Samuel Boardman Park

About halfway through my hike on a small piece of the Oregon Coast Trail, the path spit me out onto a parking area just off of Highway 101. Next to a trail marker there, a small plaque honored Samuel Dicken, founder of the Oregon Coast Trail. In addition to honoring his contribution to the establishment of the trail, he was further honored by having this particular section named after him. Since I had reached this commemorative site after several miles of seemingly needless ups and downs, I agreed: This trail was indeed the Dicken's.

Incoming!

I'm not sure how Samuel Boardman became involved but there is a nice state park named after him. Basically the park is the 27 mile long strip of land between the ocean and the highway with the Oregon Coast Trail (hereafter referred to as the OCT) running the length of the park. Arguably, the park sports the most scenic stretch of coastline in Oregon. Last weekend, I partook of the ample coastal delights by hiking on Samuel's trail in Samuel's park.

Up, up, up....

Beginning at a pullout on the coast highway, the OCT entered the park by descending rapidly for about 50 yards after which the trail immediately ascended in equally rapid fashion. Up and down all day long would be the theme. Yes, I'm whining but in part that's my self-deprecating humor at work. But mostly, it's whining because they could have made the trail level in a lot of places but they didn't and a big phooey on trail engineers.

Naked alders

Much of the trail is spent in beautiful coastal woods that alternated between spruce trees with sunbeams sliding between branches, spotlighting ferns and salal on the forest floor; and bare white-trunked alder trees clawing at the blue sky draped above. Periodically, small breaks in the dense growth provided stunning views of the blue-green ocean with rock islands strewn randomly about like freckles on a face.

Miners Beach

Drawing in tourists and visitors are some prominent landmarks such as the aptly named Arch Rock, Thunder Rock, and Natural Bridges. Call me a tourist then, as I stopped often to take pictures of the attractions thereof. After Arch Rock, the OCT dropped precipitously down to idyllic Miners Beach with its photogenic collection of islands and stacks, each crowned with a clump of spruce trees that reminded me of my son's latest haircut.

Arch Rock

From there, the trail climbed relentlessly back up to the highway and then dropped back down to the Natural Bridges, consisting of several rock arches with the sea flushing and rushing through the narrow arches like an oceanic enema. Uncharacteristic of January at the Oregon coast, the temperature was in the 60's and I daresay I broke out in a mild sweat.

Ooh....aah!

On an uphill section, a pair of hikers were coming down the trail and I stepped aside to let them pass. Equally polite, they stepped aside to let me pass and darn it, I had to keep walking uphill. Lowering my head, I charged up the trail and I heard a confused "...is that Richard?" Turned out it was Glenn and Carol, my hiking friends from Medford, and we exchanged pleasantries in a nice and unexpected encounter. We both were well out of our normal hiking haunts and the improbability of our encounter kept me chuckling throughout the day, not that I need any help giggling mindlessly.

Thunder Rock

My original plan was to hike about 5 miles out and 5 miles back and just under the 4 mile mark, the trail dropped rapidly, switchbacking through a dark forest. A sheer cliff bordered the trail on the right where a large landslide had taken place and I was walking on a new trail that had been routed on top of the slide debris. Coming out of the forest, a bay full of roiling waves greeted me as the trail ended unceremoniously at the ocean's edge.

End of the trail

A left turn on the beach would take me round a small point and a beach walk on China Beach before the OCT would climb steeply away to the next adventure on the trail. But with the tide as high as it was, there was no going south today and the hike was cut shorter than intended.

Sunset started as I finished

The return trip was even better as the sun sank lower in the sky, providing ample reason to stop and take pictures as the ups and downs became downs and ups on the return leg. The last several climbs back up to the car were particularly taxing and I simultaneously cursed and praised all things Samuel as the afternoon eased into sunset. But mostly I'm grateful to the two Sams for providing a nice 8 mile hike on a sunny winter day, I couldn't have done it without them.

