We drove out of Redwood following the curve of a hard charging river. Local men stood up to their knees in cold water, casting thick lines into the foam for Steelheads. We crossed an old wooden, covered bridge and turned onto 101 heading north. We got a break in the weather. Blue sky began tearing ragged holes in the grey overcast. We entered Oregon. The roadway climbed and twisted atop a wooded, shoreline ridge. Fraser Firs packed the steep slopes. We pulled over just outside Brookings into a parking lot. Below us spread a wide sandy beach. Large, jagged boulders were strewn about creating a giant Zen garden. Between them we found deep tidal pools filled with mudskippers, starfish and small octopi waiting for salvation in the next tide. Live mussels and barnacles battled each other
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