Oregon Coast (Near Floras Lake)

I really should know better. It's not like this hasn't happened before. But the lesson here, dear readers, is that one should ALWAYS respect the ocean even though the respect isn't necessarily mutual. The sea is ever ready, willing, and able to merrily smite complacent or inattentive hikers, Exhibit A being this hike on a half-sunny half-stormy day.

The dividing line

Several  years ago, Dale, Lane, and I backpacked the longest continuous beach stretch of the Oregon Coast Trail and our first night was spent at a very crude and primitive campsite next to the New River. So, I figured I'd revisit the campsite by way of Floras Lake on an out-and-back beach hike. What a great idea and what could possibly go wrong?

A great start to this hike

The day was crisp and clear and the sky shone a bright blue with all the sparkling clarity winter air engenders. With a skip and a whistle, I set out on the trail and my mellow was immediately harshed by a warning sign. Literally, it was a rumpled note tacked onto the trailhead bulletin board. Sounding ominous and dire, the notice advised that the beach conditions were way too dangerous due to high surf. However, my inner paralegal noted the sign was dated yesterday and did not mention, cite, or allude to this current day, leaving me a legal loophole large enough to hike through. Based on a) nothing bad ever happens on a clear day and b) if there was a surf warning for today, the note would have said so, and c) those warnings don't ever pertain to me anyway; I decided to ignore what in hindsight, was very prescient advice.

Say bye-bye to the nice trail!

Accompanied by my own sense of delusional infallibility, I stepped around the sign and started hiking. The trail to the beach was underwater from a rain-swollen Floras Lake and I merrily splashed through the extended puddles before peeling to the north on a path I'd never been on. Halfway through a grassy expanse behind the beach foredunes, said path disappeared under several feet of standing water. Sheesh, but the grass made bushwhacking (grasswhacking?) easy and in short order, I found another path leading to the beach.

Belligerent wavery

The ocean was angry. There is no other way to describe it. The waves were booming and frankly, were somewhat on the large side. However, due to the recent storm action, the beach sloped steeply into the ocean which meant that while the waves were large, they didn't run up the beach at all, being effectively deterred by simple slope geometry and gravity (vector cross products and coefficients of static friction too, for the mathematically inclined). 

Shoreline turbulence

The fact the waves did not run far up the beach meant that I could get really close to them and take some awesome pictures of the thundering surf wanting to eat me. Laboring under the misapprehension that I was safe and secure, progress along the beach was slow while the photography was fast and furious. It was time for Master Poseidon to teach Richard a lesson.

Booming waves, as far as the eye can see

The camera was pointed northward along the coast, with my eyes and concentration totally affixed to the scene in the camera viewfinder, when a movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. It was whitewater in the air, coming in about waist high, and moving faster than a cheetah on a rocket. My mind analyzed the situation and quickly deduced that the airborne water brigade was the leading front of a speeding wave. Obviously, my mind works slower than a speeding wave because before I could take evasive action, I was in it.

Incoming!

The violence of the onrushing water was unexpectedly shocking, for that wave enthusiastically clouted my backside like my abuelita did after catching me in a fib. My hiking pole was rudely snatched out of my right hand and I staggered like a punch-drunk boxer (or even a drunk boxer, for that matter!) in a desperate attempt to remain upright. The outcome of remaining upright was very much in question at that point. I'm proud to say that in a nanosecond, I took firm and decisive action which consisted of raising the camera skyward with my left arm while crying out to the heavens "No, not the camera!" Priorities.

The breach into the New River

The surf quickly retreated, thanks to the steep slope of the beach and I retrieved my hiking pole from where it had been deposited. From that point on, I hiked on the crest of the beach foredunes, soft sand be damned. Truth be told, the beach foredunes were not very tall, and there was a reason for that, which became evident when the New River curved close to the beach. 

The New River on a winter morn

The foredunes are formed by European beachgrass growing next to the beach. As windblown sand collects around the grasses, the dunes grow in height, eventually getting to be 15'ish feet tall. However, on the small strip of sand separating the New River from the beach, there was no grass growing at all. Why? Because the rampaging ocean had clearly breached the dune, running into the New River itself. And here I was, hiking on the precarious sandy perch between two bodies of water that could hurt me if they put their minds to it.

