It’s been almost a month since we pulled out of Phoenix and headed west and north to the Oregon coast. It was an easy, wide open, 5-hour drive across the desert to our first overnight camp in Yucaipa, California. The county park has great camp sites tucked into high desert and trees. We leveled and did the usual unpacking, which includes putting out the slides. But the rear slide was stuck in the closed position. I got up on the roof to see if anything was stuck in the mechanism, but it looked fine. So we agreed to stop trying, in case we got it out, and then couldn’t get back in.
Without the back slide extended, we lost two and a half feet of floor space in the back half of the RV. We had to squeeze past the stove to get to the bathroom and the door only opened half way. And the bed was up against the drawers, with no walkway around, which meant Marika would have to climb over me to get in and out, and that didn’t sound good to either one of us. So she slept on the sofa that opens up into a full size, but lopsided bed, and I climbed into the bedroom bed. Which was a good thing, because we were having a little spat.
By the time we got to Sacramento, where we were camping on the Sacramento River for 3 nights, the worst was over. There were a few snarky remarks during breakfast with friends, but we held hands on the drive home. And our friend said, “You know, living this close together, for 3 years, you guys are doing great!”
It was good to rest there, in a small, quiet RV park along the river for a few days after 4 long driving days. Usually, we drive no more than 200 miles a day, and stay at least 2 nights. But because we were already a month late for our volunteer job, we were pushing to drive the 1200 miles in 7 days. In flat terrain, it usually takes us an hour longer to drive than the Garmin suggests. Our route took across the Arizona desert, past the Central California almond groves (to avoid LA), through the mountain forests near Mount Shasta, and over the mountains to the Oregon Coast, so it took us even longer. But it was beautiful.
Instead of driving directly to our volunteer campground as originally planned, we dry camped in Coos Bay overnight at a favorite casino so we could take the RV to a favorite mechanic to get the slide fixed. Of course, it rolled right out for them. They put it in and out again, no problem. They checked a few things, looked at a few more, then sent us on our way, no charge. We finally pulled into our campsite in the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area on Thursday, June 6th, with a few days to acclimate before training the following Monday.
We have a double parking pad, full hookups and even propane, so we can run the heater and water heater without worrying about having to drive into town to refill our tank. Our spot is in a National Forest Service campground, surrounded by pine trees and Douglas fir, and a variety of flowering and non-flowering bushes. And even though we’re in the forest, we can still see a lot of sky. The ocean is just a mile down the road, and I can hear it roar when I’m in bed with the window open.
The campground is across the road from the Siltcoos River, and there are lakes and lagoons all over the area, and easy hiking trails throughout the park. Cody loves all of the smells of rabbits, foxes, and deer, and we all appreciate the cool, moist air.
The day after we got here, all of the stress, and the cottonwood blowing in Sacramento, and the pine pollen in Coos Bay, got to us, and we both got sick. Marika had itchy ears and a scratchy throat. I was coughing so deep it turned into bronchitis with a low grade fever. I went to the clinic in Florence for antibiotics, cough medicine with codeine, and a stronger inhaler for my asthma. And we postponed our training for a few more days.
Marika made chicken soup and we slept a lot. TV and cell reception is spotty, so we watched the TV shows we had downloaded onto our phones, and took very short walks around camp so that Cody could do his business. Finally, after a week, we were both ready to start work.
Our supervisor, Cindy, picked us up in her truck and we drove down the main road toward the beach. She is a wildlife biologist, so she shared lots of information about the native and invasive plants, trees and grasses in the area. She pulled over to let some air out of the truck tires, put it in four-wheel-drive, then turned onto the maintenance ‘road’ that cut through the brush, and sand, all the way down to the beach. When we got to the base of the fore dune, she revved the engine and accelerated us up and over.
The beach is big, open, wide, and clean, and we didn’t see a single person. We drove really slowly in the wet sand, but not in existing tire tracks, because sometimes a plover will nest in the depression. We passed a dozen harbor seals sunning themselves near the surf. We drove parallel to the rolling waves, scanning for tiny movements in the landscape.
Cindy explained that the snowy plovers lay their eggs in a scraped out bowl in the dry sand. It takes 4 weeks for the eggs to hatch. After they hatch, the female plover leaves the nest, and will sometimes mate a second time. The chicks self-feed immediately, and the male stays with the chicks and warms them for 4 weeks until they fledge. They are so vulnerable, out in the open, the eggs and chicks prey for crows, ravens, coyotes, foxes, and careless humans.
As we crept along in the sand, we saw 3 male plovers foraging at the tide line, but didn’t see any chicks nearby. A few hundred yards further south we saw 3 more males, and Marika even saw two chicks. They are as small as cotton balls with toothpick legs, and they blend into the colors of the sand, so I didn’t see them, couldn’t catch their movement through the binoculars.
We drove through the water where the Siltcoos River meets the ocean, and continued south, scanning for plovers. We met the students from Portland State who are the official plover monitors, counting nests and birds every morning. Then we drove back over the dune road, then chatted with the other plover docent who was sitting in her truck in the parking lot where we will be working. It’s a staging area for Off-Highway Vehicles and there is a 200 foot trail to the beach that goes over a very high sand dune.
