Kentucky Falls

It's not funny if you have to explain the punchline. As we were lacing up our boots at the Kentucky Falls Trailhead, I offered up the factoids that Kentucky Creek was flanked on either side by Roman Nose Mountain and Mount Popocatépetl, adding that the three place names were a geographic tribute to primitive cultures and incomprehensible dialects. What I got back, instead of wry chuckles, were perplexed looks and several earnest and sincere "Wow, really?" questions. My hiking companions got it when I, my voice laden and dripping with sarcasm, answered a question with a question "Have you ever spoken to anybody from Kentucky?" I may have lost my entire Kentuckian readership with that one but hey, it's probably only one guy anyway.

All life should be like a walk in the forest

Even though Kentucky Falls was the main reason for our outing, this hike was mostly all about the forest. The morning sunlight was slanting through a cathedral-like grove of tall trees arching overhead like so many ribs in a Gothic basilica. You couldn't help but tilt your head heavenward like an awestruck pilgrim entering Notre Dame (or any other cathedral of the era) for the first time. The green glow from the trees, ferns, and moss was pervasive and small thumb-sized birds made fist-sized twitterings as they scolded hikers celebrating a decidedly green spring day. Below all the tall trees and twittering mini-birds, tri-petaled trillium flowers added their own special grace and elegance to the reverential scene.

A small but boisterous piece of Kentucky Creek

We were hiking nearly at the bottom of a canyon carved over the epochs by Kentucky Creek. When not in a truly sublime forest, we found ourselves hiking on a trail etched onto exposed cliff faces, all colored green by the ever ubiquitous moss. Initially, the stream pleasantly coursed through the trees before picking up speed. In a practice run for the big leap at Upper Kentucky Falls, the creek jumped off several ten-foot ledges, each a worthy cascade in its own right. And speaking of big leaps, I didn't do any. Eventually, Upper Kentucky Falls hove into view as the path switchbacked down to the waterfall's splash basin.

In all its Kentuckian glory

Roughly about 100 feet tall, Upper Kentucky Falls was carrying a large volume of water, seeing how Kentucky Creek was swollen with spring runoff. The sound of the falls echoed throughout and we all stopped to contemplatively admire the picturesque cascade roaring in the shady canyon. Here on the west side of the distant Cascades Mountain Range, waterfalls are about as rare as a mosquito in late July, which is to say they are not rare at all. But even so, Kentucky Falls is arguably one of the better ones.

Moss rules this forest

After the requisite Upper Kentucky Falls view-soak and photo-op combo, it was more of the same as the trail continued to descend down toward the confluence of Kentucky Creek and the North Fork Smith River, our intended turnaround point. The forest was still eminently sublime, the morning light remained poetic, and the trail was flanked with elegant and graceful pale white trillium flowers to go along with yellow woodland violets, and white-to-pinkish oaks toothwort blooms. All of the floral colorations were but mere specks against a green backdrop of either moss, ferns, or salal.

Bird's nest fungi, en masse

Roughly halfway between the upper and lower falls, the trail crossed over a small creek via a rustic wooden bridge covered with bird's nest fungus. Generally seen on the ground or on decaying twigs, these tiny fungi are actually shaped like a bird's nest, sometimes containing small brown "eggs" which actually are spore capsules. Because of their small size, these fungus are not readily spotted when we hike by them, but the bridge here was absolutely covered with the diminutive fungi and much macro-lens photography ensued.

A beetle takes a pollen bath

About a mile below the upper falls, Kentucky Creek drops off another rocky ledge at Lower Kentucky Falls, made further notable that the lower falls and North Fork Smith River Falls tumble side-by-side over the same ledge. The scene is epic and I had every intention of hiking down there until a large chest-high log blocked the way with no means of bushwhacking around it, seeing as how it was sited on a steep near-vertical slope, and at right angles to the trail. The idea of swinging my leg and fresh hernia surgery incisions over that daunting obstacle made my "little boys" crawl back up into my abdomen in cold dread, so uncharacteristically I did the right thing and called my hike over at that point, darn hernia anyway.

