What a day to visit the Oregon Coast! The conditions could not have been better at Shore Acres. Please enjoy some photography and (mostly) slow motion videos taken over two days in December 2023.
I wrote this reflection on site while drying out from the heavy rain and sea spray:
Before I arrive to the lookout I can hear and feel the sea in my bones. I can view 20ft swells appearing over the cliff’s edge. I find a spot overlooking jagged black rocks, reminiscent of a dorsal fin. The sounds of waves crashing into the rocks is deep, vibrating, and I feel immediately the sea’s familiar power. I recognize this "monster" from my own days out there.
This location felt like a romantic spot. One where I could arrive in my true nature-as a land dweller and photographer-the sea could arrive a tempestuous raw performer. I no longer feel the obligation, rather a longing, to be in the thick of it. But I’m here today to observe with admiration, respect, and reverence.
I’m both nostalgic and terrified that a younger me ventured into these harrowing conditions, propelled by a naive small courage. We set out in our motor lifeboats that were the length of three cars, 47ft. We felt unsinkable. How do you fail when people are waiting to be rescued from a boat fire, from taking on water, or from medical emergencies?
7yrs out of service I can feel, like an ebbing tide that my mariners courage is waning. I feel the pains in my back and neck. I no longer have the support of that lifeboat or its crew. The tight bonds and flow we had as crew members feels increasingly foreign and I’m no longer the coxswain at the helm of any lifesaving missions. No longer on scene of death and struggle. No longer on the sea.
Those epics of past heroism make me feel small today, but when I show up to photograph the sea I’m able to join her again in appreciation and wonder.
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See more photography at blakerobertshaw.com
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