Oregon Dunes

On the face of it, one can presume mid-November to be a wet, cold, and blustery affair at the Oregon coast. More often than not, you'd be correct in your presumption. But then again, there are semi-sunny days like this one where I tempted fate by hiking at the Oregon Dunes in shorts, but thankfully was not taken to task for my karmic impertinence. 

A crisp and clear morning on the beach

The weather was a little on the chill side and most of the Friends of the Umpqua group began the hike with jackets and full pant legs on, present deranged company excepted. I've found from past experience that if you start your hike dressed for warmth, you'll become overly heated within a few minutes or so of exertion. Me, I just start out like a first date: cold at first but plenty warm before too long. And sure enough, after the first mile or so of hiking to the beach, a large contingent of perspiring and overheated hikers stopped to remove some of their nine layers of clothing. After a few more miles of hiking it'd be pretty much a given that by then all hikers would be desperately sawing off pant legs. 

It was a pleasant two mile beach walk to Tahkenitch Creek

After our perfunctory walk to the beach and clothes-removal stop (jackets and coats only, you perverts!), we turned to the south and headed toward unseen Tahkenitch Creek, yet several miles ahead of us. The sky was sort of unusual in that it was gray on top but gloriously blue to the rear, just like me. Obviously we were hiking under a cloud border of sorts but we had nothing to declare as we passed through customs. 

Lane horks up a jellyfish

The beach was littered with debris, deposited onto the beach strand courtesy of some recent storms. Logs and driftwood were strewn about and in one case, a fully branched tree in its entirety. Clam shells, sand dollars, and jellyfish were all found and examined by beachcombing hikers, the jellyfish resembling the largest and slimiest boogers ever. 

Moody clouds hovered over Tahkenitch Creek

We ate lunch at Tahkenitch Creek to the accompaniment of keening sea gulls doing the same thing. I think we had the better food though, but we were entertained watching the birds forage at the water's edge. Tahkenitch Creek looked to be more river than creek, being quite wide as it reached the end of its journey and the same thing can be said about most of us too, now that I think about it. As we lollygagged, ominous looking clouds scudded overhead and we wondered if we were going to get rained on or not. We didn't and the blue sky to the north remained although it became less and less a commodity as the increasingly cloudy day waned.

The world within Tahkenitch Creek

After a couple of more miles of beach walking, we left the beach via Exit 114, the bright neon yellow sign totally at odds with the foreboding gray sky above. The plan here was to make a loop hike through the Oregon Dunes, but first we had some forest walking to get through. A side trail in the woods led to a viewpoint of Tahkenitch Creek, its overly calm surface reflecting the weak sun fighting its way past the cloud cover. A resumption of the forest walk led us to another awesome overlook of Tahkenitch Creek.

Tahkenitch Creek takes the long way home

Here, the creek snakes to and fro in a series of exaggerated oxbow bends below the sandy dunes, resembling a large watery snake lazing or slithering in the sun. It's a spectacular sight and we stopped for a few minutes to admire the sinuous serpentine curves of the creek before resuming our journey across the sandy dunes.

Hi ho, hi ho, across the dunes we go

In the dunes, there is no formal path per se, but marker posts keep hikers on track and in theory prevent the map and compass-challenged set from getting lost. It was several miles of sandy dunes, beachgrass, small lakes, and ponds before the trailhead area appeared, inconveniently sited on top of a large hill made entirely out of sand. Just to do something different, Lane and I opted to hike up the sandy slope instead of grabbing the customary trail through the coastal woods.

Why we walk uphill in soft sand

Oof! That turned out to be quite the Sisyphean struggle because for every two steps up in the soft and shifting sands, we slid down one. Although at times, it felt like we backslid three steps for every two. But the fun part of this impromptu route came not from the awesome view of the dunes and distant ocean, even though that was pretty cool too, but by virtue of the fact that our people were expecting us to appear on the trail, and not from the rear. "Watch this!" said Lane, he of the evil grin. He pressed the panic button on his key chain and his vehicle, which everybody was leaning up against, exploded into honking and flashing chaotic cacophony. You know how it is when you touch a cat that is all coiled up, ready to pounce and the startled feline reflexively launches skyward, arms outspread in an involuntary four-limbed crucifix pose? Yeah, it was kind of like that, making a great hike even more enjoyable!