Rustic footbridge over a small creek

This would be the last hike under the stultifying restrictions of the surgeon's dictates. After today, me and the boys are free to hike as we see fit, although I've been warned to listen to my body which doesn't really work, because so much of hiking is ignoring what your body tells you anyway. So, while my legs felt a little unfulfilled, I still wound up following the doctor's orders without really meaning to, thanks to a wayward log. 

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

Port Orford Heads and Tseriadun Recreation Site

The views from Port Orford Heads were stunning

Day 2 of my hernia surgery recovery plan (not specifically endorsed by my surgeon) called for another short hike on Port Orford Heads, the idea being to hit places where I would not normally hike because of the meager distance of the trails. Located between the town of Port Orford and the Pacific Ocean, the headlands on the ocean side are surrounded by nasty rocky islands and even nastier rocks lying in wait just below the surface of the ocean. Back in the day, boats ran into the submerged rocks with enough frequency that a lifeboat crew was stationed atop the heads to rescue sailors and passengers alike. Nowadays, the Heads and historical lifeboat station are a state park and a short trail leads to several outstanding viewpoints atop the headlands.

Wild iris graced the trail

Beginning at the aforementioned lifeboat station, the path quickly dropped into a lush forest where ferns rested upon the stout arms of spruce branches like so many polypodiophytic (fancy word for ferny) turkeys roosting for the night. Wild iris, woodland violet, and oaks toothwort were beginning the spring show on the forest floor while small birds twittered and flittered in the flourishing shrubbery.

The ruins of the once and former boathouse

At an overlook of a narrow cove dwarfed by the tall cliffs of the headlands, the ruins of the old boathouse (long since lost to a fire) could be seen. To effect a rescue, the lifeboat crews stationed here had to hike down from the station to the boathouse, manually row the boats out onto the stormy sea, rescue those in need of such, row back to the boathouse, and then hike back up the incredibly steep stair-stepped path back to the station atop the Heads. Wow, they were capable of much greater things than anything this herniated hiker could ever accomplish.

A keyhole-shaped cove at Port Orford Heads

The trail soon left the forest and transitioned to an up and down route along the edge of the headlands. The track abruptly came to an end, primarily because Oregon likewise came to an abrupt end. The drop-off was sheer and precipitous, and the view from the head of the Heads was stunning. Below, windblown waves with spindrifts curling off them crashed onto rocky islands and shores, or surged into keyhole coves with equal vigor. Offshore, a number of boat-eating islands extended out to several miles from the shore. One pyramid-shaped island had a large cave in it which reminded me of my Sisters Rock hike from the day before.

You could see forever except for Cape Blanco being in the way

To the north, stretched a beach all the way north to Cape Blanco with the town of Port Orford and local landmark Garrison Lake eminently visible. The sea was colored aquamarine, the surf glowed a radiant white, and the sky was painted a bright blue, all colors contrasting nicely with the dark brown beach and the black and brown terrain of Port Orford Heads. Definitely a colorful view for the ages!

Red currant prettied up the Tseriadun trailhead

While fun, the hike on Port Orford Heads was not very long and my legs still felt peppy, as they should, so I drove down to Tseriadun State Recreation Site, because I had never been there and the name sounded exotic if only because it began with a "ts". The locals and maps refer to Tseriadun as Agate Beach which is not as exciting a name, but if I could return home with a small haul of agates, then that would be excitement enough.

A low dune of soft sand is all that protects
Garrison Lake from the ravages of the ocean

Beaches are always fun but this particular beach is made unique by the proximity of Garrison Lake, for only a tenuous spit of sand separates lake from ocean. From a hiking standpoint, it's kind of cool to walk on the dune with the calm and placid lake on one side while on the other side, the restless ocean fumes "Mine, soon you will be mine!" Given a recent history of the ocean breaching the sandy spit during raging storms, it's not an idle threat.

