South Slough

My buddy Lane had a computer problem recently and tragically, he forever lost a lot of his pictures. "Without the pictures, it's like it never happened. It just never happened at all" he moaned, wiping tears from his eyes. Well, halfway through this hike, I knew exactly what he meant when my camera suddenly quit working. So, using Lane's logic, we only made it halfway through a loop hike in the South Slough. Apparently, we are still there at the bottom of the loop, waiting pitifully for anyone to come give us a ride.

The Berry Hunter

I've driven past the South Slough National Estuarine Research Reserve entrance many times, whizzing by on on Seven Devils Road on the way to Cape Arago. However, I never felt the need to stop by for some hiking research of my own as I've always deemed the slough trail system too short and too tame for a Richard Hike. However, it was just right for a couple of young grandchildren so Aiden, Coral Rae, and I joined the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club for half of a short hike. The other half didn't happen, remember?

Old home on the Hinch homestead

This was a two-parter hike and the first portion was a short loop hike down to the former Hinch homestead with ruined home and barn adding a rustic flavor to this hike. And speaking of flavor, the blackberries and coastal huckleberries were in full fruity song and young Coral Rae walked slower and slower as she grazed the ample berrytude. Some older hikers were spotted doing likewise.

Whee!

After this short loop, we hopped in our cars and disembarked at the visitor's center where Coral Rae was disappointed her miserly grandfather wouldn't buy her a stuffed panda on demand. We began on the Ten-Minute Loop Trail and all I could think was "Ten-Minutes?  There's no ten minutes in hiking!" And just a couple of minutes later, we grabbed the North Creek Trail and were in business.

Arrival at the slough

The trail dropped down the creek's drainage, steadily losing elevation through some lush coastal forest. It was all thimbleberry, huckleberry (much to Coral Rae's delight), salal, ferns, and foxglove. The trail bottomed out onto the grassy marshes of the South Slough and it was there that technical difficulties began to rear their ugly electronic heads. I noticed my camera was having problem with the white balance and focusing. After some mild consternation, the camera began flashing an ominous message "Camera body is not communicating with the lens. Turn off the camera and clean the contacts on the camera lens". Just to hammer the dire point home, there also was a large red triangle with an exclamation point flashing on the display screen. 

One-hundred and twenty lens cleanings later, the camera could at least take one picture before giving up the whole picture taking thing. So the rest of the hike never happened but if it did, we took an old railway trail through grassy sloughs while bad cameras were hurled into the marsh in frustration. OK, that last part took place only in my imagination. Before beginning the big climb back to the visitors center, we paused on a wooden viewpoint that looked like a giant tree house.

Broken cameras make me sad and I want my binky

Both Aiden and Coral Rae were feeling walky, apparently, so I just tucked in behind them and followed them up. Whew! Those young legs can really scoot uphill!  However, they were burned out when we did finally reach the visitor center while I still had some gas in the tank, chalk one up to old-people pacing!

We had one more item of interest left to complete the day. A short drive to a pullout on Coos Head lead to a steep trail dropping through the trees on the cliffs of the head. Tree hugging was involved. But there was a tunnel cut through the head for some mysterious reason and we used the tunnel to cross over to the other side of Coos Head.

What happens to misbehaving cameras

And what was on the other side? Why a secret little cove of a beach. And in order to get down to the beach, one had to rappel down on a wet rope. My two young charges now thought this was the coolest hike ever and they scrambled up and down the rope like the little monkeys they are, Of course, there are no pictures so this really didn't happen. After we returned to the car, I backed the car over the camera and then went forward. Back, forward, back, forward, and so on until that miscreant camera had been properly punished. Of course, that didn't really happen, either.

Our crew

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

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North Bank hike

This is getting to be an annual event for the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club. The club's first hike of the year takes place in the North Bank Deer Habitat, conveniently located in Roseburg's figurative back yard. Each year. we freeze our little colitas off hiking in the ice and fog, enjoy sumptuous views by hiking steeply uphill, and then warm fingers, toes, ears, and spirits with hot soup at Lois's house. It's a great way to start the hiking year.

