Umpqua Spit 8/2015

The only other time I backpacked to the end of Umpqua Spit, the weather, the clouds, the sky, and (most of all) the sunset were truly spectacular. Based on that wonderful weekend, Umpqua Spit became a recent selection for a casual two-day backpack. Memory can be selective and I neatly overlooked my first hike there with friend-cum-victim Lisa. On that ill-fated venture we had to contend with truly horrendous weather and running for our lives from a sudden sneaker wave. But since the weather was so fantastic the next time out, I'm now a wild-eyed hand-waving Umpqua Spit zealot. Actually, I'm sufficiently wild-eyed and hand waving enough without the Umpqua Spit-inspired zealotry, but I digress. At any rate, I sang enough praises about the spit that Lane and Kevin both decided to join me for a fine spittin' weekend at the Spit.  

Who let the dogs out? Who? Who?

At first. the weather was reminiscent of my earlier (good) trip what with blue sky and puffy white clouds floating above the Oregon coast on a gorgeous day. Kevin brought along his dog Wish and Wish was only too happy to splash in the surf. For a while we were joined by a black dog who merrily frolicked with a kindred canine spirit before a distant call from his owner ended all that fun.

Tidal runoff

There wasn't a lot of water in Threemile Creek and boots barely got wet as we splashed across. It was low tide and the surf had retreated below some sand bars, trapping water behind the bars in large pools that a certain dog liked to splash around in. The pools drained in haphazard fashion and we had to wade across a fair number of runoffs. At the larger pools, we simply detoured around them.

There will be no birds on the beach, by canine edict

Gulls and flocks of sanderlings were parked on the sand and Wish made it his personal mission to make sure all the birds he could see were airborne and off what he deemed to be his own private beach. Us photographers had to take hurried pictures of the birds before the dog chased them away.

Where'd the sunny day go?

Roughly, it was about 6 miles to the jetty at the Umpqua River and the closer we drew to the jetty, the least amount of sun shone down upon us. A thick cloud cover was coming in and the temperature cooled down quite a bit. It was tending towards stormy when we arrived at the jetty and so much for the Umpqua Spit 'n shine.

Home, home on the spit

At the jetty, we left the beach and scrambled up to the top of a grassy dune and pitched our tents in the tall grass.  Lane was my immediate neighbor and Kevin was just beyond Lane's site. Even though Kevin was only about 25 yards away from me, his tent was completely invisible due to the tall grass on the dunes.

Rusted equipment on a rocky point

After setting up camp and eating dinner, we took a short hike up the river along the jetty . We explored a small and rocky point in the middle of Winchester Bay that looked like it had served some industrial purpose in the days of yore. There were rotting pilings and a corroded bin of some sort that contained rocks. The point was littered with rusty machine parts and equipment and one plastic toy shovel that probably did not originate from the days of yore. A nice view of the bay, the town of Winchester Bay, the Umpqua Lighthouse, and the sandy spit was appreciated by all of us, except for maybe Wish who just lived in the moment and didn't really care about all that stuff.

Morning, gray and wet

Unlike my first trip, there was no sunset as the heavy cloud cover took care of that. So we tucked in early as the fog rolled in. I had brought my two-man Kelty tent and it had been field tested in rain so I was pretty secure about keeping the wet air out. However, the field test had been several years ago as I was so reminded when a cold water drop plopped on my forehead. And that was my night: drip, drip, drip. I couldn't tell if it was condensation on the inside or fog leaking through the tent from the outside, my wet forehead could make no such distinction. Not the most comfortable night I've spent on a backpack trip!

Hiking into the void

Early in the morning, I crawled out of my soggy sleeping bag and entered a foggy world of gray, gray, and more gray. It was so thick, the ocean was not visible at all, although the sound of the waves could be heard. We struck camp quickly and began walking the six miles back to the car. It was foggy so we couldn't really see much although Wish still had no problem spotting birds to chase. After six perfunctory miles in the gray, we enjoyed a fine brunch at Don's Diner in Reedsport. Life is good when you have a full belly after a full weekend.

Umpqua Spit is Number 1!

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

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Dellenback Dunes

Not sure if anybody noticed or not, but I hike just a tad bit more often than the average bear, and it's sometimes hard to keep track of them all. There are only so much memory cells available in which to store, remember, and cherish all the thousands of miles that have flowed beneath my boots, so most hikes tend to plop on top of the memory pile and eventually get buried underneath the next pailful of hikes. However, this particular hike to Dellenback Dunes will be a notable exception as it was a hike I absolutely enjoyed more than most. The reason for the mental standout was not the great weather or the fantastic scenery, although that was more than enough of reason to up the enjoyment factor. No, the two reasons were grandsons Issiah and Daweson.

