Coos Bay, Oregon

The name is derived from the Coos Indians that lived in the area when the first white settlers arrived. The Coos lived in villages and used the land to hunt, fish and gather. Their neighbors were the Siuslauan, Kalapuyan, and Umpqua. 

One of the first European explorers to pass through was Jedediah Smith. Tragedy struck in 1828 as his party was moving northward into Oregon. Just twenty miles north of present-day Coos Bay was the site of the Umpqua Massacre. Escalating mistrust and violence led members of the Coquille tribe to kill all but four of Smith's party, he being one of the lucky few who survived. The Smith River, a tributary of the Umpqua, is named in his honor. 

Smith River near site of Umpqua Massacre.

The first permanent European settlers came to the bay in 1853, giving it the name Marshfield. Early settlers were very isolated from the rest of the world as any inland route would have required a trek through dense timber and over rivers. The ocean was the “easy” route to travel. 

Naturally, the sea has always been a source of income. The main industries today are fishing, timber, agriculture and tourism. After years of being fascinated by the name of the town, I was now excited to visit for myself and see what Coos Bay had to offer. 

Contrary to my previous notions, the city is not on the coast. Highway 101 comes from the south moving inland after Bandon. Greenery is everywhere, the road sometimes becoming a corridor of tall douglas-fir on both sides of the pavement. Our pathway followed a river that eventually widened into a body of water big enough for large ships. This was Coos Bay. 

Coos Bay Boardwalk.

Docked boats in Coos Bay.

Next to the bay was a boardwalk. On the boardwalk was a seafood market advertising clam chowder. There was also a ship museum showcasing several vessels. 

We ate at a local eatery off the 101 called Sharkbites. Due to Covid-19 restrictions we weren't allowed to eat inside, but instead ate at a picnic table along the bay. I ate fish and chips, which included tarter sauce and a lemony coleslaw. 

Steve Prefontaine, a 1972 Olympian, was born and raised in Coos Bay, Oregon. He tragically died at age 24, just before '76 Olympics.

Jenna and I stopped at the Marshfield Pioneer Cemetery. (The former town of Marshfield was renamed Coos Bay in the 1930's.) The cemetery appeared to be locked up at all entrance points, but we found a gate with a padlock that wasn't fastened. So we entered. 

The cemetery lies on a hill overlooking part of town. It was chosen purposefully to be above the high water table. It is next to the high school. Nearly all the headstones were hewn from the same gray rock, which seems to have preserved well the inscriptions. 

Marshfield Cemetery looking over Coos Bay.

It was interesting that headstone after headstone was toppled or broken is some form or another. After an extensive examination of the cemetery, I determined that at some point it must have been severely vandalized. There was no way that such a large amount of headstones just happened to break. 

Many of the graves dated back to the late 1800's. The earliest I found was 1873, belonging to Emma Morse Golden. It is probable that she was disinterred from another location and reinterred in Marshfield since the cemetery was only founded in 1888. 

Cemetery on a hill in Coos Bay, Oregon.

I was interested to find several death dates from the fall of 1909. One of them belonged to Peter Gustaf Larson, a Swedish-born logger who died in a tragic accident at Smith's Basin, about five miles in the interior from the Coos River. His story is related from Find A Grave: 

“He was acting as hook tender when a large log being drawn by the donkey engine slipped and came sliding back down the incline, striking Mr. Larson and crushing one leg from the thigh to the ankle in a horrible manner. The log also struck another man, the force of which threw him forty feet into a brush pile, but he escaped without injury and assisted in caring for Mr. Larson. 

“The poor fellow was carried by men of the camp through the narrow slashing to the roadway, a distance of nearly five miles. Here he was loaded into a wagon and hurried on to the river where a passing boat was hailed. A phone message brought Dr. Mingus who met them on their way in and administered stimulants. It was late when they arrived and the injured man was placed in the General Hospital at Marshfield. Every attention was given him, but the terrible pain proved too great a shock for his system to stand, and he gradually grew weaker until death relieved him of his suffering at about midnight.” 

Grave of Peter Gustaf Larson.

The following morning, under a misty and overcast sky, we took a drive west of Coos Bay to a small town called Charleston. My goal was to find a particular oyster farm. We turned off onto a dirt road and passed what looked to me like a boat graveyard. All sizes and shapes of ships sat on dry ground, many covered in rust and others in workable condition. We drove around with curiosity but didn't stay long because we felt like we were trespassing. 

Rusty ship near South Slough.

Not far from there I found the place I was looking for⸺Qualman Oyster Farms. I will admit that I know nothing about oysters, nor have I eaten any except the kind that come in a can. So here I didn't know what to expect. 

The oyster farm was located on the east side of South Slough. A “slough” is a common geographical term here, and the nearest I can tell, it seems to be a body of water that rises and falls with the tide, creating a swampy environment. Perhaps one hour it is a river or lake, and the next it is a muddy mess. 

We noticed that near the farm stood heaps of oyster shells. They piled shells like we pile gravel or dirt. “What could they be using that for?” I wondered. 

Piles of oyster shells.

We found a small storefront and parked on the graveled drive. While the family stayed in the van, I went inside to find our options. I didn't know if I'd find a store, a restaurant, or something else. 

I quickly learned that this was not a store, at least not in the traditional sense. They only sold one thing and that was oysters. The lady up front was very friendly. If we had a nearby home where we could have taken the oysters to cook them, I would have bought some. But, we didn't. 

I asked her about the pile of shells outside and she told me they were for reseeding. They own 235 acres of prime oyster beds, most of them in the South Slough, and produce 4,000 to 6,000 gallons of fresh oysters every year. She gave me a brochure to read and unfortunately we went on our way with nothing else to see or do at the oyster farm. 

Davey Jones Locker in Charleston, Oregon, just outside Coos Bay.

We drove over South Slough on a bridge, then to a small cluster of stores. We walked inside a shop called Davey Jones Locker and found a tiny store with all the necessities for fishing as well as a scant selection of food. 

Across the street at Chuck's Seafood they sold oysters and other seafood by the bucket. We bought a small cup of clam chowder and a stick of smoked salmon. The lady said they just pulled it out of the smoker last night. Both were the best I had ever had. The chowder was creamy and buttery with extremely tender chunks of clam. 

It was time to move on as we had to travel further up the coast. We drove back towards Coos Bay where we rejoined the 101. We navigated our way onto a causeway that crossed the bay and then onto terrain lined with forest and occasional boggy ground. Soon we crossed another bridge near the confluence of the Umpqua and Smith Rivers. ♠

 

Salmon stick and clam chowder.