The day darkens as the hike ends

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

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Taylor Dunes and Stiltcoos Trails

My exploration of all things Siltcoos continued with several short hikes in the Siltcoos River area. None of the trails in the vicinity of the Siltcoos are particularly long but by stringing several of them together, hikers can cobble together a cumulative distance worthy of the long drive from Roseburg. And I did that very thing on a superb spring day at our Oregon coast, several days after my hike to Siltcoos Lake, also in the same area.

A small piece of Taylor Lake

The first hike of the day was at Taylor Dunes, located a few miles south of the Siltcoos River. The trail began at Taylor Lake, a small coastal lake reposing in a dense forest. While the trail followed the shoreline, it really wasn't easy to see the lake as it was mostly hidden by dense vegetation ringing the lake basin. In fact, there is only one place where you can get a good look at the lake, and it's only a partial view at that.

A fern paw beckons

After a half-mile of walking alongside the mostly hidden body of water, the trail peeled away from Taylor Lake and headed uphill through the coastal forest. The day was sunny, but you would never know it from walking in the well-shaded forest. Tall rhododendrons arched over the trail, their palmate leaves providing shady relief to hikers perspiring from the labor and toil of walking uphill. A healthy population of ferns fascinated as the fronds were curled up tighter than a fetal position at the feet of a growling bear. The tips of the fronds looked like curled monkey paws crooking their feral fingers in my direction, to entice (or lure) me further into the dark forest.

Taylor Dunes spreads out from the trail

All the cool shade ended when the trail crested a high point and entered the dunes. An expanse of beachgrass-covered sand dunes stretched out in front of me under a bright sun and blue sky. Beyond the dunes was a forest growing behind the beach foredunes because European settlers had decided importing beachgrass was a good thing. The beachgrass then happily created the beach foredunes and effectively interrupted the cycle of dune replenishment, which in turn allowed the forest to establish itself. Beyond the forest were the foredunes and beyond those, was the actual Pacific Ocean. 

Beach strawberry was in bloom

The terrain and scenery reminded me a lot of Tahkenitch Dunes which was only natural, since they both share the same basic ecologies and biomes. But where the Tahkenitch Dunes Trail just shoots perfunctorily straight across the sand dunes, the Taylor Dunes Trail wanders hither and yon on its curlicued way to the beach. The route sort of reminded me of those beetle tracks you find on sand dunes in the morning, going everywhere yet nowhere in particular.

If I don't go in, the deer can't eat me

After a wiggly tour through the sand and beachgrass, the path entered the forest and said goodbye to all the nice sunlight. Basically, the trail was a tunnel of darkness because the tree and forest growth was so thick and impenetrable that they effectively prevented most of the sunlight from filtering down to the trail. It would have been a perfect place for the deer to ambush me, but I'm glad to report I was not waylaid by the cervine thugs and safely made it to the beach without getting robbed of my hiking poles.

Beautiful beach on a painfully windy day

This was the second time in my life I'd considered hiking to the Siltcoos River from the south. It would have been a fairly long hike from Taylor Dunes but the whole hiking to the Siltcoos thing was rendered moot anyway when for the second time in my life, a strong wind blowing from the north dissuaded me of that notion. I don't carry a pocket anemometer with me, but I always carry my Face-O-Meter, which calculates wind speed by measuring pain caused by wind-driven high-speed sand particles impacting delicate and tender facial skin. I'd venture to guess the wind speed was pretty near forty miles per hour and I quickly walked back into the dunes while some epithelial cell layers still remained on my incredibly handsome visage.

