Here is one of my favorite places on the Oregon Coast. Taft, with its little pier and inlet, and the great Mo’s right there. Its not a big beach, or the most famous beach, its this little dead-end place with great piles of wood everywhere.
Here is Chris and Scooter walking over a pile of wood before reaching the sandy beach line. Taft is the only place I know of that a fire is allowed.
When I was young, my dad got a wood permit and we were allowed to drive the truck right out to the beach and cut up some wood and fill the truck. When I was older, I made visits to the beach alone, with my sister and with my best friend…I remember the last time was late at night and we wondered around the campfires and heard the mingled sounds of voices around a fire over the sounds of the water rolling steadily up to the shores edge.
I remember a time with my best guy-friend, Jeff, back in the days when he perpetually wore a gray newsboy cap, and we saw some sea lions bobbing around the pier looking for freebies during the crabbing season. People come and hang their crab pots over the edge of the rails, which are riddled with grooves from the ropes pulling back and forth.
And a time when it was my birthday. In our family we had a tradition of choosing two dinners, a favorite at home and a favorite restaurant. One year it was Mo’s at Taft Beach, with a lovely walk after stuffing ourselves with fish and chips.
And now, its a short walk with a guy that’s had three knee surgeries in two and 1/2 years and an old dog with a hip displacement problem…but its still Taft.
A lovely place.