Let the big adventure begin

Although it was like herding a flock of twelve-handed monkeys, Dollie and I managed to get the two boys into the car with just enough time to meet the Friends of the Umpua Hiking Club at the Dellenback Dunes Trailhead. At the first glance of the expansive dunes, the boys were suitably awestruck and immediately ran up the sandy hills, keeping pace with our hiking comrades. At each crest, they rolled and somersaulted down the tall hills of sand, much to everybody's amusement. Because the kids felt compelled to repeat the spin cycle over and over again, the club soon left us behind as we progressed across the dunes at boy speed.

Gotta touch every post

Because of the transitory nature of the sands, there are no formal trails or paths across the dunes. Instead, there are a series of marker posts for the navigationally challenged that one can follow across the dunes. Once the boys figured out we were following the posts, then looking for the next post became a grand game. They were a little unclear on the concept of walking in the general direction of the posts, they had to actually touch each wooden marker. Since most of the posts were on a tall hummock, each post offered an opportunity to roll or slide down in the sand.  Needless to say, progress was slow across the dunes despite all the energetic running.

Oasis in the dunes

The weather was absolutely glorious with a cloudless blue sky arcing overhead while a cool breeze counteracted the bright sun...much photography ensued. For the boys, the coolness factor went up a few more notches when I found some quicksand near a small pond in a sandy depression. They just had to get knee deep in the stuff.

A rare dry stretch in the forest

More feet wetting took place when we reached the end of the dunes and grabbed the trail through the deflation plain forest behind the beach foredunes. The forest sits in standing water and a well-constructed boardwalk takes hikers through the worst of it. However, getting to the boardwalk required wading through deep puddles of standing water and I became the Coolest Grandfather Ever with each extended wade.

Off and running

Because we had lollygagged our way across the dunes, I surrendered to the inevitable and let the boys play on the beach, figuring we would return the way we came.  It'd be a short hike but hey, I can always hike a longer one on another day. So the kids frolicked in the surf with all the joyful exuberance of the young.

No one lost an eye

Issiah is somewhat of a pack rat and his pack was soon full of rocks, shells, sand dollars, and various other souvenirs. Each boy acquired a wooden staff and much mock swordplay ensued. A grand time was had by all as we spent about an hour on the beach.

Beach scarecrow

Neither Daweson nor Issiah wanted to go back and both boys were fairly insistent we do the full loop down to Tenmile Creek. Not sure exactly what I was getting myself into, I relented and we headed southward along the beach. Issiah ran his staff through the arms of his sweatshirt and dangled his shoes (he was hiking barefoot) and other accoutrements off the protruding ends. He looked like a baby scarecrow.

Fishhook on Tenmile Creek

Two miles later, we arrived at Tenmile Creek, glistening silver in the afternoon sun. The creek was more like a river, running wide and fast. Boys will be boys, and they just had to scramble up the sandy cliff at the creek's edge instead of walking up the dunes like their sensible and boring grandfather.

I'm the coolest grandfather ever

There is no trail leading away from Tenmile Creek back to Dellenback Dunes, so my young charges will look back at this point in time as their first exposure to that quaint activity known as bushwhacking. But before we could find bushes to whack (and vise versa), we had to negotiate a path through an extensive swamp in the Tenmile Creek estuary. Splish, splash, the boys thought the whole marsh wade added to the magical experience that is hiking. Internally, I compared their delight to some of my hiking companions (some of whom I'm not married to) who loudly complain about wet feet, as if they were going to painfully melt like some Wicked Witch of the West.  Daweson, Issiah, and I became the founders and charter members of the Sons of  the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club, where every hike will be required to have a wade in it.

I claim these dunes for Queen and country!

Once past the marsh, we entered the scrubland between Tenmile Creek and the dunes. A pair of jeans was lying all alone in the sand and we speculated at length as to how those jeans came to be there; all sorts of theories were postulated from forgetfulness to de-pantsing bears. My friends Lane and Dale would probably say we found the pants I famously forgot to bring on our Lost Coast trip. Near the pants was a colorful bandanna which was promptly affixed to Issiah's staff and now we had both a flag and a standard bearer.