Tree of Mystery

As we started the 2015 version of this hike, the ice chattered underneath our boots while our teeth chattered inside our heads. Besides being cold, the deer preserve was cloaked in thick Jack-the-Ripper London fog. The grasses were all covered with heavy frost and the faint tracings of leafless oaks and maples could just be seen in all the gray.

Just a tad bit nippy

At the humorously named Soggy Bottom, we split up into two groups hereafter referred to as Long Hikers and Short Hikers. The long and short of it did not refer to stature but to the length of the hike, although there are some whose stature would match the corresponding descriptor. Anyway, I led seven Long Hikers and Lois led the remaining Short Hikers.

No views...yet

The Soggy Bottom Road climbed gradually uphill, contouring across the steep hillsides of the north boundary ridge. A marginally brighter glow in surrounding grayness indicated the possible location of the sun. There weren't any views to be had so we just had to talk to each other. 

Why we hike

The fog began to thin out just before arriving at Grumpy's Pond and there was a hint of blue sky above as we hiked ever upwards. By the time we hit the north boundary ridge, we were free and clear of the fog and oh my, what a view we had.

Steaming jungle

The North Umpqua River valley was covered in a soft white blanket of foggy felt that stretched for miles and miles. The sky was gloriously blue and the tips of mountains and hills poked their pointy little heads out of the cotton sea. Much gawking and photography abounded. The scene was so spectacular that I almost didn't pay attention to my burning leg muscles as we climbed the steep hills of the preserve.  Almost.

First leg pain of the new year

At the Middle Ridge Road we said goodbye to Medium Hikers Elona and George and then we were five. The next couple of miles were a series of steep ups and downs over several high points on the northern ridge. The grassy slopes dropped precipitously away from our feet, disappearing into the foggy stewpot below. After the last knob, the trail headed downhill for good.

Our view on the way down

While the downhill was welcome after all the leg-burning uphill grades, what was not welcome was the return into the fog. The fog was incredibly thick and we could barely see where we were going. Bill and I kept company by talking politics and whatnot and it had been some time since we had last glimpsed our fellow Long Hikers. We eventually dropped below the fog cover and about 50 yards in front of us was John, Merle, and Edwin; thanks to the dense fog, we didn't even realize we were walking that close to each other.

I like this view better!

After this 10 mile epic, we all regrouped at Lois's house and her pozole restored warmth to noses, ears, and other miscellaneous extremities. I can't wait for the rest of the 2015 hikes, it's just going to be a great year for hiking! For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Butterfly Lake

Our state bird

Consider Robert Peary's expedition to the North Pole in 1909. The expdition party had to contend with such savage and harsh conditions that the participants barely survived. Fast forward a couple of years to 1911 and now imagine Robert Peary telling his friends "That was fun, let's do it again!" And that's kind of how the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club came to follow me to Butterfly Lake in yet another of the world's great and epic expeditions.

And away we go!

The weather gods taunted us at the start as the drive from Roseburg was done underneath a gloriously blue winter sky that gladdened our hearts. However, at Reedsport, just 7 miles from the trailhead, the blue sky was covered up by dark clouds that saddened our hearts and our hike began in a light rain. We never did see blue sky again on this hike.

Worms writhe up out of the ground

Leaving behind that last bastion of civilization known as Tahkenitch Campground, the path tunneled through dense coastal vegetation. Mushrooms were rampant in the forest's mossy carpet and the group quickly divided into those with and those without cameras. There were strange clumps of fungus that looked like macabre earthworms emerging from possessed cemetery soil in a bad zombie movie. Also spotted on the trail was one lone newt crawling on the ground, but enough about me. The newt was picked up and moved to safety, I'm glad to report no newts were harmed in the hiking of this hike.

Land coral

After a steep climb up and over a heavily forested ridge, the trail took a longer but equally steep descent down to the Tahkenitch Dunes collective and lunch was eaten quickly at a rainy overlook of Threemile Lake.  The lake was full of winter runoff, looking like it could really be all of three miles long (It's not!). A few quick pictures of the lake were taken as wind and rain combined to occlude camera lenses before two photographs in succession could be clicked off. Before we reached the beach, a right turn on a sandy track took us across the dunes, paralleling the coast about a half mile inland as we did so.