The Siltcoos River flows lazily by

After completing the short Taylor Dunes tour, I hopped in the car and drove over to the Waxmyrtle Trailhead and headed down its namesake Waxmyrtle Trail. For most of this hike, the trail stayed high above the Siltcoos River in yet another lush coastal forest. Frequent openings in the forest provided plenty of vantage points from which to observe and ponder the Siltcoos flowing lazily below. Underneath the trees was a dense undergrowth comprised mostly of salal and coastal huckleberry, each specie profusely flowering in full spring song.

Willow catkins poof out

After a mile or so, the trail exited the forest and ambled between the marshes and ponds setting up shop behind the beach foredunes. And once the marshy bit was exited, it was back on the beach getting sandblasted again. I see a trend here, and maybe I should just give up on hiking to the Siltcoos River from the south. Of course, if I were to hike to the river from the north, I'd still have to endure the high-velocity dermabrasion treatment on the way back. Maybe I'll come back armed with a face shield or suit of armor.

A quiet place on Siltcoos Lagoon

Just like before, I hurriedly removed my poor face from the windblown beach, while I still had a face. After a perfunctory hike back to Waxmyrtle Trailhead, I crossed the road and began hiking on the Siltcoos Lagoon Trail, a short loop that follows the interior shoreline of the lagoon. The lagoon used to be a large oxbow bend in the actual Siltcoos River, but when the campground road was constructed, it effectively detached the oxbow from the river, converting a flowing river into a lethargic lagoon which will eventually dry up and become a meadow. Wow, between the beachgrass and lagoon, I got to observe and experience first-hand some mankind-caused environmental mayhem.

Salal dangles like so many teats on an udder

Despite its unnatural creation, the lagoon is truly a peaceful place with still ponds and marshes dying and lying next to the forested trail. Waterfowl occasionally ruffled up the lagoon's surface when they fled the scary (yet incredibly handsome) hiker. On the inland side of the path, salal dangled its white hairy flowers next to picturesque boardwalks spanning the numerous reed-filled marshes in the area. After a mile or so of walking past the tranquil still waters of the lagoon, the loop was closed and I decided I'd hiked enough for one day, and so ended The Great Siltcoos Tour of 2019.

Ant-eye view of a mushroom on a tree trunk

For more photos of these three trails, please visit the Flickr album.

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Siltcoos Lake

I had hiked to Siltcoos Lake many years ago and at the time, I was somewhat underwhelmed by the hike. It was not very mileage worthy, lasting only 4'ish miles or so of meager distance, and was basically just a short walk through viewless forest until the lake was reached. At the lake, the views thereof were partial and I just wondered what the point was. So why go again, if that's how I felt? Well, I was looking for a relatively easy backpack trip to take grandchildren on and it seemed like a short hike and a lake to frolic in could be a winning combination as seen through children's eyes, so off I went on a scouting foray to Siltcoos Lake.

It's definitely trillium time!

It didn't take long for me to completely revise my former opinion about this trail. Yes, the hike is short and yes, the forest is viewless, but what a gorgeous forest it was! Maybe you just have to hike it at the right time of year, which in my opinion and based on this latest hike rendition, just might be late April. Or maybe you just have to hike it in the right frame of mind, which is also a strong possibility of why I enjoyed this one so. The forest was lush and green, the mottled forest light was simply sublime, and armies of elegant trillium were blooming in regal tri-petaled stateliness on the forest floor. What's not to like about this hike? 

Short but gorgeously sweet

The first part of the hike was a pretty good uphill pull that only lasted a mile or so until it reached a trail junction with the unimaginatively but directionally named North Route and South Route. For no particular reason at all, I went left on the North Route, which turned out to be a gentle meander through sumptuously shaded woods as the footpath gradually descended down to the lake.

Huckleberry bushes work on making berries

I had slathered on sunscreen like I normally do but really, it wasn't needed on this hike. I was hiking in deep shade most of the time while sunbeams illuminated the odd spot of trail here and there. The forest was eminently colored green what with dense patches of fern and salal flanking the trail. Where there was no fern or salal, there were soft cushiony layers of emerald-green moss carpeting the forest floor. I daresay you could almost hear the forest gnomes (excluding this blogger) laugh with glee as they capered and frolicked among the trees. 

