Bearded Odyssey: The bearded traveler’s lessons from Oregon

In celebration of the 7th anniversary of the Bearded Odyssey, I am re-running the series throughout the summer. This chapter was originally published in The Daily Nebraskan on July 13, 2003.

Of all my friends who might accidentally shoot me, it’d probably be Brian.

I was going to be passing through Eugene, Ore., on my way up to Portland and I wanted to visit the guy. Problem was, he had canceled his phone service, so I had no way of contacting him to tell him I was coming or to find out where he lived.

I called our mutual friend Matt, who had just moved to Nebraska from Eugene. I explained the situation to him and asked him if he knew any solutions.

He told me the directions to Brian’s house and a little secret: Brian leaves his window open a crack, so you can slide it open, reach in, and unlock the door. I could sneak into Brian’s apartment and he would have no idea I was going to be there.

I was a little nervous about this. If I came home to find someone in my apartment, I would be freaked out. And Brian has a history of displaying a bit of a temper on occasion. He grew up with his dad out in the country. They had rifles. So I asked Matt, “Does he have a gun?”

“I don’t think so,” was his offering of assurance.

Matt told me Brian gets off work about 4:30 p.m., so I timed my arrival to Eugene so I could find Brian’s place and get inside by about 4. I parked my car a few blocks away to prevent my cover from being blown, found the apartment with the open window, and easily made my way inside.

Matt had this great idea for me to stop by a thrift store and buy a cheerleader’s outfit, so Brian could find me sitting there in costume. That seemed nice and funny and all, but in the event that I was going to be shot and killed, I didn’t want my dear mom to hear I was found dead dressed as a cheerleader. That would just take too much explaining, and the person who would need to do the explaining would be dead. In a cheerleader’s outfit.

I took a seat on the couch, watched MTV2 (which comes in with an antenna in Eugene for some reason) and waited. I was nervous. I was sweating. I started to think maybe I should leave and just come back after 5:30 or so. Just knock on the door and stop by for a visit like normal people do.

But then I asked myself, when will I have this chance again? This became the battle cry for my numerous near-death experiences throughout the journey, and it was just as effective here.

Eventually I heard footsteps coming up the stairs outside. This was it. I turned the TV down so as not to betray my presence too early. The key entered the lock, the handle turned, and the door opened.

“Hey Neal,” Brian said, and then sat down on his recliner and watched TV with me.

***

Oregon is home to some haunted lighthouses along its rocky coast, and my cousin Kendal in Portland was excited to go visit some. She and I did some research on where to go and the stories behind the hauntings. So one afternoon, Kendal, her boyfriend Jeff and I packed into the car and headed to the ocean.

The lighthouse in Newport was only open for a few years toward the end of the 19th century. Within a decade after it closed, a mysterious ship sailed in to Newport. The captain came ashore with his daughter and asked the locals to take her in for a few weeks while they were at sea.

She quickly took in with the youth of the area, and they wanted to visit the abandoned lighthouse. They borrowed the key from the landlord, and took the dark, narrow lane up the cliff.

The first two floors were fairly common, but the stairs up from the second floor led to a landing with a small room above. This small room was basically a closet with shelves and drawers, but it had one bare wall, which they found was hollow behind the paneling.

They removed the paneling to find a 3-foot square made of iron, revealing a dark hallway that led straight back about six feet and then dropped to an ocean cavern below.

When it got dark, they left the house, but one young man had to stay behind to lock the door. The captain’s daughter realized she dropped her handkerchief upstairs and asked to be let back in. When he attempted to follow, she stopped him and told him to lock the door behind her — she would exit through the kitchen.

He had trouble with the lock, so by the time he had finished closing up the house, several minutes had passed. He went around to meet up with the girl, but after waiting a few minutes more, he figured she must have already joined up with the rest of the group.

When he caught up with them, he saw that she was not there. And suddenly they heard a shriek from the house, followed by three cries for help.

They all ran up to the house, where they noticed a key had long ago broken off in the kitchen door lock, so there was no way she could get out there. They searched through the lower two floors, finding nothing. Then they headed up the stairs to the landing where they found a pool of warm blood on the floor. Drips of blood led up the stairs to the tiny room, and in the room they found her blood-soaked handkerchief.

The iron cover had been put back in place and the panel was back in the wall. Yet as easily as they had opened it earlier in the day, they could not budge the thing now. The girl was never seen again, and her father’s ship never returned.

Today, visitors to the area often report hearing screams coming from the clifftop. After following the cries, they find only the empty house. Bloodstains remain on the floor of the landing and stairs.

We pulled into the parking lot along the coast at the base of the cliff and ascended the winding trail through the woods. Just like the stories described, the trees just seem to part and reveal the house at the last minute.