The Coast Range rises on the other side of the New

On the plus side, there was no impromptu hydrologic engineering while I was there and the scenery was fantastic. The wide river glinted in the morning sun and the coastal range rose up in the distance, seemingly coming close to touching the sky. On the ocean side, the noisy waves were a bright white in the early sunlight. Maybe nearly getting drowned was worth all this, but not really.

Clouds start scudding in

I didn't get very far north, not even getting remotely close to the primitive campsite. The walking was tedious, consisting of fighting for footing in soft sand and wading through hummocks of beachgrass. But no way was I going to hike down on the beach! The tide was definitely incoming and it was a logical presumption that hiking conditions would become increasingly challenging. I called it good after several miles and turned back to the south, in the direction of Floras Lake and Blacklock Point.

Not a question of if, but when the rain would start

A storm was undoubtedly blowing in from the southwest and skies quickly became dark with ominous clouds. It was time to quickly hoof it back to Floras Lake but instead, I hiked even slower, taking photo after photo of increasingly belligerent surf and cloud cover. I'm glad to report that there was no more hiker-smiting by the ocean although it did start to rain just as I reached Floras Lake.

Stormy view to Blacklock Point

So the lesson here, dear readers, is always make sure your camera is waterproof! Heed the warning signs, too.

Floras Lake as the day went gloomy

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

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Cape Blanco

If this was not the best day ever on the coast, then it was at minimum, the second best day ever on the coast. In Roseburg, December 2017 will forever be remembered for a protracted air stagnation weather thingy that resulted in dense fog smothering the Umpqua Valley all day and every day, or at least for 57 days of the month. So, by time Lane, Colby, and I drove over to the coast for a hike, the dearth of sunlight had nearly become a medical condition. Probably some kind of neurosis, too. Maybe even a psychosis. At any rate, the lack of sunlight had us all standing under florescent lights in the kitchen, in a vain attempt to remember what sunlight even felt like. Given all that, it was nigh a religious moment when we parked the car at Cape Blanco under a cloudless blue sky.

Needle Rock is the Oregon's largest candle

The temperature was balmy too, hanging around 60 degrees all day. It was absolutely glorious to be able to hike in shirt sleeves under sun and sky. We weren't the only ones enjoying the weather either, as other hikers were also out and about, taking advantage of this miraculous turn in the weather. Even the wildlife were deliriously happy to bask in the sun, as evidenced by a fox skittering into tall grass, its restorative sunbathing rudely interrupted by our drive-by.

A very large Boulder Bar on the Sixes River

We grabbed the trail that follows the Sixes River to the beach, and it's always amazing how the Sixes rearranges itself from season to season, On this day, the river coursed past a boulder bar that had never been as large or extensive on my prior visits to the area. Same old sea lions, though, and one popped out of the cold river to enjoy the sun on the opposite bank, and we could totally relate.

The end of the Sixes's journey

Startled by our intrusive arrival, a bald eagle rose up from the grassy pasture, majestically soaring towards Castle Rock. The Sixes pooled languidly behind the beach and ripples from large watery sea creatures swimming just under the surface had us wondering what kind of creatures they were. I guessed mermaids. Where river met sea, an otter fled the beach and disappeared into the waves, conceding the sand to us humans. Wow, that was quite a lot of wildlife diversity for just a half-mile of hiking!

Castle Rock, looking particularly castle-ish

Castle Rock, a large island in front of the Sixes River mouth, dominated the scene as the beach arced to eminently visible Cape Blanco, the historic lighthouse affixed to it like one of Lane's birthday party hats. The bay between us and the cape was scenically cluttered with random rocks and islands strewn about, with Gull Island and Castle Rock being the only two deemed worthy enough to merit a name by the Oregon Geographic Names Board. 