View through a trail window

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

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Baker Beach

This hike had a couple of little ironies.  First, Lois got a speeding ticket in her haste to begin an activity that takes place at a leisurely 2 miles an hour. The other ironic moment occurred when I stepped in a sinkhole while wading through a marsh, making me the only hiker out of the 21 attendees that experienced a true Richard Hike experience.

What happens when I Google Earth late at night

The genesis for this hike came late one night when perusing Google Earth. Looking at the Alder Dunes area, a faint footpath led from dune to dune, seemingly going all the way to the Baker Beach area. So, a mid-week exploratory scouting trip was penciled in, starting at Dune Lake.

Alder Dunes view

From little Dune Lake, the sandy footpath followed a series of small dunes collectively known as Alder Dunes. On the right side of the trail, the dunes sloped up to where presumably one could have views of lakes Alder, Mussel, and Nott.  Of course, that would involve gaining about 100 feet in steep and soft sand, it was more comfy to stay on the path.

Hiking on what amounts to a game trail

On the satellite photos, the trail passed through seven dunes but it seemed more like four from actual ground level. The trail was always visible but the problem is that the trail braided with other trails and more than once I mentally flipped a coin to decide whether to take the right or left fork. It was more confusing than the federal tax code. I don't think there really was a wrong way or a right way to get from Dune Lake to Baker Beach Campground, but there sure were a bunch of different ways to get there.

Odd little sand formation

Once at Baker Beach Campground, the GPS said I'd been wandering aimlessly in the forest and dunes for a mere 2.8 miles.  Clearly, more miles were required so I added several trail loops that visited Lilly Lake, Berry Creek, Baker Beach, and a massive sand dune that went on for miles; altogether it wound up being a 7.3 mile hike, all of it in soft sand.  My soft sand muscles were softer than the soft sand and this hike felt a lot longer and I was now ready to inflict the same amount of pain on my friends.

Nobody got lost and I like that

Last time I led a Friends of the Umpqua hike, only three friends showed up. Given that backstory, it was shocking to set out on the trail with 20 friends (and one dog) in tow, uttering a silent prayer to the hiking gods to help me arrive with 20 friends (and one dog) at the trailhead at the end of the hike. We cut down our chances of misplacing anybody by using the buddy system and stopping at all trail junctions.

Lake that is small and dry, just like me

In spite of those precautions, Edwin (who was at the front while I manned the rear) managed to lead us in a different direction from my scouting trip and we ended up at a small lake abutting the dunes. No worries, I had been on top of the dune looking down on the lake so we hiked uphill on a sandy path and resumed the proper route.

Reflection at Berry Creek

On the Lilly Lake route (where you really can't get a good look at the lake) we continued on to the banks of Berry Creek.  I walked down to the creek and instructed everyone to put on their wading shoes. Alternatively, I heard cursing, crying, and whining with the phrase "...it's a Richard Hike.." sprinkled liberally throughout. Great fun, and I let them know they'd been pranked and then I heard cursing, crying, and whining with the phrase "...it's a Richard Hike.." sprinkled liberally throughout.

Lunch time at Berry Creek

We ate lunch at Berry Creek, enjoying the sun while shivering in the cold ocean breeze. The canine portion of our group enjoyed swimming in the creek and retrieving large sticks. After lunch we closed the loop where no hikers took the offered option of heading back for a shorter hike.

Sandy cliff at Berry Creek

So, all 20 companions (plus one dog and one hike leader) went to the beach where several members took off shoes and went for a wade in the ocean while the rest of us shivered in the cold ocean breeze. One wave caught John but he seemed to enjoy being wet and cold, to judge from the grin on his face.

Let's hike through the marshes!

We made a short loop by hiking along the mouth of Berry Creek and then bushwhacking through the dunes and marshes to return to the trail. The marshy portion was short and feet got wet briefly.  So, while everybody continued on back to the campground, I backtracked to retrieve John and his wading crew as they had tarried when they put on their shoes after their ocean wade.

Hikers, walking past a hidden sinkhole

Not wanting to get my feet wet again, I took a loop around the edge of the marsh where it looked like it would be drier.  Looks can be so deceiving. I was shocked when my foot sunk into the grass, and sunk and sunk and sunk. I briefly wondered if I was going to wind up in China before I struck solid ground with the cold marsh water nearly up to my neck. Thrashing wildly, I grabbed on to some branches and hauled my now very wet carcass out of the diabolically disguised sinkhole I had stepped into.