Whee!

While hiking under a dark and gloomy sky, the rain did ease up a bit and everybody followed me on the sandy trail, since I was the official Knower of the Route. Up ahead was a large tree island and when the forested mound was reached, it was time to begin the bushwhack.

Dour faced hikers

A climb up a steep sandy dune on an obvious route eventually became overgrown with dense coastal scrub and young trees. However, the going was not all that tough (yet!) as it was fairly easy to follow a series of game trails through the nascent forest. A quick consult with the GPS was taken and I pointed directly off trail to the left at the impenetrable wall of scratchy vegetation and said "That is where we must go!"

A climb up a sandy hill started the bushwhack

I could just see the headlines in Monday's newspaper: "Hike Leader Lynched by Hikers". I had done this hike before, but I didn't really remember the bushwhack being as long as it was. It was a tough go and as Maureen put it, she stood "...in a place where no human being would ever have enough room to stand" and asked the rhetorical question "what am I doing here?" much to the amusement of everybody within earshot. The dense vegetation made it hard to see past 10 feet and the group was quickly split up into the Edwin and Richard factions. We kept in touch aurally, hooting at each other like demented owls every 15 seconds or so.  Heard over the hoots, the angy rustling of belligerent vegetation, and the gasps of panting hikers, were frequent mutterings of "...stupid Richard Hike!" Trees and shrubs clawed at us as we clawed by, this was definitely a bushwhack where the bush whacked back!

The rarely seen Butterfly Lake

After working our way down a steep and overgrown gully, we reunited with the Edwins and there it was: the legendary, the mythical, the elusive Butterfly Lake. "Is that all there is?" asked my fellow hikers.  Butterfly Lake, as a destination unto itself, is rather underwhelming, the lake is definitely all about getting there. It's just another small coastal lake surrounded by acres of nearly impenetrable forest and at about 10 yards above the lake, we called it good. Amazingly, the hike leader was not left strapped to a tree to be eaten by deer.

Enjoying the sand slide

A bushwhack in calls for a bushwhack out, and Edwin's easier game trail route provided a natural path out to the dunes. An increasingly easier push through an ever thinning forest spit us out onto the dunes and hikers slid, ran, and generally capered down the steep dunes in sheer joy and ebullience at returning to treeless terrain.

Tahkenitch Creek

The traverse across the dunes ended at the trail running between Tahkenitch Campground and the beach next to Tahkenitch Creek. After the left turn onto the sandy track leading to the beach, Tahkenitch Creek became our trailside companion. The creek over the years has migrated south and is still continuing to do so. Trees and brush clogged the creek bed in mute testimony to the creek's ravenous appetite for coastal forest. The trail soon disappeared as it had been consumed by the creek's southerly rampage and horror of horrors, my favorite little backpack campground next to the creek had been likewise devoured.

Behold the mighty Tahkenitch

In response to Tahkenitch Creek's unauthorized migration, the Forest Service has rerouted the trail to the beach and we followed the path to the shore. Several of us continued on to the mouth of Tahkenitch Creek which was running dangerously fast and deep, there'd be no wading across it today or anytime soon.

Return through the dunes

A short hike back through the forest and dunes returned us to the campground and civilization. While the bushwhack to Butterfly Lake had been arduous and difficult, years from now all of us can regale great-grandchildren with the 1,187th retelling of the great Butterfly Lake Expedition. And on the plus side, unlike the Donner Party we didn't have to eat each other to survive.

Bridge crossing near Threemile Lake

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

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Cape Arago (new trail)

I recently received an email for an upcoming hike put on by the South Coast Striders out of Coos Bay. The hike was at Cape Arago and interest rapidly waned as I had been there about a month and a half ago on a wildly stormy day. But out of politeness, the email was opened up and this is what the email said, roughly speaking:

"...blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah..."

But there were two words in the middle of all that mundane prose and what I read was:

"...NEW TRAIL NEW TRAIL NEW TRAIL NEWTRAILNEWTRAILNEW....!!!!"