Ants

After a mile of working our way through the forest and beachgrass hummocks, we came to a nice overlook of Tenmile Creek. We also had a nice view of the vast sandy expanse of Dellenback Dunes, most of which rose well high of our position next to the creek. Can you say "uphill to the car", boys and girls? Beelining for a tree island, we huffed a pretty brisk climb up to the top of a dune crest. The boys now had about 7 miles on their little legs and they were lagging behind their incredibly handsome grandfather on the climb up.

This is how boys rest

"Can we take a break? We're tired" they wailed plaintively. So we dropped our packs and I sat down for a snack and rest stop. The boys rested by running down the dune we had just climbed up, and engaged in more boisterous swordplay. After a few minutes they climbed back up the dune and then rolled down it. Obviously, the two lads were conceptually unclear on the "rest" or "stop" in "rest stop".

End of the 8 mile hike

We had a couple of more uphill pushes to the "Great Dune", a large dune that is the main route into and out of Dellenback Dunes. As promised, we stopped to allow Daweson and Issiah one last opportunity to soak in the magnificent beauty of the dunes by tumbling down them. So in the end, we wound up hiking 8.1 miles with not one word of complaint, something that has never happened before on a Richard Hike.

Mountains on the moon

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

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Dellenback Dunes

This was going to be either the last or the next to last hike of 2014, depending on how things went. You see, my New Year's Day resolution had been to hike 500 miles in 2014.  Not much new there, that's always been my goal for a number of years and yet I've always wound up somewhere around 425 miles. Pacific Crest Trail through hikers can do 500 miles in less than three weeks but several impediments called "work", "wife", and "laziness" have always gotten in my way.  But this year, the mystical magical goal of 500 miles was well within sight as I began this hike on Dellenback Dunes with only 8.3 miles to go. 

Sand slide

The Dellenback sandbox is always fun to play in, but I've also hiked in it a bunch of times and was trying to figure out a way to keep things fresh and interesting. So, instead of continuing straight to the beach, a hard right turn was made and wisdom of that move was immediately brought into question. In front of me was a large and tall dune, rising up to the sky like a soft and sandy Mount Rainier. I sensed burning leg muscles in my future.

That was work!

Huff...puff... hands were required on the way up and it was two steps up and one step sliding backwards down the sandy slope. At the top of the "peak" was a trail marker which was somewhat surprising, didn't know people came up here at all.  From the top of the broad sand dune, a nice view was had across the sandy expanse that is Dellenback Dunes.

Dune #2

The dune was oriented in an east-west direction, pointing directly to the beach about a mile and a half away. To the north was a series of equally formidable dunes running parallel to this first dune. So, what does our lucky contestant get in reward for climbing this dune? Why, he gets to do it four more times!

Where alien pod babies come from

In between Dunes 1 and 2 was a deep canyon and growing nearly everywhere at the bottom, were some type of fungal pitchers or vases. They looked all the world like eggs from the nasty creatures in "Alien". I figured they were more likely discarded deer egg casings from the spring hatch.

Dead zone

Dune #3 was noteworthy for a forest of dead trees on top, sparsely crowning the summit like the equally sparse hair on my head. Apparently a forest thrived up here at one point, eventually giving up the whole exercise of staying alive. It had the solemn air of a cemetery and I tiptoed respectfully past in silent homage to the resting spirits.

C'mon sun, you can do it if you try
It couldn't!

On the climb up the face of Dune #4, the sun broke out and bathed the dunes in a soft golden glow. Hey this would be a nice day after all! However, by the time I reached the top of the dune, the sun had disappeared behind incoming rain clouds and would never make another appearance.

Hall Lake

Dune 4 was probably the biggest and baddest of the bunch and I angled across the steep slope instead of making a futile charge straight up the hill. Paddling frantically with my feet just to maintain altitude, I managed the summit, collapsing in a heavily breathing and gasping heap of goo on the sand. There were footprints all over the summit in an indication of a nearby trailhead at Hall Lake.

Bridge over Hall Lake's creek

Hall Lake straddles the border between forest and dunes and I paid a quick visit there. A fellow hiker was out for a walk with his dog and we briefly discussed the movie "Wild", both agreeing that watching a movie about the Pacific Crest Trail for two hours on the big screen has to be pretty awesome.

