In a recent work “hangout” chat, I mentioned in passing that some day I’d like to get out to the Oregon Coast again. As someone who neither owns or operates a motor vehicle I’m reliant upon tourism services, twice-daily bus service, or the kindness of friends to see the ocean so it doesn’t happen very often. One of my coworkers noted in the chat that, in fact, they had an Astoria trip planned for late July and would I be interested in a lift to & from?

Sure I would!

Thus preparations began and so, yesterday, I went on a little tourism adventure.

Commence a lot of walking punctuated by museum visits and stone benches.

I set modest goals, initially: Visit the Columbia River Maritime Museum and get up to the Astoria Column, maybe even ascend to the top thereof. See… my last visit to Astoria was 19 years ago and since then, I figured, I might have accumulated enough mental fortitude that I could manage now what I couldn’t then: Complete the spiral-staircase climb to the viewing platform. In addition I wanted to see if I could acquire another of a very nice glassware mug that I’d bought the last time I visited the Maritime Museum. The current mug’s mostly okay but the printed-on artwork has faded with repeated washing over the years and it’d be nice to have a “fresh” copy.

Other than that I was happy to just putter around town and enjoy my do-nothing day. I didn’t want to set too many goals and disappoint myself by not meeting half of them.

Upon arrival I immediately sought out sustenance. Note to travelers: There’s a Mo’s seafood & chowder restaurant quite close by to the museum right on the river, and their combination platter of breaded & fried shrimp, cod, and clam is superb “walking around all day” fuel. As a bonus, shout out to Jen, the waitress who served me, for the recommendation to check out the nearby Heritage Museum during my visit.

The maritime museum was fascinating, as always, though my main takeaway was that I’d have never been able to manage any of the boat-related jobs portrayed therein. Couldn’t be me. I took the tour of the lightship “Columbia” and noted that at least I would’ve been the right height for the job. Anyone not much taller than I would spend their entire deployment time ducking their head as they moved around the ship’s interior.

Alas, the gift shop no longer had the particular style of mug that I’d bought one of nearly two decades previously. (To be clear: I was not actually surprised by this, just mildly disappointed.)

Once I finished with my first museum visit I hiked the few short blocks up to the other museum on my newly-revised itinerary. The Heritage Museum is absolutely fascinating and I recommend it highly for anyone who’s making Astoria a tourist destination. There are the displays you expect (such as the story behind That Guy Named Astor, information about the native populations who were somewhat embraced but mostly displaced, the way that European powers changed “ownership” of the region) but also things like an entire nook dedicated to local writers and activists (mostly folks from Scandinavian countries) working for the cause of socialism, including displays of actual locally printed books related thereto. And yes, all of that went over as well in the long term in Astoria as it went anywhere else in this great land of ours…

If I’d been smart I’d have spent more time at the Heritage Museum, but I still thought I could make the climb to the Astoria Column. (Spoiler: I did not.) The very helpful young lady at the ticket counter advised me that it was a bad idea to try but I wanted to see for myself how bad it could be… and at the very least to get a higher vantage point to look out over the city and the mouth of the Columbia River itself.

I managed the latter, and managed to find out how bad the hike could be, too. (Annoyingly, I didn’t take a picture of the commemorative signage and stone benches located at the point I did reach. I blame the fact that my legs were protesting rather strongly and I was desperate for a snack and a sit-down.) Turns out that the relevant part of Astoria, what’s between the mouth of the river and the top of the hill where the Column stands, is one big steep hill. And I mean steep.

(If you’re really curious, check out the pictures at the Historical Marker Database page for the Shively – McClure National Register Historic District. One looks sort of toward the downslope view, while another shows part of the further uphill climb that I decided not to subject myself to.)

Along the way I checked out the little monument commemorating “the original location of the first post office site West of the Rocky Mountains,” to quote Astoria’s parks & recreation website. It’s a neat little spot, but mind the dog poo. Responsible pet ownership is a problem wherever you go, I suppose.

From that point onward (and mostly downward) I just did low-key tourist-y things: Looking around at stuff and taking the occasional picture.

All in all, the central shopping-district-ish portion of Astoria has the same “small town Americana” feel as anywhere, just with a lot of fresh air borne along the ocean winds. The occasional new or refurbished construction stands alongside iconic historic structures, some of which are actively used and others are falling into gentle disrepair.

Astoria makes the most of its history and its function as a port city, though. It lost out in prominence to the eventual regional titans, Portland and Seattle, for various reasons but it remains a consequential part of the region’s history and, to a lesser degree, its present.

Which is all well and good but while I was wandering aimlessly through residential areas and shopping districts and being horrified by the expensive-looking monument to “those killed by abortions” alongside one particular church building, the Sun came out from behind the clouds… and I’d forgotten my sunglasses at home. So I made my way, eventually, back to… the maritime museum, whose gift shop lacked sunglasses but featured several baseball-cap style hats. Glare protection acquired!

(As I write this, however, it’s worth noting that at no point did I consider the lesson imparted by that classic Baz Lurhmann novelty song, “Everybody’s Free To Wear Sunscreen.” Yes, I currently look a bit like a lobster that’s been prepared for a fancy dinner. Whoops.)

When it came time to think about packing up, meeting up, and heading homeward again, we decided upon one last “tourist” event: We visited the wreck of the Peter Iredale, or at least what’s left of it. (That’s a ship, not a person, to be absolutely clear.) If nothing else, I wanted a look at the actual ocean and to hear the crashing surf before I went home, unlikely to return for years more yet. There’s less remaining of the rusting ship’s structure than there was 19 years ago, which is to be expected, I suppose.

What was less expected? The bagpiper.

You think I’d make that kind of thing up? Be serious.

Unlike last time I didn’t take any pictures of the Peter Iredale’s remaining… remains. It was a busy tourist Saturday in July and there were little kids everywhere, including (nay, especially) clustered around the rusting metal bits. That made it a big no-no for taking random pictures, and I didn’t feel like trying to convince parents to chase their kids away for a few minutes. They were having fun; who am I to ruin that?

All in all, I think it was a grand day out… but also brought home the fact that it’s nigh impossible to be a tourist “on foot” at the Oregon Coast. You need a car. You just do. Welcome to America.

Speaking of bringing things home, at least my new Eevee has a spiffy new hat: