It's a cop, dummy!

Beth and I took yet another fantastic trip last weekend. We drove about 2 1/5 hours southwest from Seattle to the coast just north of Oregon, to a little town called Westport. The inspiration for this trip came right out of the pages of Via, the AAA magazine. Kind of like picking an adventure out of National Geographic, but a little less exotic and a little more trashy. I suppose we've become accustomed to the countless quaint little expensive artist retreat towns all up and down the Northern California Coast. These towns - Westport, Grayland - are perched on stunning pieces of land, but the towns are fairly run-down. The constant rain can't help much (the marquee on the roof of the local hardware store advertised something called Rid Moss) and they're a relatively long way away from metropolitan areas and so aren't very touristy.
We rented a motel room from this incredibly friendly Norwegian couple. Photos of them on their site. The rooms were modest but very clean and you could tell they put a lot of effort (if not money) into making the spaces homey. I was impressed by the live succulent in the room. During our initial survey of available rentals in the area we came across a cabin curiously named The Beastmaster's Den. You must follow the link to see the details as my wording would not do it justice. Go ahead, look now and make sure to look at the photos. Yeah, right? Notice there is only one window in the whole cabin and it is blinded by wooden slats.
So yes, we stayed at the Pacific Inn with our hosts Egil & Gunvor. After lunch of one of the tastiest fish sandwiches I've had yet (I admit I've had a lot lately) we drove around the small town a bit. Along the main drag I checked my speed when I saw a cop parked in a lot facing the highway. As we passed slowly, Beth remarked that it looked as if he were taking a nap in his car. We swung it back around and discovered:


There, there, sleep, gentle cop. I'm going to come a bit closer.


Whoa. That's not a real cop. I didn't realize until looking at the photo later that he seems to have lipstick smeared on his lips, ear and neck (you can click the photo for a larger version). Apparently there's not a lot going on in Westport.

We went to the beach and scoured the sand for marked sand dollars, part of a local celebration of driftwood and flotsam and jetsam.

Beth, happily searching the beach for marked sand dollars


Me, enjoying the sunshine


Looking down the beach. The Washington beaches feel much more stark and isolated than those in California. Despite the cold and wind, they seem more tranquil up here.


Blowing sand


From a lookout tower in Westport. There were surfers down there along the jetty - all decked out in full-length hooded wetsuits. We were surprised to learn that Westport is home to two surf shops. On the horizon you can see the snowy peaks of the Olympics.


Again from the tower, looking back on the marina.

According to the Westport tourism magazine, Westport is one of the best charter fishing spots in the WORLD - they said it. The area is also called the Cranberry Coast. Just south of Grayland were countless farms of cranberry bogs, wide flat expanses of scarlet. This is also where they grow the prized cran-apple.