Eager youngsters gather around Grandpa

The forest had been logged in the past and most of the trees were thin and spindly in testament to their relative youth. However, interspersed between the matchstick trees were some old-growth giants, clearly illustrating the difference between young and old trees. Stumps from the forest of yore supported a small population of seedlings being nourished by decaying nurse logs and stumps. And speaking of old-growth specimens, I continued onward with my hike.

There's no place like home!

After a couple of miles of pleasant forest hiking, the trail arrived at several backpacking camps sited next to the lake. The camping grounds were rather luxurious digs when compared to my usual austere and unfurnished backpacking tenting spots, for each site sported a fire ring and picnic table. And always, there were trees surrounding each camp, making my hammock-camping heart beat just a tick faster with anticipatory happiness.

Siltcoos Lake on a fine spring day

Siltcoos Lake is actually a pretty substantial body of water but you can't see the lake in its entirety from the camps' view. Much of the would-be lake view is blocked by a large forested island just across the water that makes the lake seem smaller than it actually is. A network of braiding paths led from the camps to several beaches along the lake and I just know my younger peeps would be spending most of their time there. I spent a little time there myself, soaking up the warm spring sun and listening to birds twitter in the dense brush ringing the lake. 

Still life with boardwalk and skunk cabbage

After a nice little lakeside loll, it was back to the trail, but on the South Route this time. The gentle descent to the lake on the incoming leg translated to a brisk uphill climb on the return leg, as the well-maintained path went up and over a forested ridge. It was more of the same as what I saw on the North Route, with ferns, salal, trees, moss, mushrooms, decaying logs, and hordes of elegant trillium flowers flanking the trail throughout.

Small beetles ate holes in thimbleberry leaves

So, this wasn't the most challenging hike I've ever done, coming in at 4.5 miles or so, but it was nonetheless worthy due to the sublime forest beauty encountered on this hike. It'd be an easy and relaxing (unless the grandchildren come) weekend backpack trip too, so I won't get too snooty about the Siltcoos Lake Trail like I did so many years ago.

A fern frond basks in a sunbeam

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

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Tahkenitch Creek weekend backpack

Hello keyboard, did you miss me? Yeah, I know, it's been a while since I've posted and to all you who have been asking: I am fine but have been just plain old blog lazy. In my defense, Blog Central is upstairs where all the heat goes and it just seems like there are better things to do than literally drip rivers of sweat while typing out the latest inane entry that somehow involves a hike somewhere in southern Oregon. But anyway, the hikes are piling up and their stories are waiting to be told, so here goes the first attempt at catching up.

Tall rhododendrons provided ample shade

Several years ago, I took granddaughter Coral Rae on a backpack trip to the coast and that particular trip was somewhat of a fail. A pebble of sand had locked our food canister lid tight which was darn inconvenient, as our weekend nutrition was just on the inaccessible side of the lid. So, Coral Rae got to double up on the planned mileage when we hiked out the same day. Since she didn't like the inbound hike in the first place, she was doubly sour on backpacking by time we reached the car under setting sun. Way to make great memories, Grandpa!

Our route

But time heals all wounds and here in 2018, a couple of years after that first abortive attempt, Coral Rae was ready and willing for another attempt at this backpacking thing. So off we go to Tahkenitch Dunes, eager to complete our unfinished business from two years ago. She didn't do too bad this time, we indulged in a couple of rest stops in the shady spots and arrived at Tahkenitch Creek (sort of) before the heat ramped up in the afternoon.

View from our campsite

What a difference a year or two makes! Last time I backpacked here, there was an epic campsite attained by bushwhacking off the trail towards the creek. Perched atop the creek bank, the campsite proffered up a soothing view of the wide but languid creek S-curving into the ocean. Since then, unfortunately, a very rainy winter overly filled up the marshes behind the beach foredunes and the resultant runoff carved a deep gully that trashed the trail. 