Offended by my intrusive presence, the ocean gnashes its teeth

The beach sprawled under a clear blue sky but a cold and strong wind made my eyes water which might be why I didn't spot any agates. The waves were large and boisterous with the stiff breeze peeling spray off of the onrushing surf. At the south end of the beach, loomed an imposing rocky pyramid with the much larger cliffs of Port Orford Heads rising beyond. The waves were pretty awesome as they thundered against the rock so I hiked in that direction to get a better look-see.

Heed the warning, Richard

On the other side of the jagged rock was a fairly substantial creek snaking back and forth through a sand and rock combo before reaching the sea. The waves were breaking big, the spray of the surf rolling off the rocks and into the creek and I spent a few minutes doing some photography. However, several large waves rolled up the creek bed, nearly cutting me off from a safe retreat. That was my cue, and when the incoming tide temporarily receded between waves, I backtracked to safety on the beach.

The waves were spectacular

I had intended to hike a nearby nature trail before heading back to Winston but could not find the trailhead (I did see it as I was leaving, though). But the day almost felt complete anyway, with awesome scenery accessed via some restorative walking. While I could have used a few more miles of hiking, my surgeon will no doubt have a frowny face when she hears what I've been up to, so we'll just make this outing our little secret. 

The rugged Oregon coast at Port Orford Heads

For more photos of this pair of hikes, please visit the Flickr albums:

Port Orford Heads

Tseriadun State Recreation Site

 

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Sisters Rock

Enough was enough! I'd been sulking in hiking purgatory ever since my hernia surgery but I just had to get out onto the trail, even though the day was still technically within the doctor-ordained purgatorial time frame. But I figured a short "hike" at Sisters Rock out at the coast would get me outdoors without causing myself further injury.

"I'll keep an eye out for you!"

Sisters Rock actually is a geologic sisterhood of several large and pyramidal rocky points, and I've sped past them many a time while whizzing down the Coast Highway on my way to worthier hikes, the Sisters getting categorized as unworthy due to the shortness of the "hike". But nonetheless, the Sisters remained on my radar because they are a spectacular sight even when seen from a speeding car. 

One small rusting piece of what was once Frankport, Oregon

During the 1850’s a shipping dock was constructed at Sisters Rock and the town of Frankport sprung up to service the shipping operations. Nowadays, all that remains of the town are rusting metal parts and miscellaneous debris strewn about Frankport Beach. Around 2009, Sisters Rock was brought into the Oregon State Parks system which then did the right thing in closing the road down to the rocks, thereby converting the rickety road into a hiking trail. 

People used to drive down this road?

Well, I may have sped down the highway to get here but there'd be no speeding on the old road leading down to the rocks. The rough track was steep, rugged, and rocky enough to present a mild challenge to a recovering hernia addict on foot. I can't even imagine driving a vehicle down to the rocks, and I have a Jeep. I think you'd want to go down with a vehicle, friends, and family members you don't particularly care about! On the plus side though, the views were immediately awesome.

Just another gloomy day in paradise

On the negative side, the weather was also immediately awesome, just not in a good way. The temperature was cold, just marginally above freezing. A stiff breeze sweeping in from the south made sure to move that cold air through the threads comprising whatever woefully ineffective fabric my clothing layers were made of. When the rain came, the same breeze moved the water through those very same threads. This hike definitely was a teeth-chatterer! There's always an upside though, and the sight of the storm pummeling the Oregon coast in both directions was simply splendid in a gloomy and moody way.

The rough-and-tumble Oregon coast to the south of Sisters Rock

Sisters Rock is actually a sorority of several sister rocks, each tenuously connected to Oregon and each other by a narrow isthmus. From the isthmus, one can explore at will and my first little foray took me to the south cove and Frankport Beach. It was high tide and the beach was off limits for those hikers wanting to stay safe, present company included. The rugged and jagged Oregon coast, dotted with rugged and jagged islands by the dozens, curved south with the rocky point of Devil's Backbone clearly visible as the shore arced away under a glum sky.