Shadows in the late afternoon

It was a chilly walk through the forest after that and I took no more pictures as unfortunately, the camera had gone swimming with me. Concentrating on keeping a brisk pace to keep warm, the two miles back to Dune Lake seemed to go fairly quickly. I'm glad to report, no hikers (dog or human) were left behind, and we all had a great time, unintended swimming sessions and speeding tickets notwithstanding. On the way back, our car passed Lois who was plodding along exactly at the speed limit. It seems she has a newly found religion about obeying speed limits following her morning encounter with the police.  Oh, the irony!

Lichen

For more pictures of the two Baker Beach hikes, see the Flickr album.

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Cape Arago

This hike was all about the waves. And I'm not talking about the nice waves you find in a movie star's coif...no, these waves were tall and powerful, just like me. As Dollie and I crossed placid Big Creek at the start of the hike, a wave entered the creek, heading upstream like a watery sea creature migrating to its spawning grounds in the Sunset Bay campground; that's when we first realized this would be no routine visit to Cape Arago.

Watery sea creature

A winter storm had come to visit the Oregon coast last weekend and Saturday was the wilder day what with lightning, high winds, and a prodigious amount of rainfall.  By comparison, Sunday was milder with just an ordinary rainstorm with a high surf warning. Since I don't like getting electrocuted or having tree parts land on my head, and because a high surf warning is more like a high surf invitation in the O'Neill household: Sunday was the day to go hiking at Cape Arago. And speaking of watery sea creatures, Dollie came along.

Sunset Bay

As mentioned before, normally placid and tranquil Big Creek was having to contend with rude waves forcing their way upstream like a proctologist's probe, not that I know what that's like. Sunset Bay was a bowlful of seething sea with white water and angry waves boiling robustly like a pot of my abuelita's beans. Surfers were taking advantage of the wave action while onlookers gawked from the Sunset Bay parking lot.

A cliff gets a pummeling

Once atop the shoreline bluffs, the sonic booms of waves crashing into the rocks provided a noisy backdrop to the hike. Everywhere we looked, we could see giant explosions of white water bombs cresting higher than the cliffs we were standing on.  Marching inexorably to a noisy demise on the Oregon coast was wave after wave, most cresting 20 feet or higher.

A moron just has to get closer to the action

The real fun started at the ruins of the Shore Acres tennis courts. The waves were crashing into the cliffs with each exploding wave cresting about 20 feet higher than me and remember I was on the cliff which was already about 20 feet above the ocean. Some moron with a death wish clambered onto the rocks closer to the breaking point. Dumb, but on the plus side, he provided a nice human scale for my photographs.

Rain at Shore Acres

It was more of the same when we arrived at Shore Acres in a heavy drizzle. A small crowd braved the elements to ooh and aah at the ocean's display of might. Just past the whale observation building, Dollie turned back at a viewpoint of Simpson Beach with hardly any beach sand that was not covered with white water.

Simpson Reef

At the Simpson Reef overlook, the sea lions were barking indignant as their favorite beach on Shell Island was underwater. They made do by crowding onto all the nearby rocks, rudely pushing and shoving each other out of the way like the O'Neills at a family barbecue.

Road walk on the Pack Trail

For variety's sake, I crossed the Cape Arago Highway and grabbed the Pack Trail. There is a World War II bunker on the trail somewhere but I never saw the bunker, not sure how I missed a large concrete structure in the forest. However, it was a pleasant walk in the woods that satisfied my uphill quota before dropping back down to the cape.

Another beautiful day at the coast

I had the cape all to myself when I arrived, probably that had something do with the rain pouring out of the sky. The forecast had called for showers which implies an on-and-off wetting but it had morphed into non-stop rain while I was happily hiking through the forest.  I was 3.5 miles away from the car and the rain increased in intensity on the way back. I rapidly lost enthusiasm for hiking, totally commensurate with the amount of water my clothing retained.

