Driving back from the coast-- a common route I know well-- I saw the leaning tower. I know I've noticed it whizzing by Camp 18 restaurant, 18 miles east of the Pacific ocean. But this time I stopped, curiosity compelling my leg to hit the brakes and pull in. Immediately I smelled what I seek. This place was chock full of fascinating relics of our storied logging history and the light was that gorgeous, low- slung winter gold. It was late morning and the sun had won in it's battle with the fog. Still, fog was filtering sunlight on the periphery. Not a soul around. The oddities of this collection of machinery and rail cars were numerous and dazzlingly shaped by the sun's rays. The textures and color entranced me. My advice? Stop and wander next time.