View from Frankport Beach

The beach was strewn with rusting machinery and debris in testament to the Rock's history as the former home of Frankport, Oregon. While the tide prevented further exploration south, I did tarry a bit, grateful to be sheltered from the wind by a kind and caring Sister. Lest I get too comfortable though, I had to briefly endure getting pelted by a passing squall of hail.

View across a bay to Humbug Mountain

Fortunately, the weather improved while I idled behind the leeward side of the lesser Sister and when I hiked over to the Big Sister, sun and blue sky made an appearance here and there between the still abundant clouds. Despite the sun, it was still the same cold wind though, although the sun and clouds added a whole new dramatic look to Humbug Mountain lording it over a choppy sea.

Entrance to Poseidon's realm

Sisters Rock herself is basically a large pyramid sited above a flat and rocky bench replete with tide pools, the formidable face and erstwhile symmetry of the rock being sort of marred by a large hole in it. Was that an entrance into a mine, or a portal to a forbidden underworld full of slimy coastal orcs? A short scramble up to the lip revealed the answer, it was a sea cave, full of ocean water pulsing with each tidal surge. Pretty cool, but I carefully backed away from the edge, not wanting to become a tasty and incredibly handsome morsel falling into Big Sister's slobbery maw.

View to another Sister just off shore

There is a roughhewn road leading up to a saddle between two of the rocks and that was the last little item of business on this short "hike". A solitary Sister floating offshore was neatly framed between the two rocks like a target in a geological gunsight. Waves broke on the shore below in white-watered glory and I counted four sea cave entrances at the base of Sisters Rock herself. Wow, the seemingly solid rock must be as hollow as a molar after a lifetime of eating cotton candy!

It was an "all of the above" weather day!

Normally, I wouldn't deign to drive several hours just to "hike" a couple of miles but in this case, the day was a qualified success. My recovering abdomen handled the "hike" just fine and any hike where you can say "I don't have any new hernias or reopened incisions" is a good hike! 

Tidal pools form below the Sisters

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

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Jacksonville Forest Park

How did Jacksonville Forest Park ever escape my attention? Why have I never hiked here? The short answer is that I'd never heard of the place. I had heard of the nearby Jacksonville Woodlands trail system which is basically just across Highway 238 from Forest Park but I had never been on those trails either, my preconceived notion being that the Woodlands trails generally lack adequate mileage. But Forest Park has many trails and so many possible routes that are most hike-worthy in terms of both mileage and scenery. Actually, I have no idea if the trails are scenic or not as I have never been on them but based on my first time out, they probably are.

A tree gets a mossy hug

This was not going to be a long hike, thank my hernia very much! I did put together a route involving the Ol' Miner's, Owl Hoot, Atsahu, Arrowhead Pass, Shade Creek, Canyon Falls, Norling, and Rail Trails. It did not escape my attention there is also a Legburner Trail in the park which could be either good or bad, depending on the mood or inclination of a certain hernia. Anyway, like a couple of urban(ish) trail systems I've been on lately, like Cathedral Hills, a good map is essential to make sense of the numerous trail junctions encountered on most any hike in the park. There also are plenty of trail signs to orient hikers unfamiliar with Forest Park who, despite having a map and decades of experience, still managed to get a little misplaced while hiking here. 

Some of that local attraction on the Ol' Miners' Trail

After a short climb through a thick forest of young madrone, the Ol' Miners' Trail entered a hydraulic mining site, which consisted of a grassy area littered with rusting mining machinery. From there, the route continued uphill to a gold mining site that was off limits with an official detour around the site. The trail was probably closed here because quite obviously, a large number of trees had fallen on the trail. It was probably easier to create a detour than remove them all, or maybe there is some other compelling reason for the reroute. However, following the detour is where and how I got myself "misplaced", despite having a good map on hand.

It was this sign's fault!

