Bandon Beach Sunset (fail) Hike

This was intended to be a nice hike on always reliably scenic Bandon Beach with a late start designed to end the beach walk right just in time for sunset. However, high tide was at 7:45 p.m. and sunset was at 8:55 p.m. and I really needed to be on the right side of Grave Point before high tide rolled in. The timing was so tricky that the hike finished about 90 minutes before sunset. At that point, my options were to wait and shiver in the stiff and unrelenting ocean breeze or sit in the very boring but wind-free car for the next hour or so. Actually, there was a third option that I did exercise, namely that of going home and missing the sunset altogether. So, as sunset hikes go, this was a fail but as a late afternoon hike, it was undeniably a rousing success.

Bullards Beach sprawls on the other side of the Coquille

Not every hike begins at 4:30 in the afternoon and like Happy Hour patrons the world over, the day already had that late afternoon glow about it. As I laced up my boots at the Coquille River's south jetty, iconic Coquille River Lighthouse presided over the relatively calm river. On the tip of the north jetty, tourists had walked out to the crumbling jetty's end in a clear temptation of fate. Good thing the surf was placid, for that jetty can be pretty dangerous even on a good day.

The ever sparkling sea

Once I actually started hiking, I pretty much stopped hiking as the sunlight glinting off of the ocean's surface immediately got my attention. The ruffled surface incessantly sparkled like the world's biggest mirror ball and this was too much for an incredibly handsome hiking dude with a camera. After several million photos (so many of the same subject, yet each photo is different) I figured I probably should give the camera a rest and actually do some hiking.

The land route past Coquille Point

The tide was incoming yet low, but not low enough to let me walk in front of Coquille Point. No worries though, a quick scramble through a rocky and sandy gap behind the point made for an easy pass-through to Bandon Beach proper, where the sea glittered in the afternoon sun like so many rhinestones on a country singer's coat.

So much of his hike was about beach and rocks

Bandon Beach is oft-visited and with good reason. The curving bay was full of waves and whitecaps, and numerous islands and sea stacks dotted the silver sea contained within. Some of the islands were pointy and in my mind, resembled my dog leaning against my legs when her neck gets scratched. The islands are part and parcel of the Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge which serves as an island rookery for seabirds of various specie. The larger islands' skyline were somewhat serrated looking due to the birditude standing shoulder-to-shoulder atop the jagged rocks. Meanwhile, flocks of seabirds floated around the islands like mosquitoes swarming a backpacker, the birds looking for any available square inch in which to stand among their brethren (birdren?).

When the green flag waves

A heatwave was currently baking southern Oregon but you'd never know it at Bandon. While the day was sunny and bright, a strong and cool wind kept things chill enough for me to wear a jacket for the entire hike. The wind had created interesting patterns on the beach with small rocks resembling swarms of speeding atoms in a particle accelerator. There were also small wind-created dunes, stipplings and striations which reminded me of foam floating in a cup of mocha.

And he was never heard from again

Because I wanted to beat the tide at Grave Point, Haystack Rock at the 3 mile mark was my turnaround point. Oof! The hike back to the jetty was headlong into the wind and I walked most of the way back leaning forward like a bodybuilder towing a semi on a rope, ignoring the fact that my musculature and physique more resembles spaghetti cooked well beyond al dente consistency. My legs got a healthy workout though, and that felt good, to be honest.

Art and artist

While hiking, I had run into several mandala-like designs scratched into the wet sand, with most in the process of being reclaimed by the incoming tide. Finally though, I ran into Cheri from Portland, who was the artist responsible for beautifying the beach. She was gracious enough to let me take a picture of her art and a victory pose to go with.

Forever staring at the sun

It was about an hour before high tide when Grave Point was rounded past, and since the tide was still fairly low, no hikers in my party of one suffered any wet mishaps getting past the point. Across from the point and in the ocean, Ewauna (the native name for Face Rock) is forever forced to gaze skyward and surely she must be sunblind by now.

A metallic ocean

I wasn't sunblind yet but there were plenty of sun spots in my vision due to the constant reflection from the ocean. Half the time I couldn't even tell what I was photographing because of the blinding light from the giant fireball in the sky. However, by the time I ended the hike, the onset of sunset was still over an hour away and as previously stated, I didn't hang around until then. It seems wrong to begin a hike at 5:30 or 6:00 in the afternoon but that's what I'll have to do next time if I want to make this a successful sunset hike. 

Texture of a receding wave

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

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Bandon Beach (Face Rock to New River)

Late one night, I found myself mindlessly perusing YouTube videos and somehow got onto the subject of sneaker waves. I sort of consider myself somewhat of an expert on the subject because I've had the dubious pleasure of running from the sly surf many a time, with the outcome being uncertain in several of those mad sprints. I can state from experience that sneaker waves really are that sneaky, they look just like normal waves until you realize too late that what looks like a normal wave just keeps coming and coming. Anyway, watching videos of people getting chased by sneaker waves made me want to go hike at the coast. Weird, but then again, that's me.

