During the late 1950s and into the ’60s, we, as a family, vacationed on the Oregon Coast several times. As usual, it was tent camping.

One time we stayed at Beverly Beach. Another time, at Fort Stevens State Park. But our favorite was Sutton Lake campground just north of Florence, Oregon. Here there is about ¾ of a mile of sand dunes that are 50-75 feet high, between the campground on the west side of the Oregon Coast Highway and the ocean beach. At that time there was no road out to the beach, and the camp was at the eastern edge of the dunes.

Sutton Lake itself is on the east side of the highway, and a small creek leads from it to the ocean. When we visited there the campground was relatively open to the sun and we usually camped in a spot at the base of the first dune to the west. There was a timber retaining wall that made meager attempts to hold the dunes back. A short hike north from camp was a very small lake that was being overtaken by the sand. My dad named this “Singing Sands Lake” because if you sat on the steep western slope of the dune and scooted down toward the lake, the friction of the sliding sand made a sort of eerie “singing” sound.

We would spend hours climbing up the dunes and running and jumping as far as we could, out over the angle of repose of the eastern dune slope, landing in the very soft dune face feet first, then do it again. Of course, it didn’t take long to become exhausted. Have you ever tried to climb up a steep, soft sand dune? One step up, at least ½ step sliding back.

On at least one occasion, the family decided to pack a lunch and hike to the ocean over the dunes. It was a somewhat tiring trip made more difficult by a grove of semi buried trees and bushes midway. Making our way through this area was tough on bare feet. The effort was worth it, however, by being able to wade in the ocean and play on the wide unspoiled sandy beach. Unfortunately, we had to hike back to camp the way we had come.

Once in 1955 or 1956 as I recall, when we were getting ready to go to the dunes, I begged my parents to bring my friends Joe Hoffman and Billy Kopczak with us. To my amazement, they agreed. So off we went, a family of six, plus two friends, in a 1951 Plymouth with all our camping gear for a weeklong adventure. I don’t know how we managed to make it 170 miles without any incidents, especially since my dad always drove 10 miles per hour under the speed limit, but we did and as I remember we all had a fun time.

I have an enlarged photocopy of my siblings, Joe, Billy, a friend of my sister who was there with her family, and me, at that retaining wall. The original is probably in the lot I sent to my daughter, Kirsten, for archiving.

This past summer my daughter, Katrina, drove me on a nostalgia trip down the Oregon Coast. Everything along the way didn’t seem too much different than years ago. I had been told the traffic on the highway was brutal in the summer, but fortunately we didn’t encounter too much.

When we reached Sutton Lake, I had her stop and drive into the campground of my youth, but it’s not the same. I guess the dunes overcame the area where we used to stay and the camping area was moved a little south. The roads and parking spaces at each camp are now paved and it is quite dark from large trees and a lot of undergrowth. Also, there is now an entrance station staffed by Park personnel and an entrance fee that I don’t remember from before.

After driving through, we then drove west on the paved road that now exists to the beach. I suppose this is a nice addition so everyone can enjoy the beach, but they miss the adventure of getting there.

I know everything in the world moves forward in ways seen as progress, but I am glad I had these experiences in the “old days.”

Ken Kaiyala
4-26-23