Rain or shine, get a quick hit of salt and sand at Ocean Shores in winter

There used to be Burma Shave signs along the old two-lane highway that snaked its way through the forests between Olympia and Aberdeen. Offering tips for good living (as well as what became a brilliant marketing reminder for sartorial splendor), the signs also were signals for beach-bound kids jammed into backseats of cars, along with luggage, snacks and clam guns, to start chanting:

"Don't try passing on a slope, unless you have a periscope! Burma Shave"

On this particular day, in Winter 2005, with the rain coming sideways in a wind that rumbled the traffic, there was not a sign to be seen. Apparently, the highway, now four lanes, and the higher speeds don't lend themselves to casual roadside reading (although you can still buy Burma Shave — "it softens your beard as it protects your skin").

So I made up my own jingle:

"If you can't stand constant gray, don't stay longer than a day."

I was headed for Ocean Shores, "Washington's most visited seaside destination," as the literature states. I hadn't been to Ocean Shores in more than 25 years. In fact, when Burma Shave really was in vogue, my family never turned right at Aberdeen to head toward Hoquiam and the northern beaches, where lurks Ocean Shores. Always left, to Westport and Grayland and Tokeland and what my dad considered proper beachside bucolic.

DEAN RUTZ / THE SEATTLE TIMES

The surf crashes on the jetty at Ocean Shores as a curious bystander wanders out among the rocks for a closer view.

But here I was, about to break the mold.

Despite what I'd heard from some fellow Seattleites about the 40-plus-year-old community, descriptions that pretty much always ended with, "WHY would you want to go there?"

Despite the familial ties to the beaches to the south.

Despite the pejorative name twist for Ocean Shores that I'd heard from people who apparently prefer quainter, quieter beach getaways. (I can't repeat it, at least not outside of Seattle, where I heard it the most — I'm sure I'd be deep-fried along with a few razor clams if I did.)

The week prior to my visit had been beautiful. The week after would be the same. And there I was, squinting through overworked windshield wipers, about to really test my resolve.

Rooms to spare

DEAN RUTZ / THE SEATTLE TIMES

There isn't a soul to be seen at midweek on a trail leading to the beach at Ocean Shores.

Two-and-a-half hours from Seattle I motored through the twin signs that let you know you've arrived at Ocean Shores.

I spent a few minutes looking for downtown, until I realized I'd been in it practically from the moment I'd crossed the boundary.

OK, I thought, several scattered shops and buildings and businesses. Not quite your average walk-about downtown, but I can deal with this.

Where are the hotels?

On hotel row, of course, lined up along the ocean beach, practically one after the other, big, imposing, offering more than a combined 1,000 rooms and, on this winter weekend, practically empty.

Which, when I thought about it, was perfect — as were many of the room rates. They started well below $100 per night in some cases, and I had grabbed one before I left, a nice spot with balcony, kitchenette and, as far as I could tell, no next-door neighbors.

DEAN RUTZ / THE SEATTLE TIMES

The deer that call Ocean Shores home have found a soft touch in local resident Gerda Van Soest. She regularly feeds them fruit and bread.

The old advice about calling ahead, asking about specials and producing coupons worked!

Actually, during much of the winter, you can drive to Ocean Shores with practically no plans and no reservations and have no trouble finding a place to stay. (Caution: Don't try it in summer. The place is crawling. And school breaks merit some planning, even off-season.)

Thus settled, it was time to strike out to see what had become of the 1960s dream of developers who had managed to put up $1 million to buy a nondescript, flat ranch, rich with ocean-side vegetation, in hopes of launching what would become, as many prophesied in those days, "the Venice of the West."

Not so great outdoors

Ocean Shores is still flat. Its 6,000 acres lie along six miles of flat beachfront. The city of roughly 4,000 does have lakes and canals — about 23 miles of them, lined in most cases with homes of retirees and vacationers. You can't see most of the canals from any roadway — it's too flat. You'll have to wait for fair-weather months to rent some means of navigating the canals to see that side of Ocean Shore's culture, unless you trailer your own boat.