I love walking in the rain (sarcasm!)

But hey, that's what dry clothes, a car heater, and hot chocolate is for and all were soon available upon arrival at the trailhead. Despite the less than optimum conditions, the wildness of the ocean made this hike worthy. Like I said, it was all about the waves and I was glad to wave bye-bye to the rain as we departed.

No swimming today!

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

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North Bank Deer Habitat

It's become a tradition:  the first Friends of the Umpqua hike of the year takes place in the North Bank Deer Habitat. This year was no different and we set off on a chilly morning to partake of the awesome views from the ridges of the habitat. Oops.

Now serving cougar Number 5,604,705

The habitat's raison d'être is the preservation of a band of Columbia whitetail deer and we had a grim exhibition of life and death just after we started out. While we humans refer to the habitat as "preserve", the cougars refer to the habitat as "fast food restaurant" or maybe "McDeernalds".  Deer parts were scattered all over the trail where a deer had become the entree of a cougar meal. Cougars sure are messy eaters, leaving bones and stuff strewn all over which reminds me, we're having dinner at my brother's house tonight.

The sun would not last

Of all the incredibly steep trails in the habitat, the Soggy Bottoms Road is the kindest and gentlest way to get up to the northern ridge. But that's kind of like saying a toothache is not as painful as an earache, or vice versa. It's still uphill. It's just a question of whether you want your severe pain all at once or less pain for a longer time. So uphill we go with the grade ratcheting up in direct proportion to the complaining from our youngest hiker, 13 year old Maeghan.

Maeghan:  See the view?
Lane: No

So back to the views thing. We had started under breaking cloud cover and we eagerly anticipated hiking above the clouds and enjoying fantastic views of the North Umpqua River valley covered by a white blanket of cloud under blue sky. As stated previously:  oops. The more we climbed, the deeper we got into the cloud cover which looked and felt like dense fog. As we climbed, the fog became thicker and thicker, and we soon abandoned all hope of any spectacular views.

Gray, in all its many shades, hues, and tints

By the time we reached the North Ridge, our group had strung out, leaving Lane, Maeghan, and I bringing up the rear. I had a camera and Maeghan had Lane so our lagging behind was not a chance occurrence. We could hear our comrade's voices floating out of the impenetrable mist but could not see them. At any rate, we made a left turn on the ridge road and followed the disembodied voices along the ridge.

Some pictures need no caption

Our minds told us because we had reached the ridge, all the bad uphill climbing would stop. Alas, that is not the North Bank way. The trail headed straight up the hills and then straight down the hills. And as we headed up the steep climbs, a certain teenager voiced vigorous objection, providing flashbacks to when I single-parented my three daughters. However, I did not send Maeghan to her room.

Ridge, where we got off trail

At some point, the road petered out, morphing into a trail that became fainter and fainter, or "sketchy" in hiking vernacular. Soon we found ourselves on a narrow rocky crest, with no trail on it.  Peering downslope, into the fog, we could see a well defined trail below our rocky promontory.  I'm not sure how we went astray, as the trail below was where we were supposed to be, but I'm blaming the fog.

Uphill, on the downhill

We had a decision to make at the junction with the Middle Ridge trail. Straight ahead was a longer hike continuing on the northern boundary ridge. A left turn would drop us off the ridge for a shorter route back to the parking lot. Since our hike leader told me the route would be on Middle Ridge, we made the left turn. Since the same hike leader (who shall remain nameless) told the others the route would be on the north ridge, they went straight. Oops.

View, sort of

Maeghan (Lane and I, too) was happy to be hiking downhill but she got a North Bank lesson when the trail went back uphill in the middle of the descent. About a mile from the car, we finally dropped out of the clouds but still couldn't see much. Maeghan actually did quite well, completing this 8.3 mile hike with her sense of humor still intact. Lane waxed philosophical, promising to return on a clear day to see what he can see. And me, I'll probably join him.

Shortcutting switchbacks

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

For Lane's take on this hike, follow this link, and all those things he says about me are not true!