It was closed. It closed at 4.

Jeff turned to us. “You guys know all that stuff about the history of the house, but you don’t know when it closes?”

***

One of the biggest lessons on this trip has been to break the conditioning to expect that all stories have some sort of payoff. It doesn’t matter how well the story is set up and developed, or how well it seems to be going. Sometimes stories just end, and that’s it. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

My bearded uncle Gary explained how he tried to grow a beard in college and it looked even worse than mine. Now in his 50s, he has a quality beard. So there is hope — thirty years from now.

BONUS MATERIAL!
Nothing against what is yet to come, but this has always been my favorite chapter of the Bearded Odyssey, but it’s for personal and not necessarily narrative rasons. So as not to embarrass anyone who doesn’t need to be embarrassed, I’m going to keep this vague, but I felt like this was the beginning of the awakening. And it took a little bit of writer’s panic for it to happen. Here were two scenarios that seemed worth talking about, but they absolutely flopped as stories. And then it clicked.

I have a bunch of photos to share from this one. I spent nearly a week in Portland with Kendal and Jeff and had a blast. We roamed around quite a bit and I gave Jeff an excuse to eat a lot of fast food. Here are some pictures from Multnomah Falls, which I hadn’t visited since a family vacation in the ’80s.

We also went to a beach where the wind was so strong, you could lean back into it and it would hold you up. It was like doing trust falls with Jesus. Here I am leaning backwards and being propped up by the invisible hand of the free market:

There’s also a fake Stonehenge out along the Columbia River somewhere. Here are a few pictures from there.

And I found an abandoned mine somewhere. I really don’t remember where, but it’s saved in my photos from that summer right next to the Stonehenge pictures.

And finally, here is the slightly longer original version of the Lighthouse story, which had to be trimmed for space when appearing in print.

Oregon is home to some haunted lighthouses along its rocky coast, and my host and cousin Kendal in Portland was excited to go visit some. She and I did some research on where to go and the stories behind the hauntings. Then Kendal, her boyfriend Jeff and I packed into the car and headed to the ocean.

The lighthouse in Newport was only open for a few years toward the end of the 18th century. A new one had opened up the coast a few miles, and this one sat abandoned. A few years after the lighthouse closed, a mysterious ship sailed in to Newport. Its captain came ashore with his land-friendly daughter and asked the locals to take her in for a few weeks while his crew was at sea.

Some young “pleasure seekers” were passing through the area, and she quickly took in with them. These pleasure seekers wanted to visit the abandoned lighthouse. They took the dark, narrow lane up to the cliff (which is now the trail to the lighthouse) and found the empty house. Supposedly, they heard human voices echoing in the house.

The first two floors were fairly common, but the stairs up from the second floor led to a landing with a small room before rising up to the light. This small room was basically a closet with shelves and drawers, but it had one empty wall. A little tapping around revealed that the wall was hollow behind the paneling.

They removed the paneling to find a 3-foot square made of iron. They pulled it aside and looked in. A dark hallway led straight back about six feet and then dropped straight down. One of the group climbed in and dropped some lit paper down the shaft to find that it dropped to an ocean cavern below.

Everyone eventually left the house, but one of them had to stay behind to lock the door behind them. The captain’s daughter realized she dropped her handkerchief upstairs and asked him to let her back in. When he attempted to follow, she stopped him and told him to lock the door behind her – she would exit through the kitchen.

He had trouble with the lock, so by the time he had finished closing up the house, several minutes had passed. He went around to meet up with the girl, but after waiting a few minutes, figured she must have already joined up with the rest of the group. Not wanting to wait at the creepy house any longer, he went down the lane.

When he did find them again, he saw that she was not with them. And suddenly they heard a chilling shriek coming from the house, followed by three cries for help. He demanded to know where the girl was, and they asked how they should know – she was with him.

They all ran up to the house, and he explained to them how he was separated from her and her plan for getting out. One of the others said that he noticed the key was broken off in the kitchen door lock, so there would be no way she could get out that way.

They got to the house and searched through the lower two floors finding nothing. Then they headed up the stairs to the landing where they found a pool of warm blood on the floor. Drips of blood led up the stairs to the tiny closet, and in the closet they found her blood-soaked handkerchief.

The iron panel had been put back in place and the panel was back in the wall. Yet as easily as they had opened it earlier in the day, they could not budge the thing now.

They returned to the village to gather a party with lanterns. They searched the house again, and again found nothing. The girl was never seen again, and curiously enough, her father’s ship never returned.

Today, visitors to the area often comment on hearing screams coming from the clifftop. After following the cries, they find only the empty house. The bloodstains remain on the floor of the landing and stairs.