Bandon Beach 1/2019

I really should know better. It's not like this hasn't happened before. Oh wait...that was yesterday's blog about being attacked by waves near Floras Lake. On this day, the same old high surf warning was still in effect, so heeding the experience from the day prior, I led a small group scrambling over the slippery rocks at the foot of Grave Point because the incoming tide and high surf had taken our beach away. Like I said, I really should know better...but I don't.

Table Rock sets the table for this hike

The day was briskly cool as our group set out on the beach just south of the Coquille River jetty. Sun, mist, and clouds competed photogenically for sky supremacy with the sun mostly prevailing, but not always. Despite the sunlight, the day was still chill and most of us hiked with some jacket or coat on for warmth. The tide was out, but because of the high surf activity, low tide was not all that low. However, we did have plenty of beach to safely walk on while the sea seethed from a safe distance away. What a difference a day and a whole different beach can make!

Some of that amazing Bandon scenery

The high surf first affected us at Coquille Point. Normally, one can just walk around the point on the beach during low tide but on this morn, the ocean was still lapping around the point. However, a well-used short scramble route over the point delivered us to the arcing bay of Bandon Beach. The jumble of rocks and islands always delight and those of us with cameras soon found ourselves straggling behind the speed-walkers who don't care about photography at all.

A furtive peek at Cat and Kittens

Elephant Island has a tunnel boring completely through it and the ocean was busy applying vigorous colonic hydrotherapy to the island, whether the island wanted it or not. Further up the beach was Cat and Kittens, a collection of small islands beyond the waves and an unnamed rock that I euphemistically refer to as "Seal Rock" because it does resemble a seal. At any rate, an entire Noah's Ark of rocks resembling animals were strewn about the beach and surf with Princess Elwauna (mostly known as Face Rock) being the head zookeeper of it all.

Why we hike

Scenery like this is why Bandon is world-famous and why hotels, houses, and condos crowd the clifftops above the beach. It also explains the relative crowds of beach-goers like ourselves out enjoying the sand  and winter sun on a chill morning. Despite the seeming overpopulation, especially when compared to our usual hiking destinations, the scenery commands attention and it is quite easy to ignore the thundering hordes and their abodes. Needless to say, much photography ensued.

Doing the Crooked Creek dance

"Graceful" creek crossing

The recent rains had Crooked Creek full of water as it snaked in serpentine fashion across the sandy beach. Time for boots to get wet although many tried all sorts of leaps and high-steps, some more graceful than others, in a vain attempt to remain dry-footed. Me, I've just learned over the years to simply wade stoically across; it's only water, boys and girls. Still, the interpretive dancelike contortions employed to get across were amusing and much photography ensued, much to the regret of all participants.

High tide moved us up the beach

We turned around at Devils Kitchen, which is where most of the shore and offshore rockery begins to peter out. By the time we had hiked to the Kitchen and lazily consumed lunch, the low tide had become a rising tide. Accordingly, we had less beach for walking on the way back and on more than one occasion, we had to jog away from an incoming wave. On the positive side, the sneaker waves here could not even come close to matching the ferocity of the waves of the day before and thankfully, no hikers were smote on this day. The dryness of our feet were under constant threat, though.

The world's biggest candle

On the return, our group of about 10 hikers or so became strung out and per the natural order of things, I found myself hanging out near the tail end of the pack when a couple of funny things happened. We had hiked, in several instances, on the seaward side of the rocks and sea stacks on the beach when the tide was low. But now, the sea was in the process of overtaking the rocks. That didn't stop Lane from trying to walk around the front anyway and who knew the water was waist deep? Lane didn't but now he did! He had wet trousers and Lane-wet-his-pants jokes as a temporary souvenir of his excursion around the sea side of the rock.

We all should know better

The second point of amusement occurred at Grave Point where the ocean had likewise lapped up against the sheer cliffs of the point. The front (and prudent, too) portion of our hiking group left the beach on a staircase and walked on city streets to bypass the point. But, that's not how I roll! I gauged the situation and decided I could just scramble over the rockpile at the base, warily keeping an eye on the incoming waves wanting to eat me. Several hikers followed me over in blind and trusting faith. Given the situation of the day prior, where I was assaulted by a sneaker wave, you'd think I would know better, but I don't. On the plus side, all hikers got past the point safely and we didn't have to go up a steep flight of stairs either.

The ocean was riled up, to say the least

Once past Coquille Point, it was a sandy beach hike where there was less sand for us to hike on, due to the rising tide. On the seaward side of the rocky Coquille River jetty, the ocean had churned itself into a white frothy bowl of watery anger issues. Large waves rolled up the river, entertaining hikers who had scrambled up to the top of the river jetty at the end of the hike. Occasionally, a wave larger than the rest saw fit to splash us, even though we were on top. Like I said, I really should know better.

