In Sailing Along The Oregon Coast One Sees But Few More Signs Of Human
Occupation Than Did Juan De Fuca Three Centuries Ago.
The shore
bluffs rise abruptly from the waves, forming a wall apparently
unbroken, though many short rivers from the coast range of mountains
and two from the interior have made narrow openings on their way to
the sea.
At the mouths of these rivers good harbors have been
discovered for coasting vessels, which are of great importance to the
lumbermen, dairymen, and farmers of the coast region. But little or
nothing of these appear in general views, only a simple gray wall
nearly straight, green along the top, and the forest stretching back
into the mountains as far as the eye can reach.
Going ashore, we find few long reaches of sand where one may saunter,
or meadows, save the brown and purple meadows of the sea, overgrown
with slippery kelp, swashed and swirled in the restless breakers. The
abruptness of the shore allows the massive waves that have come from
far over the broad Pacific to get close to the bluffs ere they break,
and the thundering shock shakes the rocks to their foundations. No
calm comes to these shores. Even in the finest weather, when the
ships off shore are becalmed and their sails hang loose against the
mast, there is always a wreath of foam at the base of these bluffs.
The breakers are ever in bloom and crystal brine is ever in the air.
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