View towards Blacklock Point

The sand is very soft on the beach and Lane and I were having PTSD (Plenty of Trudging in Sand, Darn it) flashbacks to a past three-day backpack trip along the coast, but the splendiferous sunlight somewhat eased our mental anguish. After a mile of not-so-painful hiking in soft sand, the beach ended at Cape Blanco itself and the soft sand was exchanged for the solid dirt path charging up the grassy coastal bluffs. Getting to the top of the bluffs was work, so a stop-and-gawk at the historic lighthouse was in order, as was an early lunch. Sun, sky, views, lighthouse, and a jalapeño sandwich: life was good, indeed.

A giant dragonfly, hunting giant mosquitoes

There was a group paragliding off the cape and we observed them practicing their craft, riding the wind currents like giant dragonflies. Cape Blanco is renown for high winds and holds the record for the highest recorded wind speed in Oregon; the record being 179 miles per hour on what surely must have been a memorable day in 1964 for all the wrong reasons. Don't think the paragliders of the time were riding wind currents on that particular day. If they were, they probably landed in Topeka.

City on a hill

A steep and muddy track down the south face of the cape dropped us on the beach. Fortunately, we all remained upright on the descent, although there were a few near misses. A pointy spire with the descriptive name of Needle Rock marked the start of the next segment of beach walking. I'm not sure why sand is piling up against the imposing cliffs here but perhaps rising sea level is the culprit. My little theory is that the rising ocean is bringing more sand onto the beach and because of the cliffs, the sand has nowhere to go. Trapped between surf and cliff, the sand unhappily accumulates at the base of the cliff. At any rate, the damp sand had been eroded by wind, surf, rain, and sun; the resulting formations were amazing, resembling so many ancient cities carved into mountains.

Deep, dark woods

Less than a mile later, we arrived at the driftwood pile where the Cape Blanco Campground road met the beach, and that was our cue to leave all the sand behind, and burning leg muscles were grateful. But not so fast, leg muscles, you still have a short but steep climb yet to perform. The paved roadway climbed briskly to the top of the coastal bluffs, the keyword being "up". Fortunately, the uphill grade mellowed out a bit when steep pavement was exchanged for mostly level dirt-treaded Oregon Coast Trail. The OCT threaded its way through a dense and dark forest before abruptly spitting us out into the bright sunshine atop the bluffs.

The forest is too dense to bushwhack through

Blinking myopically like blind cave salamanders in the open sunlight, we followed the trail through dense growths of waist-high salal. We had spent most of the day hiking, so by now the sun was sinking low, imbuing the coastal scenery with the soft golden light that heralds the imminent arrival of sunset. At the cape, we enjoyed the epic view towards Blacklock Point, the Sixes River, and Castle Rock in the fading light. Instead of returning by way of beach, we entered the forest and continued hiking on the OCT.

Gull Island in a big ocean

Man, it was dark in them thar woods! The trees are packed so closely together that not much light penetrates the dense tangle of branches. The deep shade would be nice on a hot day but at the end of the day, the woods were darker than a black hole in space. We did reacquaint ourselves with what daylight looked like by taking a short side trip to a viewpoint overlooking the coast.

Not so wild life

We had seen quite a bit of wildlife on this trip and there would be one more wildlife encounter when we inadvertently ambled into a flock of sheep on the descent into the grasslands flanking the Sixes River,  Panicked, the sheep comically ran down the only place they could, which was the trail. So we got to scare them for a half mile or so, good thing I didn't have Luna with me, she would have made sure the sheep got plenty of exercise.

Lane and Colby enjoy a father-son hike

So, on this hike we saw wildlife, experienced awesome coastal scenery, and most of all, enjoyed a superlative sunny day. The only blot on the day, however, occurred on the way back when a pickup towing a trailer in front of us left the road and spectacularly wiped out in a ditch. Fortunately, nobody was hurt in the accident. Hiking is so much safer than driving!

Colby carefully picks his way down Cape Blanco

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

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Floras Lake

Hiking with grandson Liam went like this:

Mile 1: Grandpa, I'm tired, can we stop now?

Mile 2: Now I'm tired AND hungry, can we go back pleeeeeze?

Mile 3: I want my mommy!

Mile 4: No more words, just lots of tears

Where there is water, there is Luna

Well, if truth be told, none of those things happened but I did mention (or threaten) to Liam that I would write in my blog that he cried the whole time. So, there it is, I kept my promise and put it in the blog, but now here's the real story about our hike in the Floras Lake area.

