the beach—off leash, tail wagging—while Alan set up for photos of sea spray crashing against basalt cliffs.
Next came Yachats, where a long, steep trail led us to the roaring cauldron of Devil’s Churn. Just beyond, Cape Perpetua showed off its own natural drama: Thor’s Well and the Spouting Horn, where the sea explodes through ancient lava tubes.
By late afternoon, we reached my favorite—Carl G. Washburne Memorial State Park. Trails at the south end wound through a lush Sitka spruce forest that opened suddenly to hidden Hobbit Beach, soft sand and sea mist filtered through tangled green branches.
By then, we were spent—and starving. We cruised into Florence, a charming little town of a few walkable blocks filled with cafés, galleries, and seafood joints. Mo’s Seafood called our name, and the slumgullion chowder—a creamy bowl piled high with tiny pink shrimp—was exactly what the day needed. The nearby Super 8 wasn’t fancy, but after salt air, chowder, and one last walk around town, it felt like luxury.
