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Cape Arago, Oregon. The path that goes into the forest is not marked as a trail, and naturally I have to see if it leads somewhere along the high cliffs at the end of Cape Arago. It runs a ways through thick forest, but once clear of the woods I get a spectacular view of the coast running north, and I carefully pick my way down a crazy syncline of sandstone, tilting into the waves on one side and a cliff on the other. Out ahead is Shell Island, no doubt the toothy remnants of headlands long since ruined by water, wind, and earthquakes, leaving rock formations that look like shells standing on end. I will climb down to the sea, out where the fisherman ply their lines and the kelp dances between the broken pieces of the shelf receding into the Pacific, and wash the edge off another day.
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