Small girl, large ocean

Additionally, the creek has been migrating south and the trail has already been relocated several times during my acquaintanceship with the sandy path. This time was no different and the path had again been rerouted back into the woods south of the creek. And my awesome campsite had long since disappeared into the maelstrom waters of a rampaging creek. 

One of several bugs with large jaws

However, a section of the old trail remains, perched at the edge of the creek banks, and the Forest Service has strategically placed logs, branches, and brush to deter hikers from attempting to follow the old trail. However, the old path makes for a perfect camping spot with a similar view as that of several years ago, so Coral Rae and I illicitly bushwhacked through a dense thicket of trees and brush and set up camp on the once and former trail.

"I'm sailing away..."

One other change made by the Forest Service is that they have roped off creek banks on the beach and the dunes on the other side of the creek, in an attempt to save the snowy plover, an endangered beach-dwelling bird. While I always enjoyed exploring and swimming in the creek, giving all that up is good when done for a worthy cause, so Coral Rae and I dutifully obeyed the restrictions...except for our camping on the closed trail, of course.

Crazy kid at play

Since we had half a day to kill, we pretty much did that, wading in the ocean and digging for sand crabs. I showed Coral Rae how the sand crabs swim in the water around one's feet. But yikes! The little <bad word, plural version> started biting my feet and it was somewhat painful. It was like "Attack of the Carnivorous Crabs" starring My Feet. Needless to say, I'll never again walk barefoot in the beach, for the remainder of my life.

On the beach in the late and chilly afternoon

The beach was littered with jellyfish, their dried purple sails still catching the breeze after their boat had beached, so to speak. There were odd little insect critters with large and formidable jaws afoot (one more reason not to walk barefoot on the beach!) and much photography ensued while lying prone on the dangerous sands.

Late afternoon at Tahkenitch Creek

Coral Rae, seemingly impervious to cold (a brisk chill wind was a constant on the beach), waded across the mouth of Tahkenitch Creek and also spent some time lying down in the rushing water. When the temperature began to drop in the late afternoon, we beat a retreat to our campsite, made dinner, and then sat down atop the creek bank for the sunset show.

Clap, clap, clap!

The best sunsets are at the coast, there can be no argument about this. Predictably, the sun sank, and the air was cast with a brilliant golden glow as the creek sparkled with a million points of orange light. In what is a tradition of mine, we gratefully applauded when the last light of the sun sank behind the horizon.

Morning comes to camp

After a restful night, I got up early and let the snoring girl sleep. The creek was smooth as polished marble, and everything was tinted pink from the morning sunlight. A lone bald eagle swooped in and perched atop a post on the opposite side of the tree-clogged creek. Later, after Coral Rae woke up, I was telling her about the eagle when right on cue, the eagle returned for an encore performance. Thanks, eagle!

They may be small, but they sure are tasty

All good things come to an end though, so we struck camp, hoisted our packs and began trudging in the soft sand. It was quite warm this morning, and the open dunes did not provide any succor. Coral Rae and I diverted our attention from our hot and sweaty toil by nibbling on wild strawberries which were plentiful along the trail. We also debated for several miles whether Coral Rae's favorite aliens were kinder and gentler than my favorite aliens. Inane, to be sure, but several years ago all I heard was how miserable one grumpy granddaughter was. What a difference a couple of years can make!

The 2018 version of Coral Rae

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

Sutton Creek

It nearly shames me to say I led a hike that was only 5.6 miles long. And on a well-groomed and tame trail, to boot!. I must be getting soft in my dotage, how else to explain this? However, to my few detractors, my snappy comeback retort and rejoinder is "hey, you should have seen me last week!"

Swingin' Patty of the Dunes

Several years ago, I had cobbled up a route through dunes and forest after drinking several late-night beers while perusing satellite images in the Sutton Creek area. Following a network of faint game trails through brushy Alder Dunes, my route (which will never appear on any maps) also wound up splashing through knee-deep marshes before reaching the beach. The return from Sutton Creek's mouth was a bushwhack along the wide creek, where the bushes whacked back. Way fun, and I just had to do it again and bring a few unsuspecting friends along too. One can never have too many friends and hikes like that are why I don't.