Frankly, with the rain still coming in at an angle, even the three soaked deer, standing at a street corner in town, must have wondered at my sightseeing adventure. After an hour of motoring up and down the length of the city, I certainly was.

I'd read and heard that a number of townsfolk, even these days, bemoaned the fact there isn't enough indoor activity for tourist and local alike in Ocean Shores — for days like this.

There is a proposal for a resort and spa, a water park, shops and an aquarium on 23 acres of land in the middle of the downtown area, though it's still wrestling its way through city government. The plan has been on the boards for about two years now, locals say.

I dreamed, momentarily, about indoors.

I plunged on. There are plenty of vacant lots still vacant in Ocean Shores. And there are plenty of homes. Many are along those canals; others are spread out like wood sentinels along the oceanfront, nearly all of them two-storied to allow for a view of the beach.

Some are available as vacation rentals. Next time, I thought.

I checked my list of things to do.

The casino! Indoors! The Quinault Beach Resort and Casino, a big complex built four years ago, was just up the beach from Ocean Shores proper, so off I went.

What stopped me flat, though, was the landscape along the driveway into the resort. I stopped, got out, got wet, and just stared at the winter combination of big, natural ponds, bare trees, evergreens, moss, grasses, all crazy in the wind and rain. You really can't beat Mother Nature.

And, finally, people! The parking lot at the resort absolutely was the busiest around. So this is where they congregate on lousy days. In I went, and won enough for a couple of bowls of razor-clam chowder.

Which I figured would sustain me for the inevitable. It was time to see what everybody comes to see at Ocean Shores — the beach. It was time to face the elements.

There are several access points to the sea at Ocean Shores, including Damon Point State Park at its southern end.

Pulling on my finest rain gear, I tried the main access from downtown. I walked out to the beach (my small car didn't want to brave the innumerable potholes) and came straight back. I was soaked. I hadn't been able to see a thing — my glasses were soaked, my face was soaked, my handkerchief was soaked, my socks were soaked.

And I had had my first encounter with a beach-going SUV. Yes, driving is allowed on Washington state beaches. Beware.

OK, fine. I changed and regrouped. I trooped back out wearing more layers than a cake.

This time, I drove out to Damon Point State Park and to the jetty, both at the south end of Ocean Shores. I was determined to see big waves, brave birds, the storm and whatever was left of the wreck of the Catala, a smallish cruise ship run up on shore in a storm and abandoned nearly 40 years ago.

Both point and jetty are near the Ocean Shores Interpretive Center (worth a visit — especially for one battling the elements, I discovered — when it's open).

First I struck out across Damon Point (or Protection Island, as it's called locally). The walk is about a mile in length; at one point the spit is about a half-mile wide, so no danger here, I thought, of falling into the sea.

Even in marginal weather, the sight of sea grasses and rocks and sands and birds and pounding water is electric. In sharp sunlight, I'm told, there are views of Grays Harbor, Westport, even Mount Rainier.

Then I headed for the jetty, a wilder take in weather like this.

The jetty juts into the Pacific and was a roller-coaster ride if I've ever been on one.

It was gray above me, gray below me, gray in front of me and gray behind. Wet gray, spraying gray, howling gray, roaring gray, impenetrable gray.

I was a sloshing, storm-battered, dumb-as-a-stump tourist.

And I loved it. There are points on the jetty where you feel surrounded by water — and on rainy, stormy days, the feeling is practically real. The Pacific to one side, Grays Harbor on the other, the jetty encroaching on both.

I had read and observed the signs about the dangers of foul weather. I became particularly attentive after I saw a seagull go by me at what must have been 300 mph. I was vigilant as spray swept into the folds of the hood on my jacket and went down my neck.

I was nuts and it was great.

Finally there is just so much sloshing one can do in one's second — and last — set of raingear.

So back to my room I went. I did, then, what the brochures tell you to do in Ocean Shores in the winter. Curl up with a good book, several blankets, food, wine and a huge window pounded with rain.

And, quietly, enjoy the weekend.

Copyright © The Seattle Times Company

---