The coast is what formed me. In my blood runs a combination of marine plants and salt air, sand and rough surf, infused in my growing up years through countless hours cliffside watching the sea and playing till numb in cold Northern California waves. I'm fascinated by the narrow line where the earth meets the open ocean, so it's no surprise that I took to heart a friend's suggestion to visit the Heceta Head Lighthouse on Oregon's central coast. I'm so glad I did.

Heceta Head (pronounced Ha-SEE-tah) and its beach and lighthouse are located almost exactly halfway between the towns of Florence and Yachats, accessible via Highway 101. Snow in Roseburg turned to rain as I traveled west on Highways 138 and 38 along the Umpqua River, but as I approached the coast, the skies cleared and brightened just in time for me to see a herd of elk sunning themselves in a roadside meadow. I headed north from Reedsport, a lovely little town that sits where the Umpqua Highway meets 101 and the Umpqua River meets the sea.

After a 40-mile trip north, I exited the highway at Heceta Head and made the curving, downward trek to the beach where the trailhead to the lighthouse is located. As soon as I opened the door, the delicious sound of surf greeted my ears. The sandy beach that's tucked there between cliffs is pristine and lovely, especially so with the sun dancing on the waves as it did that day.

I had traveled under the Cape Creek Bridge to access the parking lot, and its sturdy but graceful below-road curves took my breath away. Oregon's coast highway is home to a number of magnificent bridges, thanks to an ambitious post-World War I road building project. Conde McCullough, the state's bridge engineer from 1919 to 1935, is responsible for their design, incorporating elements from various architectural styles - classical, Gothic, Art Deco, and Art Moderne - to provide rich detail to the structures. The repeating arches and columns of this bridge are reminiscent of a Roman aqueduct.

The trail up the bluff to the lighthouse winds through a fern-filled forest, where sunlight filtered through foliage casts shadows on the packed earth trace I walk. The ocean can be glimpsed through the trees, the perspective ever-changing as the path continues upward. The lighthouse is occasionally visible, too, growing closer with each twist in the path.

The keeper's house, now an inn, appears about halfway up, a stately Queen Anne affair that sits in an open area on an expanse of lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. A little gift shop in an outbuilding is near the trail. As I climbed, I stopped often to take pictures, but if I hadn't, the mild uphill amble would've taken no more than ten or fifteen minutes.

Along the upper reaches of the path, concrete stones run up the center of the trail, remnants of the site's early days when the keepers trod the path from their home to the lighthouse. The earliest route up the hill was a wooden boardwalk with a handrail.

I am thrust at last into open sun-filled air and am stunned momentarily by the wide view of the ocean. It spreads out far below me, sweeping toward the horizon in an endless parade of rippled blue. To the south and below I can see the beach, and just to the east of that, a faraway view of the impressive form of the Cape Creek Bridge.

There's something heady about being on top of the world. The wind, quiet at the beach and on the ascending footpath, is strong here and whips my hair around my face as I take in the vista.

The squat white lighthouse isn't particularly tall, just 56 feet, and reminds me of a castle turret. It's a pleasant sight, and not unlike something from a child's storybook. Built in 1893 and first lit in 1894, it still operates today, casting its bright beam every 60 seconds, visible 21 miles out to sea. It's Oregon's strongest coastal light. The last keeper retired in 1963 on the day the lighthouse became automated.

With such easy access to the site now, it's hard to believe just how isolated it was when the lighthouse was built. At one time the property had its own post office and one-room schoolhouse, where the children of lighthouse keepers and nearby ranchers were taught.

The view is mesmerizing and so dazzling to the senses that I don't want to leave. Finally, I turn with some reluctance and head back down the path, enjoying the quiet of the forest as I go. At the bottom, I realize that I've lost my sunglasses somewhere along the way, but since I'm expected soon in Astoria, I leave them for another traveler to find.