The Adventures of Ted and Nikkole
When I went to South Africa for the first time we were taken around by our 'producer', Clifford, one of the reasons we were able to make the trip. He was seemingly very well-off, and he went out of his way to make sure that we saw the best that South Africa had to offer. He took us to the rich neighborhoods, where every house was a mansion, every resident had hired help, every home had a tennis court and Land Rovers parked next to Mercedes Benzs in the hand-crafted cobblestone drive-ways. He pointed out the direction of wine-country and took us to, what was at the time, the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen: Cape Point. It was magnificient. Vibrant in color. Crisp and clean in smell. Untouched and pure. Pristine and meticulous in detail yet wild and free. It was amazing. (what was ugly)

I had spent alot of time comparing the things I saw in South Africa to the things I had known in the States. It was the only way I could truly process it all. It was the only way I could talk about it. Yet, here on the Oregon coast, I find myself doing the opposite. I look at the way the mountains leave their silouhette on the horizon as I look up the coast at an ocean I thought I knew so well, and it looks just like South Africa. It's pure, virtually undeveloped, and not a boat in sight. The water rages the same way it did in South Africa, so you don't see any swimmers or people frolicking at the water's edge. There are a few dare-devil surfers being swallowed by currents of waves crashing into one another, but for the most part, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but the land. You could still see remanants of the way the coast used to be... lush with trees and foilage right up to the coastline... My father says that that's what the beaches in California looked like when he was younger. There was grass and bush and then a strip of sand, and then the water. But, in my lifetime, I've never known the beaches of southern California to tolerate anything green that wasn't at the top of a palm tree. Yet, here in Oregon, there are massive trees so close by, and specks of life refusing to be shoo-ed away or deterred by the massive 'forest flight' that seems to have occured. There are huge tree fossils that wash up to shore supplying the residents with plenty of firewood, and endless nights of smore-making seaside. The sand closest to the water is brown, like it has rich soil still mixed into it, and it's grainy from the shells and rocks that haven't broken down completely... makes for a good body scrub. There are in-tact rocks as well... rocks that look like they belong on a lake... and huge rocks, boulders, sticking out of the water just past the part of the shoreline that is covered in foam. Speaking of foam, at the more remote parts of the beach, it seems like the rage of the water causes a wave-crash-line that is twice as long as any I'd ever seen. I stood and watched the few brave (or crazy) surfers try to get beyond the froth so that they could catch the waves, and I felt like they had to swim almost to the middle of the ocean to do it. And the waves! My god! I'm no surf-expert, but they've got to be right up there with the Hawaii ones... a surfer's paradise. There are seals that call this beach home, just like in South Africa... which makes me wonder if there are great white sharks lurking around as well. There were sand dunes all along what my father assured me was a beach getting smaller and smaller every year. Apparently, when he first "discovered" Pacific City there were only 2 or 3 scattered beach-front homes, but now, driving through, it looks like a up-and-running beach town...and it had the condo developments to prove it. We ran into a man who patted himself on the back for buying property blocks away from this up-and-coming beach town just 5 years ago. He said that, with all the building and renovating that's been happening there, his home quadrupled in value. Talk about a good investment!

My father had something even more special for me to see.. but they required work on my part... there were two large mountains, one made of mostly rock to the left, and the another, much bigger mountain to the right, made mostly of sand. We climed the rock first and looked out over the water and down into the gullys where a part of the earth had broken away to reveal all of the layers of development that made my climb possible. It was breath-taking...except for the foam. I guess because it mixed with sand and soil, it combination of elements made it linger once it it washed up and it looked like dirty suds in a backed-up tub. Yuck! There were steep drops off of the rock, so I tried to resist my urge to go to the edge and look over, for if I did fall manage not to to crack my head open by hitting a rock on the way down, there was certainly no way out except by helicopter. There were interesting landscapes that my bare feet got to explore on the way up... some of the rock was like what you'd expect a rock to be like, but there were points where it was clay, and parts where it was like lots of little rocks pressed together... then there were parts that used to support life. There were graveyards of trees where you could see how their roots were exposed by the wind, and how they starved to death and were blown over just to add insult ot injury. We took in as much of God's beauty as we could and walked back around to the sand dune that created a higher mountain... the promise of an even better view. There were several people climbing up with us... climbing up a mountain of sand so steep that it was natural to be on all fours. In fact, once I reached the first ledge, I looked down and couldn't even see my father. Talk about a workout! There were a couple times where I thought, "What if, as I climb, the sand gives way beneath me and I tumble down the mountain taking people out like a bowling ball!" But as difficult as it was to climb, it was worth the view. My God, what an amazing panorama of ... of... Life. There was so much to see and take in, and if it hadn't been for the high winds blowing the sand into my eyes, I could've stayed there until the sun went down. As hard as it was to climb up that big dune, I'd take the rigor of going up to the terror of going down at any time. Being the tall person that I am, I'm always amazed at how scary things can look from my standing perspective. I remember when I was young, I used to love to climb onto the concrete wall that separated my grandmother's back yard from her neighbor's... it always looked like such a short wall... such an easy wall to climb.. but once I got up onto the wall, and stood up, it seemed so much taller than it appeared. And I'd get stuck on the wall, because I was too afraid to come down. And that's how I felt at the top of that sand dune, looking down at what looked more like a cliff than a hill... But I knew I had to get down, and there was no elevator, so that meant I'd be walking. I took a step, and my foot began to slip and I thought, "Daddy help me!" Then I thought, "what's he gon' do? He's worried about his damn self."

Hum.

