After learning campsite etiquette, Helena De Bertodano and her family marvel at the wonders along America's North Pacific Coast.

A Telegraph.co.uk Article
Slightly modified for yanks

It was the yurt that sold it to me: the idea of driving down America’s rugged Oregon Coast camping in Mongolian-style domed circular tents sounded like an experience not to be missed. So I booked one night at a yurt at Sunset Bay in Oregon and on that tenuous hook hung a three-week family holiday. 

Thus on a Sunday evening in early July, we found ourselves winding down the stunning coastal road towards Sunset Bay. Appropriately, the sun was setting over the beach when we arrived. The sheltered shallow cove, encircled by sandstone bluffs, looked so enticing that our three children – sick of spending half the day in the car – clamored to be let out before we had even found our yurt. Off they scampered into the rock pools, finding crabs and – as my four-year-old daughter announced – lots of "enemies": sea anemones.

It took an hour to lure them back into the car but it was only a two-minute drive from there to the yurt, set back from the bay in a wood. For $27 a night we were not expecting much, but what concerned me most was the weather. Now the sun had set it had become spectacularly cold. When a friend from Oregon warned me about the weather here, I was dismissive: "We come from England – it will feel like home."

The yurt proved way beyond our expectations: a green canvas structure held up by wooden struts, it had a wooden floor with a large bunk bed and a pullout sofa. There was electric light, a lockable front door and a porch. It even had its own little yard, shielded from other sites by thick bushes. And best of all – there was heating. The children warmed their hands on the little radiator. Compared with camping in a tent, this felt like luxury. "It's even nicer than our home," agreed the children.

When the light poured in through the circular window on the ceiling the next morning, it looked even more welcoming. We all decided we could spend at least a week here. Unfortunately, we had only booked one night – due to a generous cancellation policy, yurts book up months in advance so you need to check the website frequently and pounce on anything available. There was a rumor that there had been a cancellation for the yurt opposite (there are eight tents in total at Sunset Bay), but the people currently in it would have first refusal. If, by midday, they had not renewed their rental, it would be ours. As soon as they packed up their car, a cleaning crew materialized to scrub down the yurt. We were in.

You can pitch your own tent here, too – but for the extra $8, it seemed well worth having all the extra amenities. We stayed another three days, using the yurt as a base to explore the coastline – from the pretty fishing towns to the amazing seal colonies just south of Sunset Bay. Approaching the lookout, the sound of barking filled the air. "The seals are singing," announced our four-year-old. A thoughtful park ranger had set up several telescopes and he kindly lifted up my daughter to get a better view. (They really look after you in Oregon – on the interstates there are stops for free coffee and cookies, encouraging motorists to take a break.)

Farther up the coast, just beyond the seaside town of Florence, are the Sea Lion Caves. A lift takes you down into the depths of the world's largest sea cave – an eerie cold place inhabited by a rookery of sea lions. Here the doglike yelps are so loud that you can hear nothing else.

Mostly we bought fresh seafood in the neighboring village of Charleston – huge tiger prawns that we barbecued over the fire outside our yurt, washed down with wine produced just a few miles away in the Willamette Valley. This was definitely a step up from our usual camp fare of sausages on sticks.

Moving up the coast of Oregon, we were forced to give our tent an airing as no more yurts were available. We stayed three nights at Tillicum Beach, a dramatically beautiful if windswept bay. From there, we explored nearby Newport where we went crabbing, fishing and hunting for agates at Agate Beach. We caught so many crabs and sea bass that they became our staple diet for the next few days. I haven't been able to look at a sea bass since.

Before continuing our road trip down to California we drove inland to Crater Lake, the only state park in Oregon. Driving through volcanic fields we caught sight of the lake for the first time – which is of a blue so intense that Kodak used to send back people's photos with apologies for getting the color wrong, not realizing that the lake really is that blue. Skeletonised tree stumps and red-streaked snow (the color caused by a snow-dwelling algae) render the setting even more dramatic.

As we turned westwards towards the coast again I was struck by the beauty of the Oregon countryside: pretty little farms and vineyards, golden fields, bursts of flowers and extraordinary gnarled trees that seemed to glow red. We were heading for Gold Bluffs beach campground in California, a word-of-mouth place which you cannot pre-book.

We reached the Redwood National Forest but could not find the little road leading to Gold Bluffs, so stopped to ask directions at Elk Meadow (where the horns of grazing elk were just visible above the tall grass). It was late afternoon and we were told there was no hope of a campsite unless you turned up first thing in the morning. "Campground full" said the sign pointing down the six-mile road through the redwoods.

Undeterred, we pressed on – operating on the principle that if you turn up somewhere something will happen. Arriving at the beach campground, the ranger confirmed what we already knew and advised us to return at eight the next morning. We were about to leave to drive 40 miles to the nearest motel when he added: "Have you got a dog?"

"No."

"In which case," he said, "there is an environmental campground half a mile up the road – I have one site left there."

"We'll take it," we said, thrilled.

He gave us a code to unlock the gate into the forest, warned us about bears – one had ripped through a tent a few days earlier – and left us to it. We drove down a long dirt track, parked our car, then hiked 300 yards or so deeper into the forest to find our site. It was beautiful, surrounded by massive ferns and redwood trees reaching up to the sky. But it was far more isolated than we had anticipated. I had envisaged a few tents and a big communal fire, but the other two sites were invisible to us, several hundred yards away. We were enveloped in utter silence, punctuated occasionally by a crack or a crunch of undergrowth that made us jump out of our skins. There was nothing for it but to pitch our tent and cross our fingers.

At the crack of dawn, after a sleepless night, we packed up and hiked out of the forest to try to secure a beach campsite. Nothing would induce us to spend another night in the forest.

I now felt brave enough to ask the ranger which site the bear had targeted. "Site 3" he said – ours of course.

"We think it was a juvenile that has been causing some problems recently," he added. "I suppose," I said hopefully, "it would have fled if it had seen any humans."

"Oh no," said the ranger "it was attracted by human scent."

We cruised around the beach campground, watching people pack up. A couple of other cars were circling, too, and attention was focused on the handful of prime sites actually on the beach. Some deals had been thrashed out the night before and several inland campers were moving up a rung in the property ladder. The ranger tipped us off about one beach site due to become vacant so we hovered nearby, waiting for the tent occupants to emerge. But we were novices at campsite takeover etiquette: another car swooped in and started a two-pronged attack on the same site: a woman lurked at the front of the tent, her partner staked out the back. The moment a head popped out, the woman asked for the tent. We'd been gazumped. "First come, first served," crowed the man. "In which case… ," I said, digging in my heels.

"So sorry," said the man, hauling his tent out of the back of the car.

"Actually," said one of the campers, coming to our rescue: "I think this family was here first."

It was ours – we had a piece of prime real estate on one of the best beaches in California. As the departing couple said: "Where else can you get a view like this for just $15 a night?" We pitched our tent amid the grasses flanking the beach, the fog-enshrouded golden cliffs behind us and miles of deserted beach before us. The tents were so far apart that you could not see or hear anyone else.... Read Entire Article

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