While researching sea caves in Oregon, I learned of an unusual formation on the central coast: the Devil’s Punchbowl. The punchbowl formed when the roof of a sandstone sea cave collapsed, but the vertical walls and sea-facing entrances of the cave remained intact. The result was a circular depression, some fifty to sixty feet (15–18 m) deep, into which the ocean pours at most tide levels.

At minus tides, hikers can get into the punchbowl through the entrances on the north side. At any tide level higher than a couple feet, the only way in is by kayak.

I launched at the small town of Otter Rock and paddled into the Devil’s Punchbowl on the noon high tide, escaping before the tide could drop and strand me inside the punchbowl. Safely outside the punchbowl, I headed north around Cape Foulweather in search of additional sea caves and other interesting sights.

Most visitors to the Devil’s Punchbowl do not enter the cave. They peer into the cave from the safety of the viewing area above the cave’s rim. The handful of brave souls who enter do so only at the lowest tides.

I, on the other hand, as a kayaker, needed as high a tide as possible, lest the breaking waves inside the punchbowl crack me up on the boulders that line the floor of the cave. On 5 August, the day’s highest daylight tide was only five and a half feet (1.6 m). I wasn’t sure I would be able to enter the cave safely at such a low water level.

A morning scout from the rim of the cave revealed that, of the punchbowl’s three entrances, only the south-facing entrance would be useable. One of the two north-facing entrances was awash in only a couple inches of water, while the other was high and dry and would, in any event, be too narrow for a kayak.

Even the useable entrance was not very inviting. The water beneath the entrance arch was flat during lulls, but every few minutes a larger set of swells would send breaking surf straight through the entrance, slamming into boulders inside the punchbowl.

While waiting for the tide to rise to its peak height, I paddled around Gull Rock and some of the other offshore reefs. On the outside of the reef, some 800 meters offshore, a lone gray whale was cruising back and forth.

After my visit with the whale, it was time to brave the cave. Thanks to my scouting from the clifftop earlier in the day, I knew to avoid the most direct route from the open ocean into the south-facing entrance. Waves were breaking over a barrier reef, but the barrier could be avoided by taking a more circuitous route to the entrance.

On the inside of the barrier reef, sandwiched between the reef and the cliff face, navigation was a matter of waiting for a lull to enter the punchbowl through the largest of the arches. Not too long a wait, though. The biggest waves could break anywhere, including inside the barrier reef, so even waiting outside the arch carried its own risks.

At the first sign of a likely-looking lull, I darted under the arch and into the Devil’s Punchbowl. Immediately on the inside of the arch, I broke hard right to remove myself from the path of any breakers that might crash through the arch behind me.

Landing inside the punchbowl was easy on a five-foot tide. A narrow patch of sandy beach was exposed among the boulders. I hopped out of the boat, doffed my hat to the tourists watching from the rim above, and hoisted the boat onto the boulders to keep it safe from the surging surf.

Life inside the Devil’s Punchbowl is beautiful and dramatic. The walls of the punchbowl are sheer sandstone, polished smooth by the erosive forces of the waves and rain. Climbing out would be impossible. The only egress is by way of the three arches that open onto the beaches, but even the beaches outside the punchbowl are walled off from the mainland by cliffs and rocks. Absent a minus tide, a kayak is the only way in or out.

Bands of algae coat the walls of the punchbowl from bottom to top, staining the tan sandstone in stripes of pink, salmon, and red. Other than the narrow patch of sand where I landed my kayak, the floor of the punchbowl is heaped with boulders. Many of the boulders inside the punchbowl are covered in green algae, slippery when wet, but easier to navigate than the rocky ledges outside the punchbowl, which are covered in beds of barnacles and mussels.

Every couple of minutes, large waves surge through the entrances and slosh around the interior of the bowl. I perched on a cluster of boulders, high enough above the water level to stay dry, and ate my lunch while the tourists overhead took pictures of me.

As much as I enjoyed being in the Devil’s Punchbowl, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. The tide began dropping around noon. It was time to leave before the only useable entrance closed out.

I bobbed in my kayak just inside the entrance arch, using the wall of the punchbowl to shield me from surf. When I judged the swells must be due for a lull, I darted into the middle of the bowl, turned sharply to face the arch, and sprinted out onto the open ocean before the next set of big waves could arrive.

Cape Foulweather beckoned me northward. There I had hoped to discover more sea caves, but the caves at Cape Foulweather are not as developed as those of Cape Falcon or Cascade Head on the north coast. None of the caves at Cape Foulweather are accessible on a five-foot tide. At higher water, there would be better caving, though still not as good as the capes to the north.

Some of the caves at Cape Foulweather are still in the process of forming and have not yet progressed beyond the phase of blowholes—small sea caves that fill with pressurized air whenever a wave surges in, followed by a blast of spray as the air forces its way out. At Rocky Creek on the north side of the cape, a single small bay is home to no fewer than four of these remarkable features.

North of Cape Foulweather, I entered an enchanted oasis called Whale Cove. The enclosing arms of this little bay are dark, gray basaltic rock, while the interior walls are sandstone bluffs. A sandy beach wraps around the head of the cove, but unlike most of Oregon’s sandy beaches, this one is completely protected from the surf.

The uplands in Whale Cove are the property of a combination of private owners and the US Fish and Wildlife Service. Between the two of them, they so thoroughly manage to exclude intruders upon this little paradise that mine were the only footprints left in the sand today.

There were no whales in Whale Cove, but there were plenty waiting just outside. From Otter Rock all the way up to Depoe Bay, gray whales kept popping up every couple of miles. The whale-watching boats were having a field day, but they didn’t get the kind of views I did. Like me, the gray whales were hugging the coastline as closely as possible. The whale-watching powerboats couldn’t approach as closely to the reef-studded shores as the whales and I could.

Shore-based whale-watchers crowded every headland and overlook, straining for a glimpse with their binoculars and their telephoto lenses. I wished I could have told them, “Friends, that isn’t the way.” It needs a kayak to appreciate this coast properly.

In the middle of the afternoon, the wind picked up and the fog rolled in. Much though I would have liked to keep cruising the coastline forever, I pointed my bow back toward Otter Rock and paddled slowly back to shore.

The Devil’s Punchbowl proved to be one of my favorite sea caving experiences yet. The setting was superb, the approach just difficult enough to be interesting, and the sense of solitude delicious—even if there were dozens of tourists watching from sixty feet above.

What I hadn’t expected were all the treasures outside the sea cave. The whales, the seabirds, the blowholes, and the crumbling sandstone cliffs all made for first-rate coastal kayaking experience. As so often happens on these trips, I go in search of a particular adventure and end up having one ten times bigger than I was reaching for.

—Alex Sidles