The coast is calling and I must go...

The basic plan was to hike on Bandon Beach from the Face Rock Viewpoint to the New River and back. High tide was cresting at the start of the hiking festivities, so from here on in the tide would be waning and I'd be less likely to have to flee any would-be sneaker waves like a lumbering pregnant rhinoceros. Despite it being high tide, it was not overly high, leaving me plenty of beach available to hike on.

The still formidable remains of the morning storm

I had driven to Bandon in a miserable rainstorm which did not augur well for today's outing. However, the storm broke up shortly before my arrival at the trailhead and it wound up being a mostly sunny day on the beach. But a large wall of clouds, remainders of the morning storm, piled up menacingly above the town of Bandon all day. Likewise, a cute little cloud bank formed and re-formed just out over the ocean but never migrated from that spot. Both cloud banks were a favored photography subject throughout the day.

Rock gossip "She thinks her barnacles make her SO special!"

Bandon Beach is spectacularly adorned with islands, rocks, and sea stacks piled up in acute jumblage and the scenery attracts beachgoers the world over. But hike south for a bit, you then pretty much have the beach to yourself, not counting gulls, oystercatchers, and twittering flocks of sanderlings. Once you hike past the end of Bandon, then it's nothing but a beach in its natural and wild state for the next 20ish miles, of which I'd only be hiking about 4 of those miles.

China Creek weaves its way to the ocean

After the first mile or so of hiking, Bandon Beach showed me its Johnson. The first of three creeks requiring a wet ford across was Johnson Creek, well engaged in every creek's quest to join forces with the ocean. Next up and maybe a mile further was Crooked Creek, which really was crooked as it sashayed across the beach. Last but not least was China Creek, which was likewise snaking its way across the sands. Needless to say, boots got wet on this hike.

Haystack Rock and island friends

Just past the Devils Kitchen area, whose name reminds me I need to brew up another batch of salsa, the fantastic island scenery recedes behind as one hikes south, with looming Haystack Rock being the last of the islands large enough to have a name. Flocks of seagulls floated around the imposing monolith topped with green vegetation while waves broke against the island in futility. These islands are part and parcel of the Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge and no doubt serve as rookery for the oceanic waterfowl population. 

Nothing but empty beach lies ahead

Once past Haystack Rock, it was just a handful of much smaller rocky islands stranded on the beach by the receding tide, with each island or rock formation being smaller than the preceding one. And then just like that, it was nothing but soft sandy beach with no rocks at all, just miles of wet sand glistening in the mid-day sunlight. Lane, Dale, and I backpacked this stretch of wild coast several years ago and came to hate hiking in the soft sand but loved the coastal scenery.

The New River gracefully curves across the sands

At just under the four-mile mark, the New River hove into view. The river looked more like creek as it was roughly the same size as China Creek and was an easy splash across. While the river was not that large, the vast expanse of bare sand at the river's mouth was an indicator that this river does carry plenty of water in winter. The mouth of the river is migrating north and was about three miles from where the map said it should be. In fact, when I've been here before, the New reached the sea at the confluence of the New and Twomile Creek. However, today Twomile Creek was nowhere to be found so presumably the New has migrated further north since my last visit, proving that a large river can go anywhere it wants to.

The tide was quite low on the hike back

After lunch on a large driftwood log at the river's edge, I went upstream (searching for Twomile Creek) along the graceful bends of the sinuous river. I ran into one lone hiker and we were both a little surprised to have company at this lonely place. And from there, it was a 4'ish mile walk back at waterline toward the rock formations of Bandon Beach and the relative throngs of admirers thereof. The ocean had drawn way back because of the low tide, creating a maze of sandy walkways between the islands, allowing for exploration of tide pools and such.

Kind of hard for waves to sneak up on me today!

Well, because of the waning tide, I did not have to make any mad dashes to safety, as there had been no sneaker waves sneaking up on me. I was most grateful for that, as well as for hiking on our beautiful Oregon coast on a sublimely beautiful day.

A small bank of puffy white clouds float just offshore

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

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Bandon Beach

About a half mile into our hike, Daweson just had to stop and do some totally senseless and inane back flips with all the joy and enthusiasm of youth. His ebullience was contagious and there'd be no sadness or wallowing in pity for me this day, I knew there was a reason I brought him along!