And just like that, your merry blogster became very excited . The words "new trail" drain all willpower and common sense from my brain and I simply must go, there is no other option. 

A stump bench built for two

One other fun aspect of hiking a new trail is I get to send an e-mail to hiking buddy Ray. Ray is always interested in new trails and as a courtesy I always send him a helpful email along the lines of "Nyah, nyah!" So, imagine my disappointment when his voice called out to me from the hikers gathering at the trailhead, "New trail, Ricardo!" We do think alike!

The thundering herd

It was a pretty large bunch of hikers as 30 or so adventurers took the green flag, so to speak. The trail started next to the Cape Arago Highway and unless you knew a trail was there, you'd never find it. The trail was well hidden and hopefully, a sign will be posted soon. The path headed quickly uphill through a lush forest and soon the woods were filled with the sounds of gasping hikers.

New trail!

Reaching a ridge crest, the forest thinned out and we walked on a level trail through waist high brush. I'n not sure how recently this trail came into existence but it's obvious it wasn't too long ago as the branch cuts on the encroaching shrubbery were pretty fresh, just like me. The trail seemed like it was wandering aimlessly through the woods but we were basically following the Cape Arago State Park perimeter.

Dogs enjoyed the steep parts

Level trails are not overrated, especially when they are such a rare commodity like they were on this new trail. The path returned to the forest where massive stumps showed how big the trees used to be in these parts. Moss, lichen, and mushrooms were everywhere on the muddy trail. While there were skid marks on the muddy track, no hikers (that I know of) actually hit the ground.

And it's not even a Richard Hike!

Larry, our guide, stopped at all intersections which was a good thing because there were a number of unsigned trail junctions that could certainly confuse hikers, especially since this trail is not on any map. The path angled up and down the forested ridges at a grade worthy of a Richard Hike.  It was nice to hike these steep trails and not get blamed, for a change.

Trillium

While there may not have been a spring in our step as we scrabbled up the steep portion of the trail, there definitely was spring in the air. Yellow wood violets and candy flower were a common sight on the mossy forest floor. Even lichen was in bloom. The spring deal was cinched when I came upon my first, but certainly not the last, trillium of 2014. Let the wildflower photography begin! Camera, are you ready?

View south to Cape Arago

After a couple of miles, the new trail intersected with the Pack Trail, familiar ground to Ray and I. After a couple of mild ups, it was all downhill to the viewpoint at Simpson Reef. Now on our regular and familiar Cape Arago haunts, we grabbed the scenic trail to Shore Acres followed by a short road walk back to the car. 

Whee!

My only complaint about the hike is that it was on the shortish side, about 5.5 miles or so. However, by combining the usual walk along the shoreline from Sunset Bay with this new trail gem,  the hike can be turned into a walk of proper distance. I'll have to tell my hiking buddies:

"Hey guys, guess what?  "...NEW TRAIL NEW TRAIL NEW TRAIL NEW TRAIL NEW TRAIL NEW....!!!!" 

I'll probably get nominated to lead a hike there!

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

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Baker Beach

This hike had a couple of little ironies.  First, Lois got a speeding ticket in her haste to begin an activity that takes place at a leisurely 2 miles an hour. The other ironic moment occurred when I stepped in a sinkhole while wading through a marsh, making me the only hiker out of the 21 attendees that experienced a true Richard Hike experience.

What happens when I Google Earth late at night

The genesis for this hike came late one night when perusing Google Earth. Looking at the Alder Dunes area, a faint footpath led from dune to dune, seemingly going all the way to the Baker Beach area. So, a mid-week exploratory scouting trip was penciled in, starting at Dune Lake.

Alder Dunes view

From little Dune Lake, the sandy footpath followed a series of small dunes collectively known as Alder Dunes. On the right side of the trail, the dunes sloped up to where presumably one could have views of lakes Alder, Mussel, and Nott.  Of course, that would involve gaining about 100 feet in steep and soft sand, it was more comfy to stay on the path.

