Two Capes Lookout: A Hillside Dome Retreat Near Pacific City

We drove across the state on Thanksgiving Day, moving west from Sunriver toward the coast. Rain moved across the highway in steady sheets. The roads were empty and the sky carried the gray light of late November. By the time we reached Pacific City the storm was pushing inland and the hills above Tierra del Mar were washed in mist.

Two Capes Lookout sits high on a coastal ridge with domes scattered among tall pines and ferns. The property rises above the shoreline with views toward Cape Kiwanda and the open Pacific. Each dome stands on its own platform with forest on three sides and sweeping ocean air moving through the trees.

We parked near the entry path and walked toward the check-in dome for our four pm arrival. The building was lit with warm twinkle lights that reflected off the wet wood. A small waterfall ran behind the dome, adding a steady sound of water on stone. The scene was quiet and stormy with the first hint of evening settling over the hillside.

The property rises up a steep coastal hillside, so a staff member loaded our bags into a cart and drove us to our dome. Each dome sits on its own platform above the trees, built to handle strong coastal storms with reinforced panels and secure anchoring. Inside, the space was warm right away. The heater worked quickly, the bed was layered with thick linens, and the interior lighting cast a gentle glow over the curved walls. A small counter held tea and coffee, the essentials waiting.

We unpacked, set water to boil, and settled in as the wind moved through the pines outside.

We left the dome once the rain backed off enough to make a run for it and drove down to Pelican Brewing in Pacific City for Thanksgiving dinner.

The pub sat right on the sand with the surf rolling hard in the dark, a reliable landmark for travelers who want a warm room, a sturdy plate and a view of the Pacific doing whatever it wants. Inside, the air carried roast turkey, butter, and ale.

Staff moved fast, tables filled with locals and visitors taking shelter from the storm. We ordered the turkey plate along with crab ravioli and crab mac and cheese, dishes that showed off the coast without trying to impress anyone. Pumpkin pie closed the meal and a root beer float showed up at the end because holidays invite a little nostalgia.

I stayed with Sparkle Hops, crisp and bright, a simple choice that kept me grounded. Eating a holiday dinner in a pub gave the night a straightforward honesty. No ceremony. Just good food, ocean noise, and a room full of people building their own version of the day.

We settled into the dome while the storm surged outside, wind blasting the curved walls in hard bursts that rolled over the structure like waves. The hillside felt wild and exposed, but the dome held firm, a small hideout tucked into the coastal trees. Inside it was warm, the heater humming and the kettle steaming while the rain hit in sheets.

I set up a small star projector on the nightstand and watched blue light scatter across the ceiling. The glow mixed with the fireblaze on the electric screen and the sharp percussion of rain until everything blurred into a quiet song. Wrapped in blankets, I drifted off as the storm pushed against the dome and the coast roared below.

The bathhouse sat a short walk from our dome, a small modern building with hot water, a clean shower, a real toilet and a well lit sink area. Even with the storm pressing across the hillside it stayed warm and dry inside. We made quick trips back and forth through the rain, boots on gravel, wind pushing across the path. The bathhouse was bright, simple and welcoming with fresh towels and luxury products.

The next morning started at Stimulus Bakery, a warm spot right above the beach in Pacific City. Inside, the bakers shaped dough and moved trays of bread through the ovens. Sleepy couples lingered with coffee, small families shared pastries, and a few solo readers sat quietly by the windows.

We split breakfast sandwiches and energy bites, matcha lattes in hand, and watched the beach come to life below. Campers and trucks pulled in, surfers set up their gear, and the day opened slowly across the sand. It was a calm coastal morning, sleepy and lived in.

I grew up coming to this shoreline. My parents would park right on the sand and I would dig holes with my hands until the tide rushed in. The ocean always overwhelmed me. I cried almost every drive home because I never wanted to leave. That pull never went away.

On this trip we walked toward the giant dune that rises behind Cape Kiwanda. The sand climbed high above the beach in a steep sweep, soft and shifting under each step. Reaching the top was slow work, the wind pressing in across the ridge and the whole coast opening wide below. The Pacific stretched out pale and restless, the rock out in the water standing solid against the morning.