Sun, land, and sky

Bandon Beach is awesome, there's no other way to put it. The scenery is world-class and hiking along the beach with its miles of rocky islands and points is one of my favorite things to do. On the day of our hike, the weather was superb, making an already great hike even better. The day could never quite make up its mind whether it was cloudy or sunny, but there was more than enough blue sky to gladden hearts and spirits. While semi-sunny, the temps were cool, just perfect for hiking, and our only small complaint was a pretty good breeze blowing in our faces on the walk back to the car.

Islands, islands, and more islands

Another plus on this day was that the tide was out for most of our hike, making all the islands accessible to curious hikers and tidepoolers alike. Although to be technical about it, should an island be referred to as an island when it really isn't an island during low tide? Does it have to be surrounded by water on all sides 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year (366 in leap year) to qualify as an island? Just asking for a friend. At any rate it was cool to be able to walk down among the islands stranded high and dry by the retreating tide.

A perfect day for hiking

As previously stated, the sun was out and the sky was blue with that crystalline clarity that only occurs on a crisp winter day. There were just enough puffy white clouds to keep the day on the sunny side while making for some nice photography as they floated above the beach. A brisk breeze kept an airborne armada of colorful kites afloat as we started. Because of the low tide, there was plenty of beach to walk on and the wet sand reflected the clouds and sun as if it were a low-resolution reflecting pond.

Before

After

                                       

Daweson jumped on a low rock at surf line and did his best one-footed Grandpa pose and I obliged by whipping out the camera. However, through the viewfinder, I could see the wave rolling in behind him and so was able to click off a photo sequence of his being overrun by the surf, complete with comically surprised expression on his face and all. There's two lessons here: never turn your back on the beach and never trust your grandfather. At any rate, his new and previously dry boots had just been properly initiated.

Elephant Island is the largest of the bunch

The last several times I've been at Coquille Point, we've had to scramble over the rocky point due to a high surf. Not today though, we were able to beach stroll around the point, and take in an up-close view of the maze of islands at the point with surging waves snaking their way in between. Elephant Rock has a large ocean-carved tunnel through it and we stopped to watch the ocean flush out the island's lower digestive tract, so to speak.

Oceal: Look at me!
Princess Elwauna: Neverrrr...!

From the point, we enjoyed a leisurely walk along the arcing bay of Bandon Beach, sited between Points Coquille and Grave. The morning sun reflected on a shimmering sea that glittered more than stage lights on a 70's hair band. The islands here resemble all sorts of things from old boots to to lobster claws to my dog leaning back to get her neck scratched. The star of the phantasmagorical collection of islands and rocks is Face Rock, the face thereof belonging to the native princess Elwauna of legend, forever forced to look away from the ocean.

Crooked Creek sparkles

Daweson's boots were just not going to dry out this day as we had to splash across Johnson Creek and later on, Crooked Creek. Both creeks are fairly sizable and although they both fan out across the beach, the main channels of each still remain an ankle-wetter. Once across Johnson Creek though, the islands thinned out a bit with the last major one, Haystack Rock, looming in the distance.

Haystock Rock afloat in a silver sea

After a mile or so on a beach littered with crab parts and other gull lunch leavings, we walked by Haystack Rock, splashed across Crooked Creek, and touched the last rock on the beach to mark our turnaround point. And back the way we had come we went. And yikes, we were catching a full face's worth of cold breeze!

Wind painting on beach sand

We hadn't really noticed the breeze on the walk out because the wind was at our backs which had been protected by our day packs. The wind was really noticeable when certain hikers who like to photograph, got down on one knee or lower; then the windblown fast-moving fine grains of sand applied a stinging dermabrasion treatment to incredibly handsome faces. But the sand on the beach was the Sistine Chapel to the wind's Michelangelo and the artwork of stripes, swirls, and tie-dye in all shades of tan was beautiful enough to justify the skin pain from the near-ground photography. I just hope everybody appreciates my facial skin's bravery and sacrifice.

Daweson braves the wind inside the cave

By this time, the tide was lazily incoming but would be still relatively low for the remainder of the hike. It did become high enough though, to force us to use the scramble route over Coquille Point. Grave Point presented no such problem, although we did take the cave tunnel through the point just for fun. The narrow passageway funneled the wind into gale force proportions as we staggered our way through.

Just gotta ruin my photo, don't you?

When we arrived at the jetty shepherding the wide Coquille River out to sea, a lone surf fisherman was plying his solitary avocation. The rock Daweson had been standing on when the wave had overrun his little perch was no longer visible, being covered up by the incoming tide. Daweson politely declined my request to reenact the morning photo. He seemed tired at the end of this hike but when I told him I'd buy him a jalapeño burger, I daresay he had enough youthful energy left that he nearly did another flip for joy. Such is the enthusiasm of the young, and that's why I brought him along.

More beach abstract art

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

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