Jay tempts the wave gods

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Bandon Beach

Every year, around this time, rainy weather comes to southern Oregon, ready to hang out for the next 19 months, or at least it feels like 19 months. In the higher elevations and mountains, the rain translates to snow, making it time to search for lower elevation hikes with snow-free trails. Well, you can't get any lower than the beach, so consequently my winter itinerary is heavily weighted towards coastal hikes.

Foam, foam, foam on the range....

Because I've spent a lot of miles on beaches in less than optimal weather, I've entertained many an opportunity to execute a life-saving sprint across the sands with a sneaker wave lapping at my heels. And, after being truly invested in the outcome of the wave vs. human contest, I've learned that prudence dictates a) knowing what the weather forecast foretells, and b) consulting a tide table and generally avoiding high tides.

Postcard moment on the beach

High tide at Bandon Beach was at noon, give or take a few minutes. Accordingly, Luna and I lollygagged at home before heading out to Bandon later than normal, timing the drive for arrival pretty much at the crest of high tide. When we showed up at the Coquille River jetty, waves were marching up the river channel in intimidating fashion and no boats were trying to exit Bandon Harbor. The beach between the jetty and the rocky islands of Coquille Point was awash with waves rolling up into the driftwood below the dunes. But it was a receding tide and would only get better so we set out, braving the mild inconvenience of having to hike in driftwood and run from waves. For some reason, there were no other beachgoers out and about, we had the entire beach strand to ourselves.

High surf pummels an island

Because the tide was still high, walking around the front of Coquille Point wasn't going to happen, so we scrambled over some rocks at the neck of the point. Our reward was the fantastic scenery waiting for us on the other side. Bandon Beach proper curved away from us, culminating in Gravel Point. The bay was filled with roiling white surf peppered with rocky islands and sea stacks. Driftwood covered most of the inland part of the beach, and the clouds were spectacular, allowing just enough sun to leak through, causing the sea to shimmer with a silvery light. Of course, all Luna saw was her people walking their humans, too; she whimpered wistfully, longing to socialize with her kind.

It was a marvelously gloomy view to the south

The pace of our hike slowed noticeably here, as much photography abounded. So many pointy rocks to take pictures of, each affixed with a lordly seagull on top. The tide was noticeably receding by now, so we had enough beach to walk comfortably on. I wasn't sure of it had receded enough to let us walk past Gravel Point but no worries, there was just enough sand to get by with some judicious timing of the waves. Luna was in her element as we sprinted around the point before the next wave came in. She is just a little bit faster than me. More graceful, too.

Rock islands and a silver sea

As we continued to hike along the beach, civilization gradually receded behind us. Accordingly, Luna was set free and she sprinted all over the beach. There were seagulls to chase, creeks to splash in, and an entire ocean readily available for a frolic and caper. We should all hike like Luna. Me, I mostly took photographs of the spectacular cloud bank straight ahead to the south.

A cloud floats above the beach

In back of us, the sky was blue but straight ahead, it was all doom and gloom. The clouds were dark and foreboding, portentous even. Tendrils of black rain hung from underneath and the sun poked holes in the dark tapestry here and there. A storm was in the forecast but apparently it was sweeping in a northeastern direction and pretty much left us alone.

Luna, in her element

Haystack Rock was the last island big enough to have a name and we continued on past until there were no more rocks or islands at all. Just miles and miles of soft sand stretching all the way to Port Orford, if one was inclined to walk 27 more miles in soft sand. Crooked Creek made for a logical turnaround point, although we had to allow for some quality dog-splash time in the creek.

A sneaker wave comes in to make me run

On the way back, it was nothing but blue sky ahead, apparently we were hiking underneath the intersection of blue sky and black clouds. The tide had retreated, leaving us acres of wet sand to hike on while fluffy sea foam marched across the wet strand, propelled by a coastal breeze. A small wave rolled in, catching the light just perfectly, and I stopped to capture the scene. Click, click, the camera was doing its thing when I realized the wave was not going to stop for a while. Darn sneaker wave, even though it was low tide! Normally, you sort of casually jog from the larger waves but not this one, I was running at a full dead-on sprint with the wave literally splashing at my heels. The sprint lasted nearly 100 yards and let's just say that I'm no threat to Usain Bolt as I lumbered across the wet sand like an obsolete Imperial Walker from the very first Star Wars movie. Luna thought it was great fun though, leaping and snapping at her leash, deliriously happy to be running with her lord and master while being totally unclear on the concept of running to safety. For the remainder of the hike, we kept a more respectful distance from the surf.

