Ellen Steen

Ellen Steen

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We had a delightful surprise the other night. Pete Parks, our neighbor down the street, knocked on our door and offered us about five pounds of freshly caught tuna. You can bet we accepted with alacrity! We love tuna and can some each summer. In fact, we canned this batch from Pete; it filled nine half-pint jars. Tuna fishing is an art and Pete is an expert. He goes up to 50 miles out in the ocean, boat filled with ice, to find albacore tuna. The tuna fishing season in Oregon begins in July and generally lasts well into October, and Pete Parks is always out there making the most of it. Thank you for sharing your catch, Pete!

I spoke with Narayan Lincoln about a recent walk she took with a group from Cape Meares. Narayan, Beverly Stein, Wendy Burroughs, Wendy Kunkel, and Kathy Burke gathered at the Klobases’ house on Seaview Ave. Spike Klobas led them up a trail behind her house and into the forest. The trail wound along a ridge and on up the cape toward the lighthouse. Narayan noted the trail had been improved by the Boy Scouts about five years ago and this past year by other volunteers, leaving the path clear of debris. At one point, the route overlooked the little cove secreted on the other side of the rocks at the south end of Cape Meares beach; that was a stunning view. Although the group’s pace was leisurely and included rest stops, they did make it to their goal: the big spruce tree at the entrance to Cape Meares State Park. All in all, the hikers covered about five miles that nice, cool day in Cape Meares. A shout-out to Spike Klobas for arranging such a delightful outing.

 Two men were fishing for surf perch north of the Bayocean entrance to our beach. I asked how they were doing and one said he had hooked a surf perch right off the bat, but since then had had nothing. He then said it had been 60 years since he had fished for surf perch; I could see he was thoroughly enjoying himself, fish or no fish. He and his fishing partner were using sand spikes to hold their rods when they weren’t casting.

A young mother with a small child had erected a tent at the south end of the beach, about 30 yards from the ocean—with the tide still coming in. After saying hello, I mentioned that at high tide, the ocean often washes right up into the rocks there. She thanked me. I think it’s incumbent upon those of us who live here to gently warn others about the dangers of our beach. Those unfamiliar with these shores can scarcely imagine the lightning speed of a sneaker wave, the power of an ocean that tosses huge logs up on the beach, and the ferocity of a riptide that can carry one out to sea in the blink of an eye.

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