As a farm boy from Vermont I can
– on honest grounds -- lay claim to my right of membership in that fraternity
known as bridge-watchers; not just
everyday bridges you understand, but certainly when it comes to truss-built covered bridges. Early settlers in the new world learned quickly that bridges
made of wood exposed to rain, snow, sun, wind and the vagaries of changing
seasons had a short life, but when roofed over like a sturdy barn could outlive
their builders. If you thought that snow was the enemy, you would be wrong. The
folks actually had to shovel snow onto
the roofed bridges to accommodate horse-drawn sled traffic for half the year.
Since I was a teen-ager I have loved
our country’s honest covered bridges and the notes of history which play like a
serenade within the dark shadows of every one. It seems that these
architectural wonders are infused from the hammering of the first peg and the
crafting of the first joint with the very spiritual molecules from which
stories, mysteries and tall tales are given birth.
I know of many within whose secret
silences marriage vows have been spoken, first kisses exchanged and important
promises sworn. I have felt a shiver or two on a tall point of buttressed
timber from which famous suicides were launched and I am no stranger to the
midnight hauntings which are still said to make themselves felt on hand-fitted
spans more than one-hundred years old. More than one highwayman favored a particular
bridge as an easy ambush point for his night-time criminal enterprise, and I
have personal knowledge of a notch several feet above the roadway where an
illicit pack of camels would be safe
from bad weather and prying eyes on one.
My favorite Vermont covered bridge –
The Bridge on the Green – has looked
down on colorful flies cast by Sir Winston Churchill, President Dwight
Eisenhower and a host of world-famous leaders testing their casting skills on The Battenkill, whose waters I trust
were kinder to them than to me.
The typical proud Vermonter might be
surprised to learn that the State of Oregon was home to more than 450 covered
bridges in their heyday, with an impressive number still surviving today. While
I have hunted down and photographed most of Vermont’s still-intact 100, I am
still working on their northwest cousins where I finally tracked down Number 50
on my Oregon list a week ago at a heavily-wooded, almost “hidden” location just
a dozen twisting back-road miles from the Pacific Ocean. (Most of the Beaver State’s survivors are located
further east, in the Willamette River valley.)
The coastal village of Yachats
(pronounced YA – hotz) in honor of a Native American tribe of
hunter/gatherer/farmer people who prospered there long before the arrival of
Europeans. The word actually means people
who live at the foot of the mountains. Settlers who were attracted by the
rich soil, green and semi-tropical countryside adjacent to ocean riches, and a
friendly year-round climate moderated by warm ocean currents found themselves
with the north fork of the Yachats river hindering community growth. In 1938,
Otis Hamar, a noted bridge-builder contracted to solve the problem with a
42-foot covered bridge featuring a classic queen
post truss. Over the years time and mishaps left things a bit ragged, so in
1989 the bridge was rehabilitated and re-dedicated in keeping with Oregon’s
commitment to making the state’s covered bridges honored historic landmarks.
The drive to the North Fork bridge site
snakes beside the Yachats river beneath a canopy of hundred-year old
hemlocks
covered with deep layers of forest-like moss.
For
its sheer charm and magnificent setting, the Yachats North Fork bridge becomes
one of my two favorite Oregon survivors, right alongside the Currin bridge in Oregon’s Lane County,
home to 20 of the finest.
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