Up there I found an old confidence I have been searching for. The old urge to duck into a pub vanished under the clean rush of salt air and the long view over the water.

The ocean was crisp and vibrant, but entirely sleepy as far as waves are concerned. There was a miracle here, rainbow bubbled seafoam, a symtom of an algae die off….but when i see rainbows in nature I know thats a sign things are good. The more creative the better and this one was rare indeed. My favorite childhood beach is still magic.

Since it was Black Friday we decided to appease the teenager and head down the coast to the Lincoln City Outlets. The center was busy but easy to navigate with a mix of big brands and small local shops.

Inside the mall sit two of my favorite hidden gems. Salt Crave offers Stumptown coffee, fresh pastries, breakfast sandwiches and shelves of Oregon-made soaps, jewelry and small artisan goods.

Scout Northwest Trading Co carries coastal candles, handmade soaps, printed tees, outdoor gear and gifts that feel local and well crafted. After shopping we stop at Claw City, the arcade inside the outlets, to play DDR and try to win a Labubu from the huge wall of claw machines.

How many times have we gone to the outlets as a family? Too many times to count, I’ll miss these days.

best bathroom view in the state

I took the family to Fathoms at the Inn at Spanish Head for one reason. I wanted them to see the view I have always said is the best on the entire Oregon coast. We rode the elevator up through the cliffside hotel and stepped into a dining room washed in gold.

The sun was dropping low over eight miles of open beach, Salishan Spit stretching out in the distance, waves rolling in long, even lines. It was old school Oregon in the warmest way. Wood, windows, soft light, and an ocean that takes over everything.

We ordered clam chowder and prawns and met the manager who shared his story. He said he found solace here. A fellow Pisces who landed in hospitality the way many of us do. By accident. By need. By looking for a place to belong. It reminded me of my own years in Lincoln City when I was drifting and somehow found friends everywhere I turned.

The sea heals in ways no one explains. The view, the comfort of that room, the easy conversation. A small respite on a long coastline that has always brought lost souls to the same table.

Miracles happen here. The sunset and it was time to head back to our little hideout in the wood.

We walked back up the hill toward our dome, the rain finally pulled back into the treeline. The path curved upward in long sweeping lines, never sharp or straight, almost as if the land wanted to guide us rather than send us anywhere fast. The domes sat above the forest in quiet formation, round shapes glowing through the mist like small planets settled on the hillside. Standing among them was like stepping into a dream community, a place halfway between future and myth.

Our dome waited at the top, warm light glowing through its frame. There was something grounding about its curves, the way every edge softened into another. No corners, no harsh lines, only the steady geometry of a shelter meant to hold you rather than contain you. We lit the fire outside and watched the moon rise over the Pacific, its pale shimmer stretching across the water below. Waves rolled against the shore in slow rhythm, steady and eternal.

Up there in the night, everything felt new and familiar at once.

The simplicity of the moment became its own treasure. A warm dome in a stormy world. A place to build new habits and honor the old ones that shaped us. The curve of the dome mirrored the curve of the coastline, each turn a reminder that life moves in arcs, not straight lines. We stayed there a while, watching the horizon breathe, grateful for the shelter, the view and the strange, hopeful magic of being suspended between ocean and sky.

Morning opened in soft pastels over the hillside. We packed up and checked out, then drove into Pacific City for breakfast burritos and hot coffee. Surfers were already out, watching the waves and watching out for one another, a quiet community built on tide and trust. From there we continued to Tierra del Mar where hang gliders still rise on the coastal wind the same way they did when I was a kid. I stood on the sand remembering how large the world felt back then and how much wonder lived in the simplest moments.

Traveling like this reminds me that adulthood is not an ending. It is an invitation to build new habits and new holidays on the same foundation that shaped us. Peace, intention, salt air, shared meals, and long walks on an open coast. The dome gave us that space. A warm shelter on the hillside with no corners and room to breathe. A place to pause long enough to see what is growing in our lives now.

Two Capes Lookout makes it easy. You can book domes or mirrored cabins online with options for families and dog friendly stays. The property sits between Pacific City and Tierra del Mar with trails, ocean views, and hillside privacy. It is a simple place, but simple is often where the real magic lives.