Looks irritated with my photo-taking

The remainder of the hike was more uneventful as the weather improved over the miles. Good thing too, I'm not sure how many more such sprints I had left in the tank. There was now a healthy population of fair-weather beachgoers out and about, including a group that creates artistic labyrinths on the the sandy beach canvas. They invited us to play in the nascent maze but we still had several miles to go. By the time we reached the Coquille River, the setting sun imparted a soft golden glow to everything. It was a perfect end to a great day on the Oregon coast.

Perfect ending

For more photographs of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Bandon Beach to New River

Well, this hike got certainly got off to a mysterious start! From the parking lot at Face Rock Viewpoint, we had a nice overlook of the beach below. The sand was adorned with an elaborate crop circle labyrinth and people with long beards (some of whom were men) talked about Ley lines and sacred places. Most onlookers simply admired the artwork and walked the maze. I didn't because I always get lost in those things.

Happy!

It's hard to get lost hiking from Bandon Beach to the New River, though: just keep the ocean on the right and Oregon on the left until a large river blocks the way. Leaving the tie-dye crowd behind at the labyrinth, we headed south past the rocks and islands that make Bandon Beach such a spectacularly scenic place. After splashing across Johnson Creek, Haystack Rock loomed ahead in the misty haze and we pretty much had the Oregon coast all to ourselves at that point.

Not happy!

Speaking of splashing across creeks, Wish and Daisy (our two dog companions) were having the time of their lives and we should all cross creeks as happy as a dog. We wound up wading across creeks 6 times on this hike as we had to cross Johnson, Crooked, and China Creeks two times each. I don't think the 7 of us in our group enjoyed the wading nearly as much as the dogs did.

Sneaker wave just snuck up on us

And now, let us talk about sneaker waves. Sneaker waves are sneaky, alright. They look like normal waves but the difference between a sneaker wave and a regular wave is that a sneaker wave simply keeps on coming. So there we were, walking around a large rock with at least 50 yards of beach to work with when a wave just kept rolling in, and rather quickly too. So we ran to the rock but alas, there was nothing to stand upon. Pinned to the rock wall, we had the endure the indignity of standing knee deep in salty water, although the dogs thought the whole episode more fun than a yard full of cats. Later on in the hike, another wave chased us up the beach where we had to frantically hop on logs to avoid the onrushing water.

The New River

Once we left prominent Haystack Rock behind, it was basically a couple miles of sandy beach walking until we arrived at the mouth of the New River. I had backpacked here last summer and the New River was then all dried up, never quite making it to the ocean. However, on this late winter day it was flowing fast and wide due to all the recent rain. There was one lone hiker on the dunes overlooking the river and it turned out to be our friend Don from the South Coast Striders hiking club.

Not a lot of beach to walk on

We ate lunch next to the New River while some of us did a brief barefoot exploration of Twomile Creek. The return track to Bandon was then all about the high tide and we performed many a sprint to higher ground as the sneaker waves were less sneaky and as brazen as a pack of wild monkeys. We basically had only the driftwood-littered top ten yards of beach to hike in.

Why Bandon Beach is totally awesome

As we neared the rock islands at Bandon Beach, I opted to go around the front of a large rock while everybody else went around the back. It was the same rock involved with the sneaker wave on the way in and you'd think I would learn. I watched the waves and when they retreated, I sprinted around the front, timing my mad dash perfectly. The problem was that I was looking over my shoulder at the waves and did not notice the 6-foot deep puddle in front of me until I plunged waist deep into the cold water. Panicked, because the surf was now coming in, I charged through only to find a subsequent second swimming pool in the beach. Totally soaked from the waist down, I rejoined up with Kevin, who thought the whole episode to be hysterically funny.

High tide was the story on the return leg

By the time we arrived at the trail off the beach, the waves had erased the elaborate labyrinth we had so enjoyed at the start of the hike. It only goes to show that beach art will always be transient and ephemeral in nature. As we prepared to begin the long ride home, Rachel (who resides in nearby Coos Bay) taunted us with "I'll be home in half an hour" To which (retired) Lindsay replied "Yes, but what will you be doing Monday?" Game, set, and match to Lindsay!

Bandon Beach

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Bandon Beach

It's hot. Very hot. So very hot. I'm melting like a spit out piece of used bubble gum on a hot sidewalk. Ants will die in my gooey puddle and passerbys will wonder what was that sticky stuff they stepped in as they scrape their shoes clean on the concrete curb baking in the oppressive heat. I can only open the freezer door and stick my head in the ice bucket, dreaming of a world where life is wonderfully cooler...like Bandon!