A rare bona fide trail encountered on this hike

Between Dunes 4 and 5 was a formidable canyon full of thick vegetation and nascent forest but the good news was that there was a trail from Hall Lake leading through the canyon. That simplified the route finding and besides which, the climb out was not too bad either, thanks to the trail. 

Yardangs

Dune #5 was probably the most photogenic due to all yardangs on top. "But Richard, what the heck is a yardang?" you ask. It sounds like my attitude about yard work but it really is a term for sculptures made by the wind. The wind had been busy here lately and all manner of turrets, pyramids, and other sand structures ran along the crest like the dorsal plates on a stegosaurus's spine. Much photography ensued.

Sand swirly

By this time, the hike had covered just over two miles and despite the short distance, I can honestly say it was the toughest hiking I've done all year. Climbing steep slopes of soft sand was nothing but hard work. However, once atop Dune #5 it would be all downhill as I followed the dune down to the plain and forest tucked just behind the beach foredunes. 

...and then the rains came

By this time, dark clouds had dimmed the light from a feeble sun and the temperature was dropping rapidly. A blustery wind blew and rain was in the offing, the only question being how far away from the car I would be when it hit. And of course, the answer is at the farthest point possible from the car. It always happens like that, it must be a weather god rule.

Rain puddle

There were were more puddles on the flats than could be found on a kitchen floor when housetraining a puppy. The terrain was quite marshy and I quickly discarded the notion of wading through the standing water to access the beach. I wandered hither and yon, skirting the larger ponds and puddles, sometimes sinking in quicksand as I beelined towards a prominent tree island in the sandy expanse.

Marshes kept getting in the way

At the tree island, a left turn would take me back to the car and the end of roughly a 7.5 mile hike, leaving me short of my goal of 500 miles. So, for additional mileage I headed south towards Tenmile Creek. Unfortunately, a series of marshy canyons kept turning me east. And with cold rain continuing to fall, I was rapidly losing enthusiasm for hiking.

Marching dunes

So back to the trailhead I go, figuring that even if I was so much as a tenth of a mile short of the magic number of 8.3 miles, I'd be hiking in the rain the next day. However, at the trailhead my GPS read 8.3 miles and my yearly total wound up being 500 miles exactly. Now I'll have to figure out how to top that in 2015!

Sand art

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

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Umpqua Spit

I had so much fun backpacking to the end of Umpqua Spit last May, I just had to bring my Friends of the Umpqua friends to the spit. Of course, what was an easy two-day backpack trip became a more challenging day hike due to the round-trip 11.7 miles of beach walking. Also, there'd be no awesome sunset on the day hike version as we'd be back in Roseburg well before day's end. On the plus side, a trip to the coast would be a great way to escape the frying pan sizzle that has been southern Oregon this summer.

Maureen flies across the tidal flat

The day was blessedly overcast as clouds covered up the shore like a misty blanket of coolness; the temperature was in the high 50's and just perfect for hiking. As we (all eight of us, plus two dogs) set out on the beach it was apparent the ocean had been busy sculpting the beach as there were a number of ditches and flumes carved into the beach. We crossed Threemile Creek but it was hard to tell exactly where as there were a number of impromptu ponds and water flows that we had to hike through and around. I kept comparing the relatively rugged beach to the flat-as-a-pool-table shoreline that I had encountered on my spring backpack trip. 

Low tide exposed churned up beaches

There weren't any other hikers out on the beach besides our little group and we were passed by a small contingent of noisy four-wheelers tearing up the dunes. On the hiker-only sections of the Oregon coast, they rope off the dry sand part of the beach and post warning signs for hikers to stay on the wet sand in order to protect the snowy plover. They don't even try with the motorized crowd and I'll take that as a compliment. At any rate, this hike was miles and miles of lonely beach.

Umpqua River on the left, ocean on the right

After about 4 miles, the Umpqua River jetty hove into view and we homed in on it like a mosquito homes in on a hot and sweaty hiker. Once we arrived at the jetty it was time for a lunch and laze atop the rocks. We had a nice overlook of the Umpqua River and across the river in Winchester Bay they were having their annual Dunefest. The Dunefest is probably why we did not see more four-wheelers on this hike.

The sun, it burnsss us, yess!

On the way back the tide started to come in and all the hydrologic sand carving was covered up by the sea. Just like my spring hike here, the beach was now smooth and flat and we were clicking off 18 to 19 minute miles. Including outrlunch time, we averaged 24.5 minutes per mile. We were walking almost as fast as the four-wheelers! Towards the end of the hike, the clouds dissipated, the sun came out, and we returned to blistering hot Roseburg.