My peeps

Liam had relocated from Spokane, Washington to Grants Pass, Oregon a couple of summers ago, and while we see him fairly regularly, the sad fact remained that up until this hike, we had only talked about hiking together. Well, when you have a grandson that politely nags you vicariously through his mother, plans get made. And so it came to be that on a cool mid-September morning, Liam and I headed out to the Oregon coast for a moderate hike. Other strenuous routes had been considered, but in the end Liam decided to take it easy on me.

Open-mouthed joy

The other hiker in our little trail party was my dog, Luna. Hiking festivities commenced with a tiring trudge in the soft soils comprising the sandy shore of Floras Lake, but Luna wasted no time running at breakneck speed through the lake's water. It is impossible for anybody else to ever have as much fun hiking as Luna does. Liam and I did not run at breakneck speed, as our inadequate human legs were already feeling the sweet-hot muscle burn that comes with hiking in soft sand.

Spooky trail

Once the lake was left behind, the Oregon Coast Trail entered a deep dark forest comprised of gnarly trees that so resemble the spooky trees surrounding witches's houses in fairy tale books. Unlike Hansel and Gretel, though, we did not get lost in the forest. As an aside, Hansel and Gretel could have avoided a lot of witch-generated stress if they would have simply consulted their GPS on a more frequent basis.

Much of the hike was through beautiful forest

Not that it was a hot day or anything like that, but the forest was luxuriously shaded and the absence of light was eminently enjoyable. After several miles of this, the trail dropped down to a languid creek which required a long jump across, Luna being seemingly happier to simply wade through the still water. There used to be a wooden boardwalk spanning the knee-deep water but winter floods have since swept it downstream and it is probably a thousand pieces of kindling by now.

One of several view-stops

After leaving the creek, the path climbed up to the forested coastal bluffs and would remain there for the next mile or so. Periodic bushwhacks led to the cliff's edges with awesome views of the untamed Oregon coast being our ample reward. At one such viewpoint, a rock arch on a beach below provided a notable point of geologic interest.

Why we hike

There used to be a faint path through the scratchy coastal scrub to a particular overlook that provides my favorite view in all of Oregon. However, over the years, robust vegetation has overgrown the trail and the last time I hiked here, I led a group literally inching on our backs underneath all the thick growth. But today, coming in from the north, a faint path angled away from the main trail and we followed it to see where it went.

It's a Richard Hike!

It led, as all faint paths do here, to the edge of the cliffs. The good news though, was that it was low vegetation and grass all the way to my favorite viewpoint, about a quarter-mile away. A wade through knee-high salal was performed by the two humans while the dog contingent joyfully leapfrogged over all the scratchy and pokey growth.

A flock of seagulls

From the orange-colored bluff, the cliffs stretched for several miles to the north, while the coast arced beyond until it could be seen no more. Below, the surf seethed and churned, throwing itself onto the dark sandy beach in an endless succession of waves. A large flock of seagulls flew out over the ocean and "I Ran" (gratuitous 80's synthpop band Flock of Seagulls reference).

Imposing Battleship Bow

Immediately below and to the south of our cliff-top perch, waves crashed upon the rocky wall of Battleship Bow while a small waterfall splash-landed at the feet of the craggy point. Life is good when surrounded by such stupendous scenery, especially when properly spiced up by a jalapeño sandwich, although I noticed Liam's sandwich contained an appalling lack of jalapeños.

The side trails were faint and overgrown

After a nice long lunch 'n laze, it was time to pack up and bushwhack back to the trail. Upon our return to the languid creek, we opted to drop down an overgrown path to the beach. This beach is kind of on the wild side, with tall cliffs forcing hikers to have to hike near the water's edge on a narrow strip of sand. The shore slopes away rather steeply from the cliffs, which means the waves crash noisily upon the shore but do not run inland much at all. But it can be dangerous, though, slipping down the sandy slope will drop you down into an unforgiving ocean churn, and if waves roll up all the way to the cliffs, there is no place to run and hide. 