How to beat the heat

So, while the Umpqua Valley stands in front of the heater vent of the universe, Bandon (and the Oregon coast, in general) enjoys perfect weather: overcast, some rain, and temperatures topping out at 60 degrees. I'm as jealous as my dog watching me pet the cat. Just to clarify, I only actually pet the cat when Dollie is watching or just to annoy the dog. But anyway, I was glad to park the car next to the Coquille River in Bandon on a delightfully cool morning where clouds were wonderfully gray, water occasionally fell from the sky, and a cool breeze caused me to don a light jacket.

One lone seal causes a stir

The beach was fairly busy next to the river jetty and I couldn't help but suspect all the beachgoers were Roseburg heat refugees like myself. The beach sand was soft as I walked past the numerous rock islands that make hiking on Bandon Beach so special. The map says I hiked past Black Rock but they all looked black to me. Further up the beach, a small crowd gathered excitedly in front of an island close to the shore. The cause of all the hubbub was a lone seal sitting on a rock. Well, to be technical seals don't sit, it was propped up on its flippers in sealy repose, fully entertaining the easily entertained masses.

Crop circle, beach style

The beach seemingly ends in a rock wall at Coquille Point, but the wall is really a collection of individual  islands, rocks, and stacks and there is a path through the maze. On the other side of the point was a bay with a beach adorned by crop circles, sans crops, of course. A man with a stick was creating the impermanent works of art and children big and small were walking in the mazes inscribed in the circles. It sure was embarrassing when I couldn't find my way out!

Face Rock

Just opposite Grave or Gravel Point (it depends which map is consulted, I've seen both names used) is an island known as Face Rock. Legend has it (this is the short version) an angered sea god froze the Princess Ewauna who had entered the sea carrying a cat and kittens in a basket. As a reluctant cat owner, all I can say is "r-i-i-i-i-i-ight..." about the idea of successfully carrying a cat, much less one with kittens, in a basket into the ocean. At any rate the angry sea god tossed all the mewling felines into the ocean and froze the the princess. My feeling is that the cats probably were to blame for the whole incident somehow. The princess is now Face Rock, forever gazing up at the moon. A nearby collection of islands lined up in a row are now collectively known as the Cat and Kittens. I do find the idea of cats permanently soaking in the wet surf quite amusing. As an aside, the princess entered the sea with her dog but the dog managed to avoid being turned to stone, thereby proving dogs are smarter than cats, kittens, and princesses.

Four-legged tourists

This is not your basic wilderness hike what with inns, hotels, and luxury homes perched atop the cliffs and in some cases, halfway down the cliffs. The beach here is a tourist attraction and there were many tourists out enjoying the scenic beach. Several creeks crossed the beach and the warm waters were steaming in the cooler air. A posse of horseback riders passed by and there was more stuff steaming on the beach, if you get my meaning.

It's steamy in the Oregon tropics

At Devil's Kitchen, which incidentally could be an alternate name for Roseburg right now, the houses petered out and the wild beach began. The 15 mile stretch of beach from Bandon to Port Orford is undeveloped and is Oregon's longest stretch of wild beach. Fellow hikers were few and far between after I passed Haystack Rock, the last island on Bandon Beach.

Find the snowy plover in this picture

As wild as the beach is, a rope fence keeps hikers off of the dry sand. This is snowy plover territory and the small bird is endangered. The plover spends it's entire life on the sand and it is easy for hikers to step on camouflaged eggs and chicks. In Oregon, the protection offered the plover is nothing new for me but for the very first time I observed a plover sprinting ghostlike across the sand. All I can say, is the birds are well camouflaged on the light colored sand.

Get the flock out!

Periodically, flocks of sanderlings flew by like airborne schools of fish, all turning in the same direction at the same time. If I was a sanderling, I'd be the one turning left when all turned right, causing a spectacular mid-air high speed pileup. I'd also probably get excommunicated from the flock at some point, too. There were also a number of vultures on the beach, just watching me...just watching...they made me nervous. 

As good as new

At just under 6 miles, the New River hove into the view. The map says the New River mouth was about 6 more miles ahead of me so if the large river running in front of me was not the New, then it was good as New. Sorry, I can't help it. The New was running wide and deep and like me, was not going to be crossed today. Besides which, I still had a 5.5 mile hike to get back to the car at this point.

An oystercatcher sneaks away

A nice little lunch 'n laze was enjoyed at the river's edge, the time spent observing the chaotic clash of watery titans where the New River collides with the Old Ocean. But all New things come to an end and back I went for the long walk to the car. I got to observe the gulls and sanderlings again while the vultures disconcertingly observed me like hungry patrons watching an approaching waiter bring their meal.

Why I hike on Bandon Beach

It was pleasantly cool and overcast on the drive home until I reached Camas Valley. There, the clouds dissipated and the sun was a big ball of way too hot fire. Normally, it's good to be back home but not when you're a figurative chestnut roasting on an open fire.

This hike rocks!

For more pictures of this coastal escape, please visit the Flickr album.