Hiking on what amounts to a game trail

On the satellite photos, the trail passed through seven dunes but it seemed more like four from actual ground level. The trail was always visible but the problem is that the trail braided with other trails and more than once I mentally flipped a coin to decide whether to take the right or left fork. It was more confusing than the federal tax code. I don't think there really was a wrong way or a right way to get from Dune Lake to Baker Beach Campground, but there sure were a bunch of different ways to get there.

Odd little sand formation

Once at Baker Beach Campground, the GPS said I'd been wandering aimlessly in the forest and dunes for a mere 2.8 miles.  Clearly, more miles were required so I added several trail loops that visited Lilly Lake, Berry Creek, Baker Beach, and a massive sand dune that went on for miles; altogether it wound up being a 7.3 mile hike, all of it in soft sand.  My soft sand muscles were softer than the soft sand and this hike felt a lot longer and I was now ready to inflict the same amount of pain on my friends.

Nobody got lost and I like that

Last time I led a Friends of the Umpqua hike, only three friends showed up. Given that backstory, it was shocking to set out on the trail with 20 friends (and one dog) in tow, uttering a silent prayer to the hiking gods to help me arrive with 20 friends (and one dog) at the trailhead at the end of the hike. We cut down our chances of misplacing anybody by using the buddy system and stopping at all trail junctions.

Lake that is small and dry, just like me

In spite of those precautions, Edwin (who was at the front while I manned the rear) managed to lead us in a different direction from my scouting trip and we ended up at a small lake abutting the dunes. No worries, I had been on top of the dune looking down on the lake so we hiked uphill on a sandy path and resumed the proper route.

Reflection at Berry Creek

On the Lilly Lake route (where you really can't get a good look at the lake) we continued on to the banks of Berry Creek.  I walked down to the creek and instructed everyone to put on their wading shoes. Alternatively, I heard cursing, crying, and whining with the phrase "...it's a Richard Hike.." sprinkled liberally throughout. Great fun, and I let them know they'd been pranked and then I heard cursing, crying, and whining with the phrase "...it's a Richard Hike.." sprinkled liberally throughout.

Lunch time at Berry Creek

We ate lunch at Berry Creek, enjoying the sun while shivering in the cold ocean breeze. The canine portion of our group enjoyed swimming in the creek and retrieving large sticks. After lunch we closed the loop where no hikers took the offered option of heading back for a shorter hike.

Sandy cliff at Berry Creek

So, all 20 companions (plus one dog and one hike leader) went to the beach where several members took off shoes and went for a wade in the ocean while the rest of us shivered in the cold ocean breeze. One wave caught John but he seemed to enjoy being wet and cold, to judge from the grin on his face.

Let's hike through the marshes!

We made a short loop by hiking along the mouth of Berry Creek and then bushwhacking through the dunes and marshes to return to the trail. The marshy portion was short and feet got wet briefly.  So, while everybody continued on back to the campground, I backtracked to retrieve John and his wading crew as they had tarried when they put on their shoes after their ocean wade.

Hikers, walking past a hidden sinkhole

Not wanting to get my feet wet again, I took a loop around the edge of the marsh where it looked like it would be drier.  Looks can be so deceiving. I was shocked when my foot sunk into the grass, and sunk and sunk and sunk. I briefly wondered if I was going to wind up in China before I struck solid ground with the cold marsh water nearly up to my neck. Thrashing wildly, I grabbed on to some branches and hauled my now very wet carcass out of the diabolically disguised sinkhole I had stepped into.

Shadows in the late afternoon

It was a chilly walk through the forest after that and I took no more pictures as unfortunately, the camera had gone swimming with me. Concentrating on keeping a brisk pace to keep warm, the two miles back to Dune Lake seemed to go fairly quickly. I'm glad to report, no hikers (dog or human) were left behind, and we all had a great time, unintended swimming sessions and speeding tickets notwithstanding. On the way back, our car passed Lois who was plodding along exactly at the speed limit. It seems she has a newly found religion about obeying speed limits following her morning encounter with the police.  Oh, the irony!

Lichen

For more pictures of the two Baker Beach hikes, see the Flickr album.

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