My father and I traveled so much this weekend that his girlfriend calls our experience, "the Adventures of Ted and Nikkole". I really feel like he tried to show me the best the Oregon has to offer. We went to see Mt. Saint Helen's.. the famous volcano that blew it's top in 1971 killing everyone who was dumb enough to "stick it out"... in fact the entire Portland area is surrounded by large volcanos... Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier, Mt. St. Helen's.... I think that's it... Apparently, when you visit Mt. St. Helen's you can still see where the lava poured out and streamed down the mountain destroying everything in it's path. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see it. That's right, we drove all that way, only to discover that the roads to the view points had been closed due to snow. We drove in the direction of almost every viewpoint there was only to be welcomed by a vacant parking lot and a deserted visitor's center. Nobody was there. NOBODY. It was scary... At one stop my father got out of the car to look at the map to see where we were and jokingly started making the Jason 'Friday the 13th' movie sounds... you know, "Chichichichichi... hoahoahoahoahoa..." I didn't get out of the car any more after that! I was appalled that we didn't see NOBODY. Not a police officer, not a park ranger, not yogie the friggin' bear... nobody. The Oregon state department of parks should be ashamed! I still get chills up my spine just thinking about that emptiness. One thing we did see on our way to Mt. St. Helen's was the Lewis River. I think it's the most beautiful river I've ever seen. It's turquoise. Well, not quite turquoise, but definitely a vibrant blue-green. The day was overcast, but even in the dull sun, I could imagine how spectacular it would be on a clear day. I had always thought of myself as a ocean girl, but it was then that I realized that I love water... clear Caribbean waters, raging rivers, vast oceans... as long as their clean and I don't have to get in them, they give me so much peace... the sounds they make unwrinkle that place on my forehead between my eyes. I don't like to get in the water... cuz I don't wanna run into any weird, slimy, biting creatures... but I like to look at it and allow myself to be reminded of God's greatness.

Okay, so we did Mt. St. Helen's, we did Pacific City, and Lincoln City... oh, and, how can I forget! We went white water rafting! Yes, I did! My no swimming self sure did get into a plastic raft and fly down the White Salmon River at speeds anywhere between 8 to 15 miles per hour! Talk about fun! It was so fun! Scary and fun. It was like that ride at Disney Land, Pirates of the Caribbean, only the real thing! When we first go there, I was nervous. We had past the main road where there were a bunch of rafting compaies...reputable looking, experienced-looking rafting companies. But did we stop there? Nope. I, in all of my rafting wisdom, chose the rafting company that was off in the cut...where we had to turn down some dirt road and pass a old man's wandering chickens to get to the rafting company I chose at random from an internet search. "Oh Lord," I thought. "How did I end up pickin' the bootleg company?" But the people turned out to be real nice and knowledgable, and serious about staying safe... so that was cool. Since my father and I were the only clients they had for the excursion, our guide was real serious when he gave us the rowing lesson/safety speech. I cracked a few jokes, to lighten the mood (I was nervous!), but he didn't take my bait at all. He was not playin. We went over some very offical commands ("Forward!" "Stop!" "Paddle back!" "Stop!" Right paddle forward!" etc...) and taught us the "Flop and Giggle". If you found yourself in a positon where you had to rescue someone who had fallen into the river, you were to grab them by their life vest, stablize your feet in the crevices of the boat, fall back into the boat allowing your body weight falling to heave the person to safety, and then giggle at them because they're laying on top of you... the Flop and Giggle. Little did I know that I'd need to pay attention to the victim's scenario a little more closely... that's right... I fell into the water!!! What's even worse is that I didn't do it battling the rapids...no, I did it simply trying to get into a non-moving raft. Yes, yes, go ahead and laugh. And then I managed to do everything he told us not to do if you fall in. I paniced. I flailed, I grabbed for his arms, feet, whatever I could grab so much so that he had to dodge me in order to get a handle on my life vest to pull me up. So the whole ordeal lasted about 20 seconds... but I think it may have been the most shockingly cold 20 seconds of my life. Ice cold. All river water is is melted ice from the mountains... ICE cold. Actually, when I first fell in I was just perturbed at myself. We had gotten out of the water to bypass a waterfall that was too dangerous for us to attempt to conquer and as we were re-boarding the raft, from this path, I stepped onto a rock that had that slimy green moss on it, and just slid right into the water, missing the raft altogether. Then, when I tried to get myself out, I went to step on what, in my mind, should have been some kind of land. But there was no more land. I had fallen off of a ledge. Then I began to panic. Imagine, steping where you think there is land and there's nothing but water. Call me a wimp, but I paniced. I hit my booty on a rock too... and it still hurts today. I froze my ass off for the rest of the ride. I'm talkin' Elmer-fud teeth-jittering cold, but I tried not to make it my focus. I looked at the banks of the river, the random cows we saw... the mountains the rare harlequin... the clear water... the rocks... the sound shifts the river makes when it speeds up and slows down. The moss and trees. I tried to take it all in and store it in my memory, since I relinquished my camera to the woman on the safety boat that followed us the entire trip just in case somethng awful happened. She got some amazing shots of us, but not everything that I wanted to remember. After all of that, we climbed into a warm van, hoisted the rafts, and went back to homebase in the cut. We took off our rented wet-suits, dried off, and drove home. It wasn't until we got half-way down the hill that it sunk in... I JUST WENT WHITE WATER RAFTING!!! AND I FELL INTO THE WATER!!! HOLY S@#T!! So, after all of that would I do it again? Abso-fuckin'-lutely. Call me crazy. But I would. In a heartbeat...