Dellenback Dunes (Hall Lake Route)

At December's commencement, I was well poised to reach my yearly goal of 500 miles but unfortunately, sort of ran out of gas due to weather, sore knees, and life stuff. Still, I wound up with 469 miles hiked in 2020 and that's respectable. But here we are in a brand new year and this was the first hike of the year. Brand new year but still some travails, apparently. On this particular hike at Dellenback Dunes, I felt a sharp pain somewhere "down there" that left me feeling teste, pun intended. After a post-hike round of tests and stuff, turns out I am the proud father-to-be of a brand new baby hernia which would explain the burning pain in my groin. And just to clarify, this particular burning in the groin is the kind you get when you are sixty-four years old and not the cool burning in your groin you get at say, age twenty-four. Anyway, I dispiritedly erased my 2021 goal of 500 miles off of the message board hanging in the kitchen. Hernia surgery and the requisite period of post-surgery recuperation will do that to a mileage goal.

Across the dunes we go!

Dellenback Dunes is one of those places I seem to hit pretty regularly and since I've been hiking eons, I've visited the sandy expanse an eon's worth of times. To keep from getting bored, I try to find a different route to keep the dunes interesting and while I had done the version that connects the John Dellenback Dunes Trailhead with Hall Lake several times, most of the attendees on this Friends of the Umpqua hike had not, allowing me to experience the freshness of the hike by listening to their complaints about the endless mountains of sand we were hiking up and down.

This hike provided lots of quality "Whee!" time

There are basically like five mountain ranges of sand running between trailhead and lake and the first slope is one of the steeper ones. The day was overcast, but we were all soon quite warm from the exertion of hiking up steep slopes of soft sand. On the plus side, the steep drop-off on the other side of the crest was fun to watch as hikers ran down the slopes in ebullient glee like first-graders exiting the classroom for recess. Although, nobody could match the exuberance and joy of canine friend Gus, who ran back up the slope solely for the delirious pleasure of running back down again. Me, I just calmly walked down the sandy slopes because like the day, I too am gray and chill.

Spirits of forests past

Our second "little" hill was through a ghost forest, a highlight of the hike. It's hard to imagine a forest growing in what seems to an entire Arabian peninsula of sand in Oregon. Yet, there they are, the bones of several dozen dead trees half buried in an arborescent graveyard, with the top half of the trees serving as grave marker and headstone. This arboreal necropolis is a reverential place and we stopped to mourn the trees' loss of life and generally just ponder the meaning of it all. I'm not sure how a mini-forest of evergreen trees ever managed to grow tall in the middle of all that sand but you can't argue with the spirits of the dead manifested on the crown of this sandy crest.

Our lunchtime view of Hall Lake

After several more ups and downs on several more tall alps of sand, we arrived at the slope overlooking Hall Lake and stopped to admire the vista for a bit. Hall Lake sits on the dividing line between coastal forest and stark dune and accordingly, the east side of the lake was heavily forested while on the west side, the tall dune we were eating lunch on sloped directly down to the dark waters.     

Not looking at any dang yardangs!

The Hall Lake overlook was the culmination of the 4th climb up a steep slope of sand so several of our party opted to hike return by way of that dune crest while the rest of us tackled Dune Number 5, which was the meanest one out of the whole bunch. But Dune 5 is the coolest, scenery-wise, for the combination of rain and wind had carved the damp sands on the dune crest into all sorts of sculptures (known as yardangs) resembling random pyramids and temples. Those with cameras explored the yardangs while those without lowered their heads and toiled up the steep sandy inclines, oblivious to the splendors of the sandy ramparts and revetments sited just below.

Linda leads the mad charge across the dunes

After the dune descent, we were happy to be hiking along the edge of the behind-the-beach marshes until the main body of our group grabbed the trail to the beach. Linda, Don, and I opted to return directly to the trailhead at this point. Don and I have each recently lost a close family member, so naturally in the middle of this celebration of nature and life, the main subject of our conversation was death and dying. But it was therapeutic and helped mute the increasing pain in my lower side. Stupid hernia, anyway.

A veritable Mount Rainier of sand looms on the horizon

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

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Eel Lake

Eel Lake isn't very eely, that I can tell. I did do some cursory research into the small mystery as to how the lake came by its name but while bass, trout, crappie, steelhead, and Coho salmon inhabit the lake, there was nary a mention of a historical eel encounter, story, tale, or legend. After walking on the Eel Lake Trail, my theory is that from above, the lake has lots of arms that wriggle out from the main body like so many eels. I'm open to other theories, by the way.

