Flying the Edge of America:
Astoria, Oregon
Some blue skies
Julia and David departed Jack McNamara Field at Crescent City in the same terrible weather they had landed in. As they accelerated down the runway, they watched the land drop away, revealing a rough, gray ocean capped with white waves beneath them. Above, only dark clouds loomed. Rocky outcrops, momentarily outlined in foamy surf, disappeared into the mist. Matilda, their dependable aircraft, remained unbothered, her engine roaring at full power, wings slicing through the air with steady determination. For Julia and David, however, the stark contrast between the turbulent sea below and the storm-laden sky above was unsettling. They couldn’t ignore the chilling thought of crashing into the cold, unforgiving Pacific.
Yet Matilda lifted them swiftly beyond the ocean and through the cloud layer, emerging into clear air. Far above hung a thick, gray ceiling, and below lay a field of white clouds, with occasional gaps revealing fleeting glimpses of the rugged coastline. In the calm between the intense moments of takeoff and landing, they settled into a rhythm—music playing, conversations flowing, and the only interruptions coming from identifying themselves to each new air traffic controller as they continued their northbound journey along the untamed Oregon coast.
Astoria, Oregon
In 1805, the Lewis and Clark expedition endured a long, cold, and wet winter near Astoria, Oregon, camped along the Columbia River, hoping for a ship to take them home—a ship that never arrived. The conditions must have been brutal. Even in July, with the conveniences of modern technology at their fingertips, Julia and David found the region’s climate challenging. Their campsite in Astoria was starkly different from the serene state park they had left behind in California. This campground resembled a small town, bustling with RVs, deluxe tents, and paved roads. Nature felt contained, civilization ever-present. Though the amenities were plentiful, the charm of camping amid ancient redwoods was lost.
Unlike the RV families or motorcycle groups stocked with Bud Lite coolers, Julia and David felt somewhat out of place. Fatigue from the first two days of travel weighed on them. Three more months to go, Julia thought as they unfolded their dew-dampened tent. As she watched a beetle, unknowingly transported from California, crawl from the nylon onto the grass, she reflected on the journey ahead, bracing herself for the challenges and wonders yet to come.
Continue the adventure in my next excerpt from Flying the Edge of America.