My plan was to take the Owl Hoot Trail which would be intersecting my current trail from the left. So, when I ran into an unsigned but very clear trail that surely must be Owl Hoot Trail, a left turn was duly executed. Wow, this trail did not even pretend to be nice, heading straight up an exceedingly steep ridge crest forested with hardwood trees of various ilk, some of which were sprawled in fallen profusion across the trail. To make things worse, after nearly a mile of this, the path just ended. Just like that, with no fanfare or any other proclamation of Customer Appreciation Day. After some irritated "Hoot, mon!" utterances (or some salty variations thereof), there was nothing to do but return back to the junction that had originally led me astray.

Tall madrone trees surrounded the trail

Back on the Boulder Trail, in short succession I ran into the resumption of the Ol' Miner's Trail and the real Owl Hoot trail angling to the left. My legs and hernia had given their all on the Buzzard Fart Trail (my name for that Owl Hoot Trail imposter) and they now couldn't give two hoots about the Owl Hoot Trail. So, stay on the Boulder Trail it was, and that was fine for it was a nice and mostly level walk through woods of moss-covered trees interspersed with smooth-trunked madrones.

One of many small cascades on Jackson Creek

The sound of Jackson Creek trickling through the woods became more pervasive near a nexus of several trails intersecting near the rushing stream. After briefly exploring Norling Gulch, I beat a retreat back down to Jackson Creek and began the next phase of this little woodland sortie. The pleasant Canyon Falls Trail followed the creek on down the canyon. The vibe was somewhat canyonish and there were a number of noisy cascades that bordered on waterfall status. I'm not sure if any singular one of these falls were the famed and elusive Canyon Falls or whether the entire collection is referred to as Canyon Falls, but the walk along the bounding creek was my favorite part of the whole hike.

Bridge to nowhere

The loop hike was wrapped up by way of the Rail Trail, which sports an actual railway trestle that abruptly ends halfway across a ravine. Didn't see any pile of rusting train carcasses laying at the bottom of the ravine from which I deduced the missing trestle half probably disappeared long after mining trains last ran here. The hikers' footbridge crossing semi-stagnant Jacksonville Reservoir's outlet and dam looked very much like a trestle but at least it went all the way across, unlike its railroad bridge cousin.

This way to Rattlesnake Gulch

My hiking buddies Glenn and Carol had both given me sagacious advice not to hike up Rattlesnake Gulch, despite that alluring and enticing name. Seems like it's like a Richard Hike with none of the benefits. Well, with an endorsement like that, don't you know I just wanted to hike up Rattlesnake Gulch? Especially since the trail leaving the junction with the Rail Trail didn't look all that tough as it inclined up into the oak-dotted gulch. But for today, I listened to Glenn, Carol, and my hernia and decided to save that one for later, for I will be back to this charming little park.

Mossy tree trunks were a thing on the Canyon Falls Trail

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

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Cut Creek/Bullards Beach Loop

During my usual wintertime pastime of browsing brochures, guidebooks, and websites, I came across a horse-trail map of Bullards Beach State Park. If I began at the Coquille River Lighthouse, I could cobble together a seven to eight mile route through the coastal woods and dunes lurking behind the beach. The allure of this route was that I had never been on the Cut Creek Trail, Northern Loop, and Tsunami Trail before, so all these routes were already pre-permeated with the alluring scent of new trail. Best of all, the terrain was fairly flat for the hernia-impaired and whatever could go wrong?

New camera took a picture of an old rock

Heh heh, a lot apparently, but more on that in a bit. First off, I was really excited about this hike because not only was this a brand new trail for me, but it was both a new trail AND a new camera! I had been having technical problems with my old camera so I ordered my accountant (to whom I'm married) to drop everything immediately and buy me a new camera, stat! That didn't work too well and I had to rephrase and resubmit so it sounded more like a politely worded request, plus I had to actually ask for permission, saying "please" and "thank you" and all that stupid polite stuff. But, after four days of impatient waiting, the camera arrived and it was now time to go play and hike. I think I was so overjoyed that I nearly ran across the dunes and capered through the woods like some of my uninhibited canine friends, hernia notwithstanding.