Eel Lake, in all its eely glory

The lake is part and parcel of William Tugman State Park, with the western shore being the only civilized portion of the lake, what with campgrounds, park, boat ramps, docks, and kiddie swimming areas. The lake is not all that big but with all those eely arms, it would be a 40 to 50 mile hike if one were to hike the entire shoreline. However, that would be a venture with a high degree of difficulty as the Eel Lake Trail only follows the shore for about 4'ish miles; the remaining 35 to 45 miles would be by bushwhack through the densely forested slopes surrounding the lake. 

If Richard were a mushroom

When I started hiking, it was a crisp winter morning where the sun was out in full sunshiny glory that did no good at all, seeing as how it was 27 degrees. Naturally, the swimming area was devoid of any aquatic-inclined humans. The trail immediately crossed over Eel Creek and ducked into a well shaded forest that quickly had me rummaging through my daypack, searching for a few more layers of clothing. That was the only thing that was quick about this hike.

Orange eels emerge from the depths of the black earth

The mushrooms were out in full force on this chilly morn and I spent a lot of time lying on the ground, in search of the perfect photo of the perfect fungus. Not much hiking got done while engaged in this particular activity. Anyway, after photographically cataloging every fungal specimen sprouting from the ample decaying biomass flanking Eel Lake, I was grateful to continue hiking and warm myself up a little. By the way, there was a clump of orange eely fungi emerging from the earthen depths, maybe that's how Eel Lake got its name.

Alder grove

The trail spent about 90% of its time in the well shaded woods but on occasion, brief glimpses of the lake were seen through a frame of cedar and rhododendron branches. About 2 miles in, the cedar and conifer gave way to leafless alder, their bony arms stretching to the heavens in supplication. You could almost hear their anguished cry "Hey, give us our leaves back! We're freezing down here!"

Ankle-breaker bridge

And now a word about the "bridges" and "boardwalks": Numerous creeks crossed the trail and the path also ran through some swampy patches; both of these situations required some kind of human invention to ensure hikers remained dry-footed. The fine folks at William Tugman Park have fashioned crude bridges and boardwalks by laying poles across the various wet spots, with the poles oriented parallel to the trail. The cracks between the poles were then chinked up with mud. Those things were slippery and there was a high likelihood of a an ankle slipping between two such poles if one was not careful. I safely negotiated the obstacle course by keeping with my feet perpindicular to the poles, but sheesh!

Eel Lake, from the trail

The shoreline was quite serrate and the route spent a lot of time weaving around small coves and bays, ducking in and out like a boxer looking to land a punch. Eventually the path rounded an arm of the lake and began heading north, there was much rejoicing at the sunlight slanting through the trees next to the lake. The temperature became relatively balmy and all those additional layers of clothing were soon stowed back in the pack. There were several viewpoints along the way with benches strategically sited for some lakeside contemplation and I partook thererof.  

Fungi was everywhere

The length of the trail is officially advertised as a 3'ish mile long trail. But really, it sort of depends on the mood and ambition of the trail maintainers. Prior to this hike, I had perused a couple of hiking blogs and the consensus was that the trail disappeared into the brush long before 3 miles. However, I shall sing the praises of the trail crews for at the 3-mile mark, I was still hiking on a well-maintained trail. At the 3.7 mile mark though, the trail was following an eely arm that soon became choked with brush and debris. It became downright swampy even, and the trail quickly degenerated into a muddy mire. My brand new boots were sinking into the goo with attendant sucking sounds as I extricated one foot while the other one sunk into the smelly black muck. Past the fetid swamp, the trail disappeared into the brush on a faint track that looked like it was used by deer more than hiker, and that was my cue to turn around and head back to the park.

A mushroom sprouts from a stump

On the return leg, the trail angled up a short but steep incline and I lowered my head and focused on the hard work of hiking uphill. Suddenly and without warning, a wolf entered the limited field of vision underneath my hat brim and I pretty much near voided my bowels. Turned out the "wolf" was a friendly German shepherd whose owner was laughing pretty hard at my discomfiture. He said I squ-eel-ed like a little girl but I also flopped and twitched like a landed eel. Maybe that's how Eel Lake got its name!

Eel Lake, at the end of the hike

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

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