Imposing cliff, seen from beach level

Naturally, our progress along the cliffs was painstaking and careful, we walked as close as we could to the the tall wall of orange rock. After a half-mile or so, the beach widened and all thoughts of mortal danger were left behind on the narrow beach. Piles of kelp, stranded by waning tides, littered the beach and resembled giant green spaghetti noodles on a sandy dinner plate. Continuing further along the beach, the cliffs became less and less imposing: either we were getting taller or they were getting shorter. I'm guessing it was the latter.  And just like that and without ceremony, the cliffs disappeared altogether underneath the sand, leaving a long sand-only beach stretching out into the distance under a blue sky.

Liam on the return, by way of Floras Lake

A short walk along Floras Lake finished off this hike while Luna ran mindlessly in the water all over again. I said nobody can enjoy a hike like Luna does, but I think Liam and I came close. We both agreed we will have to do this again, soon.

Zen moment

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

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Blacklock Point

Blacklock Point is a frequent repeat customer hike of mine. Rinse, wash, repeat: Blacklock Point, over and over again, like a trail version of Groundhog Day. But why not? The coastline is particularly dramatic with imposing cliffs looming over a narrow beach, and the trail spends lots of quality shade time in between all the awesome viewpoints. Catch this little section of the Oregon Coast Trail in spring and you will be rewarded with impressive wildflower displays of rhododendron, lupine, iris, wild strawberry, and coastal huckleberry (see photo above). Frogs and newts populate the vernal pools covering the trail and naturally, feet get wet and muddy, always the sign of a great hike. Of course, catch the Blacklock Point and Floras Lake area in winter, and hikers will be "rewarded" with nasty wind and rain; been there and done that, too. But for me, the prime attraction is one clifftop viewpoint in particular that seems to get harder and harder to get to due to encroaching brush. But until it becomes impossible, as opposed to plain old very difficult, I'll take yet another spin on the Blacklock Point merry-go-round.

Yes, it was windy

I'm not the only one that feels that way, for The Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club is also a frequent flyer to Blacklock Point and thus, an early May hike was scheduled there. It was time to get back on the Blacklock Point hamster wheel to renew my never-ending acquaintanceship with the aforementioned fantastic coastal scenery. Grandson Daweson had never been, though, so he was only too eager to come along with me.

Daweson demonstrates the proper technique
for getting past standing water

It was a gorgeous day at the coast. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the trail was covered with deep puddles that were nearly ponds, or whatever is the next rank up from deep puddles. Well, two out of three isn't bad! When we arrived at the first puddle covering the trail, Daweson looked at me, and I at him, and without discussing the matter further, we simply splashed through like the two boys we are. Once across, we had to wait for our comrades to finish beating their way through the brush and side trails to get around. It's amazing the lengths people go through just to keep their feet from getting wet, like the Wicked Witch of the West was their podiatrist, "My feet are melting! My feet are melting! Oh what a world!"

The trail was newty

Snakey, too!

Newts and cute little baby garter snakes were in abundance on the wet trail, delighting amateur herpetologists and horrifying squeamish hikers with equal amplitude. Neither specie was afraid of the puddles, either. Anyway, after dodging puddles, newts, and snakes; we arrived at the junction with the Oregon Coast Trail and made the left turn toward Blacklock Point.

Into the deep, dark, woods

The woods were as dark and cool as a troll's lair, and I liked it. Shade loving plants like rhododendron and skunk cabbage thrived in the undergrowth just off trail. And just past an awesome backpacking campsite (I speak from personal experience), the forest ended and we walked out into bright sunlight, blinking myopically like so many cave newts. Sun and blue sky, it's finally summer: not! Despite the sunny day, a blustery arctic wind had teeth chattering in no time at all, while cuffing us around on the grassy cliff south of Blacklock Point. Jackets were quickly donned, and loose hats and caps were quickly doffed and stuffed into packs and pockets so they wouldn't blow away.  

View to Cape Blanco on a fine day

Despite the wind that made photography difficult (lets see you try to take a picture while staggering in the wind like a spastic marionette!), the views were awesome. To the south, the coast arced gracefully to Cape Blanco with the little bay bisected by the Sixes River and Castle Rock. Wind-driven whitecaps dotted the deep blue ocean's surface like a bad case of marine dandruff. I thought I spotted a tell-tale spout from a whale's blowhole but really, it could have been a whitecap too, it really was hard to tell the difference.

