Sixes River Rapture

There I was building a driftwood fort where the Sixes River meets the ocean in the most mesmerizing way, on a Sunday morning in bright sunshine, surrounded by the most interesting driftwood of any ocean beach I’d ever encountered, driftwood in enormous volume, Elmer doing his thing here and there, hundreds if not thousands of gulls feeding at the mouth of the river, a seal spying on me in the river, no one around, no fishing boats, bright blue waves crashing ashore, Castle Rock in the background, Cape Blanco Lighthouse looming in the distance, and I thought to myself: this is the finest estuary in Oregon with all apologies to Pistol or Nestucca Rivers.

I can’t remember feeling this rapturous about a moment in Oregon Coast nature. I was talking to myself aloud, talking to Elmer, wondering who in my life or former life most needed to see this spot and marvel. Dozens.

A momentous depression had gripped me in early September for unknown reasons. It slowly dissipated and then this fort construction on the Six Rivers shattered it altogether.

I finished the fort, which never really occurs, but it was enough for this morning. I doubt anyone but me would ever see it, although I knew this fort could withstand high winds. But at some point, a fall storm and inevitable high tide would demolish it.

And then Elmer and I would return in a month or so and build another fort.