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Mount Ashland

In my mind, 2013 was notable because of the 4 surgeries required to put me together again after my bicycle crash. Because of the lack of exercise effected by the healing process, it seemed like 2013 was not a very good year for hiking. But surprisingly enough, I got a hike in on 58 days of the year; alternatively stated, nearly 16% of the year was spent hiking with the remaining 84% spent thinking about hiking. Given the context of the 4 surgeries, it's surprising that the 58 days were the most days in a year I've ever hiked.

The Pacific Crest Skating Trail

Of course, the 407 miles hiked in 2013 evidenced a shortening of my hiking distance, I averaged only 7 miles per hike and that leads me to the time-honored tradition of making New Year resolutions. So, let it be known I hereby resolve to hike more...I tend to keep my resolutions simple! And on that waffly resolve, let's move on to the first hike of 2014: 8.8 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail near Mount Ashland.

Still life with tree and lichen

Life's a beach when it comes to winter hiking.  The coast is a regular destination when the mountains are wrapped up by a white tortilla of cold snow. However, the evening news reported all the Oregon ski resorts remained closed due to little or no snow in the mountains.  A skier's lament is a hiker's joy and I just had to go see for myself.

Why no crampons, Santa?

In late spring and early summer, Mount Ashland is renowned for its sumptuous wildflowers and meadows replete with buzzing insects.  In the winter, the mountain becomes a ski resort which sounds like a good opportunity to break my other wrist. But in this weird hybrid season that is neither summer nor winter, the meadows were simply brown, dry, and buzz-free. There were small patches of snow in the shady parts but ice would be the challenge of the day.

Watch Richard waddle to avoid the ice

What little snow there was had melted and then refroze after accumulating on the trail tread. It was slipperier than a snotty eel. I learned to waddle walk, placing a foot on either side of the trail as I navigated the Pacific Crest Trail (hereafter referred to as the PCT) skating rink.

Beautiful scene at Grouse Gap

As I approached the low saddle of Grouse Gap, the slopes below Mount Ashland were a sea of dead vegetation and rock formations.  The sun was out, the sky was a cloudless cobalt blue, and it had warmed up to a balmy 50 degrees which, considering it was January in the Siskiyous, wasn't bad at all.  The trail actually was quite busy with other hikers and the standard greeting was "What a great start to the new year!"  

Yikes!

My plan had been to walk all the way to Siskiyou Peak but the PCT leaves Grouse Gap by climbing up to an intervening ridge crest.  Much to my dismay, the route was in deep shade through the snow and I could just sense the ice on the trail, waiting to inflict pain on your intrepid author.

Double yikes!

My suspicions were confirmed when I arrived at Grouse Gap as the PCT was as icebound as a tourist boat in the Antarctic seas.  I made a brief attempt at getting up the trail but gave up as it really was dangerously slippery, it was time for Plan B.  Forest Road 20 parallels the PCT on the Siskiyou crest and it made for a wider, if not safer, trail.  Sheets of ice covered the road and crampons are high on my purchase list for my next trip to the hiking store. I made progress by walking in the drainage ditch next to the road.

Trail up to the viewpoint

At one point, the road dropped down off the crest and dipped into the shady forest and much to my dismay, I could see about a quarter mile of ice covering what normally is a gravel road. There was an abandoned road going straight up the slope above Road 20 and I grabbed that just to see where it went.  It lead to a viewpoint of Siskiyou Peak and I exchanged pleasantries with a couple who had backpacked in and were camping there.

I look down my nose at California

I turned around at the viewpoint after soaking in the views of Siskiyou Peak, Wagner Butte, and Mount Shasta.  Amazingly, I could see Mount Bailey with snowy Diamond Peak further beyond, a mere 104 miles away! On the way back, Mount Ashland dominated the scene as I made my way around the mountain to my car. Clouds scudded over and the temperature dropped rapidly as the hike was closed out. So far in 2014, my average hiking distance is 8.8 miles which already puts me ahead of last year and to echo my new-found trail friends, "What a great start to the new year!"

Mount Ashland

For more pictures of this hike, see the Flickr album.

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