The first time I climbed it, we’d been at camp for 3 days and I was getting stir-crazy because I hadn’t yet seen the ocean. Even though my head cold had moved into my chest, I drove down to the parking lot and forced myself to climb up. I had to stop every few steps to catch my breath. My legs felt strong, but I was coughing and wheezing, and I was glad I had brought my inhaler. But when I finally got to the top, the view was spectacular.
But I couldn’t believe we were going to have to climb this dune every day! I was worried it might be too hard for Marika’s ankle and knee. And Cody certainly couldn’t handle it. And then I thought, I’ll be in great shape by the end of our gig.
I didn’t climb the dune again until the day after our beach tour with our supervisor, a week later. Even though I was still coughing, I just couldn’t wait any longer. I hadn’t walked on the beach since we left the Texas coast in March, and I needed a fix. I took two big puffs on my inhaler before I even started up the incline. The sand was soft and loose, so it’s like climbing very steep, uneven steps that move when you step down. I stopped often, but I wasn’t hacking like the first time. And the view at the top was even more beautiful because there was no one on the beach.
I took my time walking down the other side, where the sand is even looser. You think you have a foothold, and then the sand collapses under your foot. So I slowed down, took smaller steps, and then, finally, I was on the beach.
I walked way out to the low tide line, and there was no trash on the beach at all. Just rocks and shells and driftwood. Finally, I could take my shoes off and walk barefoot without worrying about cutting my foot on a can or piece of plastic. I left my shoes at the edge of the dry sand, rolled up my pants to just below my knees, and walked toward the ocean.
And it was glorious. The water was cold as it rolled over my ankles, and the sand sucked out from under my feet as it rolled back out, and I almost lost my balance. I stepped back a few inches and found my footing, then practiced some modified sun salutations while the ocean roared in front of me.
I walked further south toward the river, then stood facing the ocean and breathed. I cupped my hands behind my ears to make the roar louder, and I felt all kinds of gratitude. How wonderful that we are living here, working here, and that walking on the beach is part of our job!
I walked back to get my shoes, then sat on the log to wipe my feet off with my socks, then slipped my shoes back on for the walk back up the dune. The climb up the loose sand was even more difficult that the other side. I stopped a lot and couldn’t believe how hard it was. A woman at the top told me that next time, I should approach from the side and walk up along the grassy edge until I got to the mid-section of the sand, and then head up.
She was right. And now, after our first full week of work, I still have to stop a few times to regulate my breathing, but the climb is getting easier. And using trekking poles helps a lot. Yes, Marika goes slow, but she’s got her ankle brace on and her walking stick, and she takes one step, and then another, until she’s all the way up and over. And the reward, after the quick slip and slide walk down, is the gorgeous, wild, solitary beach.
Our job is to talk with people, make sure they are obeying the temporarybeach restrictions, and teach them about the snowy plovers and how they can help protect them during nesting season. We work the morning shift, which includes walking the south beach to check that the ropes and signs are still up. I tend to walk much faster than Marika, but I’ve got some plantar fasciitis going on in my left heel, so we’ve been walking the same pace. And it’s nice. We scan the beach with our binoculars, looking for people, footprints in the dry sand, dog prints in any sand. And we look for signs of plovers.
Then, depending on the wind and the sun, we’ll either sit on a log on the beach, or on a portable stool at the top of the dune, or in a chair in the parking lot, or, if it’s too windy or cold, in the car, ready to talk with visitors.
Marika shows people the photographs of plover eggs in a nest in the sand, the newly hatched wet chicks, and the tiny fledglings, speckled and fluffy, running in the sand. I remind dog owners to stay north of the signs, and offer them a pooper bag and a dog cookie.
It’s an easy job, in a very beautiful place. And we like the actual work. But it is also hard to be out in the elements for five hours. We wear long sleeved shirts, long pants, our forest green volunteer windbreakers, and hats. And lots of sunscreen and lip balm.
For me, the biggest challenge of this job is to just hang out, waiting for people. I’m more task-oriented. Tell me what needs to get done and I’ll do it. Marika, on the other hand, loves sitting, and looking, listening, and watching the sky. I like it for an hour or two, and then I’m ready for something new. But there are few options. Cell reception is intermittent, both at camp and down at the parking lot. And it’s hard to read a book when I’m anticipating being interrupted. So we talk, read the brochures in our volunteer handbook, and enjoy the conversations with the public. And I practice sitting, and enjoying, and being grateful.
Yesterday was our first of two days off after our first full working week, and we were ready for it. I drove into town to do laundry, then took myself out for lunch at a new Chinese restaurant. When I got home, Marika thanked me for doing the laundry, gave me a quick update on Cody, who is doing so well with continued acupuncture and a daily anti-inflammatory. Then took a nap on the sofa. She had cleaned the kitchen and polished the cabinets while I was gone. Cody was sleeping in his bed under the dinette, and I was at my writing desk, writing, listening to the rain on the RV roof. And in that moment, I loved everything about my life.
And I remembered that little stream that ran behind our campground outside of Kerrville, Texas, how it was slow and easy flowing for several yards, and then the water jumbled over a clog of trees and rocks, causing the flow to slow and gurgle before coming out the other side. And I remember thinking, that’s how Phoenix is going to be, a lot of bumps and boulders, but we’ll get through it, and then be back in the flow.
Things will always shift and change, dissolve and resolve, and then repeat. I have to remember to just keep breathing and turning back to my own heart, and it will all be OK.
