Tucked in here and there as if a reward for days of rain, flood tides and chill wind are interludes of bright sunshine and not so much as the proverbial wisp of wind. I enjoyed one of them in my kayak the other day, again marveling how little used are the waters of the upper Coos Estuary – except in fishing season, of course.
But that’s over, and the waterways, shorelines and little islands have reverted to a world of busy birds, noisy waterfowl and the occasional ambitious deer or raccoon.
At low tide the estuary is revealed to be relatively shallow in most places, and often seems to be equal parts soft, sticky mud and actual water. That water comes not just from the ocean and the sky, but also from 30 tributaries entering Coos Bay from its 605-mile drainage system, according to the Division of State Lands. It spreads nearly 20 square miles, much less than it once did, before extensive dredging, draining, diking and filling created townsites, farmlands and pastures. Dredge spoils were used to create islands, reducing the amount of the estuary’s surface water.
But before all the infilling, way back in Indian times, it must have seemed like a vast inland sea, especially when you sat in a canoe at water level. Even now, paddling around the Eastside area, you somehow feel smaller, and the Bay Area cities and McCullough Bridge look far away and toylike.
It’s hard to imagine. It was bigger?
Getting There
For an exploration of the upper bay, I put in at the unofficial boat ramp at the east end of Catching Slough Bridge past Coos Bay’s Eastside district. I consulted a tide book to confirm the tide would be coming in for another hour, so I dug in against its slight push.
Instantly and as usual, I was privy to sights not seen from roads and land, starting with close-up views of birds that seem quite unconcerned as I glided by. They craned their necks and seemed to pose, but didn’t bother to fly away.
Next came huge iron walls of a barge berthed at the Southern Oregon Marine shipyards, along with other equally-impressive projects.
Beyond that, picturesque old piers lay collapsed into the bay, and I passed the last bit of dry land. I circled Bull Island, then headed into the channels below the Millicoma Marsh Trail in Coos Bay’s Eastside district to do a bit of out and back exploring.
Higher-than normal tides had sent brackish water to pool up into the farthest reaches, while concomitant low tides exposed sticky mudflats strewn with waterlogged branches, stumps, even entire skeletonized trees entombed in the shoreline.
The tide had changed to an incoming by the time I got back to the main channel. A solitary cloud drifted in front of the sun. Time to go.
Again I dug in, but this time the tidal flow helped out, and I was back to my starting point in a matter of minutes. And left the tiny birdies to flit and tweet around their little world of islands and trees . . .
(Shopper columnist Tom Baake is co-author of “Oregon South Coast Canoe, Kayak and Stand-up Paddle Guide,” available at the Coos Bay Visitor Center.)