The mighty Coquille River

At any rate, the hike began near Bullards Beach Campground and I followed the paved trail overlooking the wide Coquille River to the Cut Creek Trailhead. Along the trail, Scotch broom heralded the coming hay fever season with a few desultory but vibrantly-colored yellow flowers. The paved pathway morphed into a soft brown trail comprised of decomposing pine needles flanked by a green coastal jungle and my new camera was immediately put to work.

Yes, this really is the trail

The Cut Creek Trail is primarily a horse trail and accordingly, begins at Bullards Beach Horse Camp. Upon entering the woods right at the start, I had to step around a puddle of water on the trail. The puddle was only an inch or two deep and I could nearly step across it with one manly stride. But that was too good to last. After the first puddle came another, and another, and another, etc. Each puddle was wider and deeper than the preceding puddle. It was kind of like a computer game in that you could brag "Hey, I made it to Puddle Level 14 today!" 

A knee-deep section of trail with a nice reflection

I'm not sure who Jack was but there is a Red Jack Trail and a Black Jack Trail that lead away from Cut Creek Trail to the beach. Both trails are about a quarter-mile long and hiking on either trail was eschewed in favor of the dubious hiking glory that awaited me on several miles of water-covered Cut Creek Trail. The surrounding terrain was heavily wooded and the thick growth made it nigh impossible to bushwhack around these puddles that now bordered on the size of small lakes. To make it worse, years of usage by the horse-riding crowd had turned the trail into an earthen trough and the puddles, just like teenagers the world over, now had a lot of lip. At some point, water began pouring into my erstwhile waterproof boots from above the ankles, making feet wet and cold. My boots were still mad at me over the Threemile Lake expedition and soon became pretty warm with justified ire. However, the icy coldness of the water kept any sweltering of feet to a minimum, but I got the point.

Trail shot (kidding!)

Suddenly, the path exited the woods and traversed a sandy track that was awesomely dry. Heh heh, that was just a joke played on me by trail-makers because the deep puddles soon resumed even if the dense woods did not. This was open marsh and beachgrass country and I found myself merrily splashing past a series of lakes and ponds that fortunately, were not part of the trail. I ran into several people exploring the dunes on horseback and while they seemed nice and all, I couldn't help but notice their steeds wading in water that nearly came up to their bellies, realizing that they were walking on the trail waiting for me in my immediate future. But after steeling my resolve and hoisting the new camera high, I bravely waded across while the riders, who had stopped to watch, applauded either my bravery or foolishness.

Pictures you take when standing in the surf

Well, after nearly three miles, it was nice to get out of all the standing water and on to the relatively dry confines of Bullards Beach. I had given up on the rest of the Northern Loop which, at a trail junction, appeared to have even more water on it than the Cut Creek Trail. Anyway, my loop route would be closed by a less taxing return on Bullards Beach. As I headed south towards the Coquille River, the day gradually changed from sunny to cloudy, and the surf transitioned to high tide. Normally, I'd run from the incoming waves but what the heck, my boots and the feet contained within were already soaking wet so what would be the point. I stayed put, letting the surf wash around my ankles while I photographed the scene. 

The North Loop was even more waterlogged!

So, to summarize, this was one wet-footed endeavor whether on beach or through woods. Sounds like a great hike to me, and don't listen to my boots! For more photos of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Cooper Creek Reservoir

Some random notes and observations from a recent round of health stuff: CT scanners resemble giant electronic donuts standing on edge and as they slide you in and out of the hole like so much jelly filling, but it doesn't really seem like much of anything really happens. However, the size of the bill afterward says something large and wondrous definitely happened. Also, the iodine injection associated with the scan gave me hot flashes that made me think this manly specimen was going through manopause. And speaking of manly specimens (besides the urine sample in the paper cup), why is this particular charter member of the male species afflicted with a hernia? Shouldn't it be called a hisnia? Asking for a friend.