Yay,we got us some cliffs!

A short walk along the grassy edge of the Oregon world brought us to the Blacklock Point overlook. Directly below, reposed the black rocky crag of Blacklock Point itself, with a chain of islands dot-dot-dotting a stepping-stone path away from land. Normally, we stop longer to enjoy the view but the consensus was we all just wanted to get out of the wind. It really was cold!

This was the easy part of the bushwhack

So, back to the coastal trail we go and the next item on the itinerary was a clifftop viewpoint overlooking a waterfall. Rheo swears there is a path to the cliff but once again (this happened last year, too) we didn't see an obvious path. There was a less obvious path though, and for some reason, I found myself in front, leading the way for a pack of increasingly disgruntled hikers.

Straight down

The brush was thick and scratchy and we had to duck a number of scraggly tree limbs, the clawing branches seemingly intent on applying a tree tribal tattoo to the unwilling. The end result was we didn't get to the cliff Rheo wanted but we did manage to get to my favorite viewpoint in all of Oregon. Or, at least my favorite view until the next great view on the next great hike. 

No caption needed

The cliff here is orange dirt and is oddly barren. But oh, the view! The abrupt and cliffy edge of Oregon was visible for maybe about 20 miles or so with the sandy coastline curving north towards an unseen town of Bandon. And yes, we could see a bit of the waterfall, even though Rheo said the view thereof was cooler from the southern cliff. For some reason, nobody wanted to bushwhack over to the other viewpoint to the south. A hasty retreat was beat to tall grass, and lunch was eaten in an impromptu windbreak of grass and coastal scrub. 

Bushwhackers, and not all that happy, either

The enjoyment was short-lived however, as again I was designated like a Vibrum-soled and incredibly handsome Moses, to lead my people to the Promised Land, the sanctified destination in this case being a return to the trail. Yikes! I was familiar with the bushwhack route away from the viewpoint but the brush has really overgrown what was really a faint path to begin with. I knew I was about to get foul invective hurled my way when I had to butt-scoot, fully prone on my back, under a dense thicket of wind-twisted spruce trees. When we finally made the trail with most of us scratched and bloody, six-year old Emma (our youngest hiker) sported a toothy grin and gave me a high-five. "That was fun!", she said. I couldn't agree more, although most hikers agreed less.

A rock arch decorates the beach below

Our next little bushwhack venture further down the coastline, was to an overlook of a stately rock arch on the beach below. However, the bushwhack was nowhere as arduous as what we had done earlier, darn it. At this point, we split up into two groups with six mileage addicts following me further down the coast.

Trail through woods most excellent

The Oregon Coast Trail here peels away from the coast and follows an old road bed through a sublimely beautiful forest. The undergrowth was lush and green, and the tree branches overhead were as gnarled and twisted as a wizened hag's fingers, but enough about my ex-wife!. You could almost hear the Wicked Witch of the West cackle from the tangle of limbs "Come here, my prettys!". Then suddenly, we strode out into bright sunlight where we overlooked wind surfers flitting on and above Floras Lake, our turnaround point.  

Boots were harmed in the hiking of this hike

Daweson and I explored the beach a bit while the others headed back on the Oregon Coast Trail. The OCT had more puddles deep enough to nearly attain pond status. Frogs jumped into the water in panic but we could see them on the bottom, eyes closed and clicking their webbed heels frantically: "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home!" 

Cleared for takeoff!

Well the OCT portion of the route, while pretty and all, was over 3 miles long in returning back to the trailhead at Cape Arago Airport. At the airport, the proper and safe route calls for hikers to cross a field above the runway and return via the Blacklock Point Trail. But tired hikers and tired grandsons cheat and walk down the runway, nervously looking over their shoulders for incoming planes. As Daweson and I drove home to Roseburg, he started planning a return trip for his younger brother Issiah. Looks like Daweson, wants another ride on the Blacklock Point Twirl-a-Whirl, and I completely understand.

Rhododendron bugs me

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

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