See the trail? Me, neither!

Let's quit reminiscing though, and get back to present tense. On my scouting trip the week before the official hike, the first thing I noticed once I left Alder Dunes Trail, was that the brushy dunes had gotten brushier over the intervening years since my last off-trail sortie. Apparently it was even too brushy for the local fauna, for there was a definite paucity of well-defined game paths through the dunes. However, I did make it to the correct corner of a rectangular-shaped dune, and from there, I entered the forest.

See the trail? Me neither!

Several years ago, this was the toughest part of the route and now it was nearly impassable as the sketchy deer path was presently a robust thorny gorse habitat. Amazingly, some intrepid soul had actually sawed through fallen trees and had lopped some of the growth back. Thanks, but I'm not sure how much that helped, it still was tedious and tough going, although Luna (my dog) thought this bushwhacking stuff was more fun than a bucket full of squeaky toys. Why she wasn't all scratched up by the thorns is a mystery, but there certainly wasn't any mystery about my scratched up legs, though. The growth was so dense and thick that even though Luna was leashed a foot or two in front of me, she was nigh invisible in the heavy vegetation.

Luna, happy to be a dune dog

Right there and then, I began planning an alternate route to Baker Beach Dunes but where there previously existed a muddy shortcut to the expansive dunes, an impenetrable wall of small trees and large bushes now blocked the way. So onward with my former adventure route it was.

See the dog? Me, neither!

After a three-quarter mile wade through standing knee-deep water in thick forest, the sandy dunes between Sutton Creek and the beach came into view. Luna was disappointed all that wading was finished while my boots were glad to be out of the water. Unfortunately, a deep marsh lay between us and the beach so I waded over to a log pile in Sutton Creek and clambered over to the opposite bank while Luna joyfully swam across and back several times.

Why bushwhacking is hard

So, the following week, I led all hikers on a wide and well-maintained trail through the coastal forest, hanging my head down in sheepish embarrassment. Not that I particularly care if people get mad at me or not for leading them on a bushwhack/swamp wade, but with visibility being limited as it was by all the thick and scratchy vegetation off-trail, there was a distinct possibility of misplacing a hiker or two on the bushwhack route. Lawsuits can be so expensive.

Rhododendron graced the forest

That's OK, though, the easy trail and short nearly six-mile distance allowed all hikers to enjoy a magnificent spring day on the Oregon coast. The sun was out in full blue-skied glory, yet the temperatures were cool and mild in the shaded forest, just perfect for hiking. The spring flowers were putting on a show with tall rhododendrons providing large pink bursts of floral color throughout the forest.

Vancouver ground cone

Vancouver ground cone, growing well out of its normal range, was sprouting everywhere underneath salal bushes, providing Professor O'Neill several opportunities to lecture his acolytes on this unique and uncommon saprophyte. Plus, Professor O'Neill took lots of photographs of said saprophyte.

The campground host led us to this bridge

We did get somewhat "confused" (not "lost") when our route took us through Sutton Creek Campground but the kind camp host pointed us in the right direction and we resumed hiking on a trail. Ironic, considering we can all navigate dirt trails in our sleep, but get totally flummoxed by a paved road and civilization. Clearly, in a campground and roadway, we were out of our native habitat and comfort zone.

Yeah, sure, I'll go on the next bushwhack!

So, although the hike was short and easy, we were able to finish the hike with same number of hikers we started out with. Plus, all hikers returned with the same amount of skin they began the hike with. Double plus, boots stayed dry, although that's not always a top concern of mine. And lest anyone complain about the ease of the hike, well, they can come with me on my next bushwhack adventure.

Let sleeping snails lie

For more photos of the two Sutton Creek outings, please visit the Flickr album.

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Below, is the bushwhack route. Do not attempt to hike this unless you have routefinding skills and are comfortable navigating in viewless forest. Be sure to take a map and compass!

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