Bird's nest fungus adorns a twig on the forest floor

At any rate, I'm not completely banned from hiking before the requisite hernia surgery but I've been instructed not to do any strenuous hikes. There's some wiggle room in that edict in that it is up to me to decide what is strenuous or not, "You know best what a hard hike is and what's not" said the doctor. I see what she did there, she put the onus on me should there be any hernia-related pre-surgery complications. Guess I'll have to keep my hikes mild in the interim, like this one around Cooper Creek Reservoir.

Jeff and Kim were training for their
upcoming Pacific Crest Trail through-hike

Beginning at the reservoir's dam, about fifteen hikers set sail with the first ten or so rapidly disappearing from the last five's sight within minutes. The morning was cool and quiet with low cloud cover fogging up the surrounding forested hills and mountains. The lake was still as a mouse hoping the hawk soaring overhead doesn't see it, and the mirrorlike surface reflected the clouds previously mentioned. Initially, the trail hugged the southern shore and we hiked exclusively on the cold and shady side of the lake.

C'mon in, the water's gross!

The lake's waters were colored an unappealing greenish brown, but then again it is winter and the tributary creeks run muddy this time of year. Later in the year the water will blue up and in the interim, we'll just have to restrain ourselves from drinking the water or jumping in for a quick dip. After several miles of hiking in a forest of young trees with the forest floor carpeted by ferns, red-fronded Oregon grape plants, and small lavender-flowered snow queen, we reached a broad meadowed swale that was the Cooper Creek inlet and the end of the lake.

The good part of the trail

We crossed Cooper Creek via a wide footbridge as we rounded the lake. From here on in, we'd be hiking back in the direction of the dam and trailhead. The trail used to end at a boat ramp and hikers then had the choice of completing the loop around the lake via paved roadway or returning back the way we had come for a longer distance with no loop around the lake. While we ate lunch at a scenic overlook replete with picnic table, Lane walked over to the boat ramp to unleash his inner Cooper Creek, so to speak. As we were gearing up for a return via trail, Lane came back waving his hands and yelling in that cute squeaky voice of his that the trail continued on past the boat ramp. Hey, maybe the circumnavigation of the lake had finally been completed!

The nice new trail begins a disappointing fade into obscurity

Our local mountain biking club has been diligently working on completing the trail around the lake, and initially, the new section of trail was freshly cut into the vegetation and soil but eventually petered out to a faint track covered by numerous fallen trees. Here, most of our group decided to walk uphill to the roadway and return via said roadway. After a brief round of pointless dithering, Michael, Lane, and I decided to continue on the faint path and bushwhack if need be, should the trail tread disappear altogether. Michael's dog Boog had no say-so in the matter.

A hike in need of a trail

Whew, that was work! Most of the last two miles were spent contouring a steep slope and ankles (and paws, too!) were soon fatigued from the constant sidehilling. Some enterprising and kind soul had left a trail of pink ribbon "bread crumbs" for us to follow yet on more than one occasion, we lost the official "unofficial" track in the thick and scratchy brush. Yet, the forest was green and lush, even if scratchy, and the lake was always below, sparkling in the afternoon sun like so many rhinestones on an Elvis impersonator's costume.

Lane, Michael, and Boog reach the boater's picnic area

It was jarring to suddenly leave the lakeside tangle of brush and brambles and stroll out onto a grassy picnic area but hey, after all that, we happily accepted the trail gods' beneficence. Tuned out we were on a boaters' but not a hikers' picnic area and we had one more bushwhack scramble to perform, much to the amusement of our road walker colleagues watching us and loudly pointing out that the only way up to the road was through thorny and skin-raking blackberry brambles. We responded in kind by pointing out that the road walkers were a bunch of namby-pambies at which point Rheo objected. Seems like while Lane, Michael, and I were busy handwringing over what to do, she just lowered her head and charged solo through the brush ahead of us. And here we thought we were such bad-ass trailblazers! At any rate, we conceded her point and granted an honorary membership into the He-Man Hiking Club. Boog was also granted an honorary membership, even if he was carried over fallen trees on occasion.

Thanks, guys!

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

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