Charlie's Angels?

For more pictures of this long beach walk, please visit the Flickr album.

Somebody hacked up a lung, or maybe a spleen

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Umpqua Spit weekend

Years ago, I took co-worker Lisa on a hike to Umpqua Spit and boy did that ever turn out to be a Richard Hike! We had it all: strong winds, horizontal rain, high tide, storm surges and sneaker waves that filled up Threemile Creek and cut us off from the car. That was Lisa's first hike with me and amazingly, we enjoyed other hiking adventures after that memorable outing, probably because no one ever told Lisa she could just say no. From that first abortive hike on Umpqua Spit, I came back with newfound religion about hiking in stormy weather on the beach and I never returned to the spit again.  To be frank, I'm scared of Umpqua Spit.

Halfway across Threemile Creek

However, when snow forces one to scratch a weekend backpack trip to Hyatt Lake, then the coast warrants a second look. The forecast for Saturday morning called for rain, winds, and thunder. However, all that was supposed to ease up by 11 o'clock with the weather becoming increasingly nicer. Since high tide was going to crest at 10 o'clock, I began my hike at noon and it was "hike on!" And since the spit's point is one of the few places on the Oregon coast that I have not yet been to, it was "spit on!"

Cue the horror movie music

I caught a lot of rain on the drive to the coast but once there, it was a gloriously sunny day with white puffy clouds forming just off shore and just on shore. The strip of beach was a cloud free zone and it was nice to get sunburned again. The next six miles were a beach walk with only sanderlings and sea gulls for company. I probably was not good company, judging by the feathered panic at my arrival to the respective flocks minding their own business at the shore's edge.

Puff balls in the sky

Clouds and blue sky were a recurring theme, particularly a low bank forming just off shore, looking like a spilled jar of cotton balls seen in medical offices the world over. The clouds hovering over the nearby town of Reedsport were much larger, towering up into the sky like a wedding cake Godzilla. I have no idea what I'm saying, but let it be noted that much photography ensued.

The jetty rocks!

Past the three mile mark, an otherworldly low dark line on the horizon was my first view of the rock jetty that shepherds the Umpqua River into the Pacific Ocean. Visually, it was a way to track my progress as I neared the jetty, my basic end destination. And over an hour after the first view, I arrived at the formidable rock wall that both contains and constrains the mighty Umpqua River.

Feel the hay fever

Setting down my pack on the sandy beach, I explored the jetty upstream a bit, following a jeep track through what would have otherwise been an impenetrable forest. It was a perfumed forest, redolent with the sweet odor of Scotch broom which was blooming everywhere. Waves were marching up the very wide Umpqua River and I had a nice view of the Umpqua Lighthouse spinning its top on the other side of the river.

Behold the mighty Umpqua River

I have to brag about my campsite, a viable candidate for Best Campsite Ever. I pitched my tent on a small flat spot atop the foredunes, with my humble little home for the weekend perched on the narrow sandy crest like a medieval castle overlooking serfs and peasants laboring in the hot sun.  From my living room window I enjoyed a magnificent view of the beach, jetty, and river as the sun sank in the sky. As day slid into twilight, the tide was coming up the river and the Umpqua was not a happy Umpqua where river outflow met the incoming tide, it was a seething and roiling boat-eating mess of angry water.  Impressive, when seen from the relative safety of the jetty rocks.

Oooh...aaah...!

The sun eventually dropped behind the clouds, which appeared to leak golden light like a tattered tent with a Coleman lantern in it. Eventually the gold turned to orange as the sun finally sunk behind the horizon. A short hike up the jeep track resulted in some photography of the twinkling lights of Winchester Bay as the beam from the lighthouse swept overhead. This whole day is why we hike.

Threemile Creek, on the return leg

The next day dawned cold and foggy and I struck camp with numbed fingers. Once the sun rose, the fog dissipated and it was a pleasant but anticlimactic 6 miles back to the car under cloudless sky. After wading across shallow Threemile Creek, I arrived at the car with a great sense of accomplishment, particularly in view of the first Umpqua Spit storm-loogie of an experience. As the president and sole member of the Umpqua Spit Conquerers, I hailed myself by heartily shouting our motto: "Veni, vidi, et conspuetur", which means "I came, I saw, I spit"

This is why we hike

For more pictures, please visit the Flickr album.

Be it ever so humble...