Way back in 1923 on a Friday afternoon after school was out, three of my brothers (Clare, Leslie and Linn) and I took a trip to the beach when roads were still pretty much horse and buggy style.  We drove an old 1922 Model T (well, it wasn’t very old then). Anyway, we went to Eugene from our home town of Cottage Grove and then on to Junction City. Back in those days there was a high pass and a low pass road leading towards Mapleton from Junction City.  We took the high pass and Les killed a jack rabbit near the summit.  We were chugging along when we came to some men blocking the road with a plough. No, they weren’t working, but it was some time before they managed to break into their visit to remove the plough and let us by.  Some of our precious daylight departed so we soon had to make camp by the roadside.  One thing was sure, no high powered cars rushed by on that remote mountain road on that early Fall night so long ago.  After we passed Triangle Lake the road was rather hair raising even to a family of kids that learned to drive over a narrow plank road.

My oldest brother had taught school over on Indian Creek at Reed. So we decided to wind the mountain road – seems I can still remember at least 18 hairpin turns and that was hairpin for a Model T grinding along in low gear. I remember how we pushed them over the mountains sometimes with a foot and sometimes we all hopped out and boosted “Henry” over the steep pitches.  But then it was a pleasure to scramble back in and ride down the other side. Sometimes it took a lot of banging to close that door and sometimes it was easier to climb over it.

We arrived in due time at Reed and visited the Charles Beer’s family for a short time before retracing our trip to Rainrock. The road at that time wasn’t built on across to the ocean from Reed. One thing I remember was how remote and quiet it was at Reed, but the thing that really impressed me was the brilliant red of the “crawdaddies” in the clear waters of Indian Creek. We went to Mapleton. Now these things were all “firsts” for me and my youngest brother Linn so we were very busy taking in the sights.  One thing Linn planned was a swim in the Pacific Ocean. He was around 9 years of age and I was 11.

After returning to Rainrock and to Minerva Mountain and the north fork of the Siuslaw, we traveled and again night was overtaking us but we only had a week and so we drove well after dark over a little narrow cow trail road. It seems to me it was a dirt road if I remember right. As we neared Florence (bridge out, so a longer route was needed) we made camp again out in the mountain country but near enough to water that next morning everything was drippy wet with coastal fog. I well remember my little red hat that had red cherries on it. That morning the hat no longer had cherries on it, as the fog loosened them and the cherries were a thing of the past.

We hit mud along the river as we left Florence but we came at length to Heceta (after a flat tire on the wagon road) with Linn still mentioning how he’d swim in the ocean.

I’ll always remember my first look at the mighty Pacific. I didn’t know there was that much water on the whole world but Linn took one look and said, “Hunh! Is that all the bigger it is?” But as we neared the breakers we didn’t hear a peep about Linn’s dip in the ocean. Later he wondered if we might swim in some river along the way, but in our “long” journey we never had time for Linn’s swim.

Then we drove up the beach almost to the sea lion caves. Those old Model Ts didn’t have very wide tires so if we got out in the dry sand we got stuck and if we got too close to the waves one would flip Lizzie a bit. Why were we driving up the beach? Mainly because we got there before any one thought to build us a road, even a secondary cow trail.

As we neared the sea lion caves we had to leave the beach and climb up that old mountain to an old wagon road. It was too steep to go straight up and if we went by degrees the Model T would tip over, so we unloaded all our gear and then one brother drove and the other three of us rode the running board on the upper side as we zigzagged up to the old wagon road (changing sides as Lizzie turned). It was a slow process, with a good view of the ocean. The sea lion caves then were better known to the sea lions than they were to me.

As we came to Heceta Head there was that charming lighthouse that is still the most charming lighthouse to me. Devil’s Elbow is just as pleasing as it was the first time so long ago as we approached it, not by tunnel but out of the hills on that rutted old wagon road.

Next I remember we came into a little spot called Yachats. We headed for the beach again and as we passed by a store someone yelled something at us but we didn’t hear what they said. We hit soft sand and got stuck and then those men came and helped get us land lubbers out of the sand and back from the beach. They had yelled at us that the tide was coming in and we could not possibly make it up the beach at high tide. Then I remember my brothers helping some others that also tried the same with same results we’d had. When the tide changed we hit the beach and drove for so long we thought we’d missed the place we should get off the beach. We stopped to ask a man on the beach and I talked just long enough that Lizzie settled down in the sand and we had quite a time digging her free. Up the beach we went trying to skirt the waves. Now and then a wave would hit us.

I remember also somewhere along near Yachats when the one track road was shells rather than gravel.

North of Florence  Clare mentioned the nice homes where people brought building material by ship and threw it overboard and it drifted ashore. More of the pioneer spirit. Finally we got to Waldport and started inland, then came Alsea and the gas biz.

Time is slipping by on this Sunday afternoon and we’re far, far from home. At Alsea we found our gas supply running low so we drove to a gas pump but the store was closed. We knew we must have gas and then we found a horse had run away and killed a woman but finally we found a young lady and her boyfriend who were willing to unlock the pump and sell us some of that much needed gas.

As we hove into Philomath it was getting dark and Clare ran over a fire hose he didn’t see. There were some boxes by it but no light on anything to mark it as a spot to avoid. Some old guy really yakked so we stopped but a group of young people were ribbing this man and finally they said to go on and the man finally decided if you can’t lick ‘em to join ‘em, so he too said “begone”.

Now we were back on the good old paved Pacific Highway (99) headed for Eugene. Leslie was driving and by now it was late and I’d gone to sleep but we all woke up and found we were at the Eugene airport. It’s was a narrow little bridge of logs and planks, and while turning around we got stuck. Finally Les got on the right road and we headed home for Cottage Grove and out into the country.  We arrived at 5 a.m. and we were off to school that same morn. Did we have to catch the school bus? Nope, there was no school bus and it was 2 ½ miles to the little white school house at Divide where Linn and I went that Monday morning back in 1923. The little school house has long since had an addition and now serves as a house.