The Land Where Craft Beer Was Born
The Pacific Northwest is a quiet corner of the United State, often sleeping under a serene blanket of fog. The PNW coastline stretches for roughly 1,000 glorious miles north of San Francisco. Taking Highway 101, the journey takes you through countless hairpin turns over majestic seaside cliffs and through vast forests of monstrous conifers covering the coastal ridge. Placid lagoons and river mouths open up into the frothy waves of the Pacific Ocean, which through the centuries have carved out incredible rock formations that sit upon its burly beaches.
The people of the PNW are much like the redwoods that inhabit their forests, both bold and serene, with lofty aspirations and shallow wandering roots. In many ways it is still the Wild West out there. Everyone there is either escaping from something or trying to find something, and it gives the sense that despite appearances, everyone is a stranger. It is an isolating place, with very few cities, and small towns separated by long stretches of curvy highway and nature. There are many places to hide and no shortage of little homes or trailers tucked deep in the wooded hillsides.
The original settlers of this land were frontiersmen who lived off the land, secluded from the rest of the world. Later on, the gold rush, logging and fishing industries brought more people to the coast. In the 1960s, hippies and artists escaped from society to establish communes out in these rugged lands, living by their own set of rules and trying to self-sustain. The region was and still is the epicenter of illegal marijuana farming. Though today it is legal and regulated, the “green rush” certainly brought to the region both wealth and criminal activity. I can tell you that legalized marijuana is most definitely a big part of tourism and the culture, and you cannot drive more than a few minutes without seeing a billboard advertising “BUY WEED HERE” (or something of that nature).
We arrived in the City by the Bay at night on Nov. 5. The smells of sea mist and eucalyptus when I caught my first breath of fresh air were just like I remembered. It was hard to get some sleep with a big first day of driving ahead of us, but we were finally doing it: Seattle bound. I was excited to drive the rental minivan – my wife, not so much – but hey, the thing is comfortable when you are hauling around three kids. The first stop: We drove by our old house, and took the back roads to the summit of Twin Peaks in the middle of the city. Unfortunately, the fog was so dense you couldn’t even see 25 feet ahead. Without further ado or blindly crashing into anything, we left the city behind and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge.
Up through Santa Rosa, along the Russian River and over to the coast, we only stopped once for supplies and had our first picnic of the trip on the beach near Jenner, enjoying our first taste of NorCal beer – a Lagunitas IPA. A few more hours of zigzags, switchbacks, and blind corners up and around the most beautiful coastline you can imagine, we reached our second stop, Fort Bragg, and spent a foggy sundown on Sea Glass Beach (the sand is made up of sea glass).
The next few days we spent in Arcata, in the heart of the Green Triangle, Humboldt County – known for its marijuana industry, but also the place with the closest access to the biggest redwood trees in the world. The girls did a horseback ride in the mountains, we drove the Avenue of the Giants, had elk burgers, drove the minivan through the middle of a sequoia tree, off-roaded through some secret rocky creeks, and enjoyed a crisp Trumer Pils along a gorgeous sunny riverbank with some local cheese and crackers.
California treated us well, but we were on our way to visit friends in Portland so we had to book it up the Oregon coast in one day. It was a lot of driving made tolerable by the gorgeous scenery, overlooks, and other roadside attractions. We had the good fortune to take a break at the most scenic restaurant of the trip, and enjoyed a nice meal with probably my favorite beer of the three states, Arch Rock Pistol River Pale Ale.
Oregon has a lot of river mouths, emptying out to vacant yet stunning beaches with big dunes and rock formations. Surfing is good there if you know where to look and I was bummed I didn’t bring a board, but was also kind of thankful I didn’t have to surf alone in great white territory. It seems as though many people there stick to surfing the sand. Oregon’s sand dunes, which stretch for about 50 miles along its central coastline, are huge powdery peaks resembling those of the Sahara desert, and are a playground for dune buggies, dirt bikes, and sandboarding. Though we didn’t stop for too long to explore some of the dunes, that is one of the things I would return to Oregon to do in the future.
Deschutes beer is distributed in 32 states, but its home is in Oregon.
Finally, after a long car ride and a brief overnight stay in a 1-star beachfront hotel, we knocked on the door of our friends’ house in Portland. You don’t hear much about Portland over here on the East Coast except that there are a lot of hipsters and homeless, which was totally true, but Portland also seemed to be a very family-friendly place with blue-collar roots. It is quaint and clean with lots of little neighborhoods, all with their own flair.
Not to mention, the food and beverage scene is off the charts, with tons of breweries, distilleries, and trendy food spots. We, of course, had to hit the landmark establishment Voodoo Doughnut, and munched on decadent pastries like Grape Ape, Voodoo Doll and The Homer (Simpson).
We also made a pit stop at the Deschutes brew pub, which was the next best thing to visiting the actual brewery in Bend. Deschutes has always been one of my favorite breweries and I got to sample some of its newest versions of IPA and a barrel-aged version of its flagship porter.
At night we stayed in and caught up with our friends by the fire, continuing to sample as many local beers as possible, and recounting a lot of stories from the past. Beers are always better with good company.
This was only the beginning of what I would call a week of indulgence. I started to feel like Anthony Bourdain, with the amount of hospitality we received, and good food and beer I was consuming. By the time we hit the Puget Sound, I started to lose track of all the different beers I had sampled, and Round 2 was only just beginning.
The first half of our stay in Seattle was actually across the sound from the city, on Bainbridge Island. The house we rented overlooked a smaller sound, and all you had to do was walk down a flight of steps to get to the rocky beach and you could pick world-class oysters right out of the sand. My wife’s best friend from childhood, Lauren, has lived there for five years, and Lauren’s brother-in-law owns Downpour Brewing in Kingston, Wash. We spent a night at the brewery eating delicious burgers and sampling their finest ales.
The next day we went to the historic town of Poulsbo, which proudly resembles a seaside Norwegian village due to the Scandinavian heritage of its settlers. We stopped in the Slippery Pig Brewery (where Lauren works) for a bite and a pint, and picked up some specialty sausages for dinner along the way.
After a few days, it was time to embark on the last and shortest leg of the road trip. We packed our bags and headed for the ferry, bound for my buddy Rob’s house in West Seattle. Rob’s grandparents had a house on
110th Street across from my dad’s house and we have been friends since the age of 7. He and his wife, Whitney, have two young daughters, and it was amazing to see the next generation playing and getting along. They greeted us with a refrigerator full of Washington’s finest IPAs that Rob had carefully curated, even picking up some fresh hop ales and small batch offerings from their favorite breweries – Fremont Brewing and Georgetown Brewing – both in Seattle. Needless to say, it was an epic night. But … I was so hung over the next day, I barely managed the ride on the Ferris wheel and the walk around Pike’s Place Market. It had been a long 10 days.
Finally, it was time to fly home, and by the time of the flight I was so sick with a sore throat that I could barely talk. It took me a full week with lots of rest and no beer to finally get back to normal. It was a fun trip filled with awesome scenery, lots of driving, and catching up with old friends. I would return in a heartbeat, but I think I would try to go a little earlier in the fall next time, because there is so much more to see out there when the weather is warm.
The Pacific Northwest is a magical place, and if you are an adventure seeker and love the outdoors, I would highly recommend it.
