Tahkenitch Dunes

 

John stated he wanted to partake of "King Neptune's Pedicure". I speak John, so I'll translate: He wanted to hike barefoot in the surf. Since he was the designated leader for the Friends of the Umpqua this particular weekend, we were totally at his mercy as to the destination of the hike. Given his proclaimed desire for wet feet, the destination was Tahkenitch Dunes, the loop rendition of this hike serving up a mile or so of beach walking or in John's case, surf hiking.

The clouds would eventually burn off

After the long drive through foggy conditions that had 15 or so hikers wondering if they would ever see the sun on this day, we laced up our boots at the trailhead and set out on the trail, which immediately inclined up through the forest. The constant coastal fog keeps things well watered and accordingly, the forest here is healthy and lush with a vibrant understory of coastal huckleberry, ferns, and rhododendron thriving underneath the spruce trees and Douglas fir. Moss covered all that did not move and fungus, ever nature's recycler, was busy decomposing the ample decaying biomass on the forest floor.

The club emerges from the deep dark woods

The short and wooded trail soon spit us out onto the bright and sandy dunes like so many cave salamanders, our eyes blinking myopically in the comparatively bright light. It wasn't full-on sunny though, as heavy gray clouds still blocked the sun, but blue sky in between hinted at the clouds' eventual dissipation and demise. 

All the soft sand you could ever want to walk on

The trail leading away from Tahkenitch Campground heads straight to the beach but before we could get John his saltwater pedi, a left turn was made onto the dunes trail. Here, it was all sand and beachgrass and too bad John didn't want to partake of Queen Sandy's pedicure instead. At any rate, we hiked among the hummocks of beachgrass while calves complained about hiking in soft sand and despite my usual and customary whining, I actually felt walky and enjoyed both the exertion of the hike and scenery.

Epic view of Threemile Lake

At the intersection with the Threemile Lake Trail, we made another left turn and headed uphill in the shifting sand, beelining toward an overlook of Threemile Lake. The viewpoint serves up an epic vista of the lake, which normally dries itself into two separate bodies of water. On this day though, it was its three-mile-long single self, sited and sighted in a long and slender bowl sunk in a forested basin. Clouds artistically reflected on the mirrorlike surface and we slid down a long sandy hill like so many Jacks and Jills to eat lunch on the lakeshore.

The beach portion of this hike commences

After a lakeside lunch and laze, we hiked over to the beach where the clouds finally melted away and all beach hikes should take place under a blue sky and springtime sun. John took off his shoes and proffered his crusty feet to poor King Neptune. I'm surprised that gagging King Neptune didn't hurl tidal waves in our direction in response to John's effrontery. But he didn't, and everybody happily hiked along, with or without hiking boots and smelly socks.

We went as far north as Tahkenitch Creek, which was mostly roped off to protect the endangered snowy plover. The water flowed across the pristine sand at its delta and we could clearly see the tide forcing itself upstream like a watery proctologist's probe, not that I really know what that is like. Disgusting and gross simile aside, the incoming tide and wide creek was our cue to lace up our boots (in John's case) and grab the sandy trail heading inland.

"Back in the day..."

Tahkenitch Dunes used to be one of my favorite weekend backpack camping places. Here, one could pitch a tent at the edge of the creek and observe creek, beach, and sunset from the campsite. But now, the migrating creek has gobbled up the camping spots and forest service rangers have roped off the creek's banks. Sigh, all I have left are memories. On the plus side, there were some nice views of the creek as we hiked while I bored younger hikers with "Back in the day..."

The loop was closed off by hiking through the same emerald forest we had started on. But now, sunlight filtered through, or tried to filter through, the thick forest cover, infusing the very air with a soft green glow. Palmate leaves of tall rhododendrons spread their leafy fingers out like so many green monkey hands begging for handouts, while salal bushes filled up the spaces underneath, their leaves totally devoid of any anthropomorphic metaphor. This green section of trail was a good way to close off the hike.

It's so hard to be humble!

I was feeling pretty proud of myself at the end, for I had felt energetic and walky throughout. Maybe I was finally able to kick Covid to the curbside, although I don't want to get too cocky about this, I don't really need a viral comeuppance for my conceit. Stay humble, Richard, even though it's so hard, you can do it because you're the best and everybody basks in the glow of your bestness. I think I just failed at being humble. 

They say imitation is the sincerest form of
flattery but in this case, they'd be wrong!

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

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Tahkenitch Dunes

Four and a half months and ninety miles ago, I purchased a new pair of boots that had since been servicing my hiking addiction in good stead. But then came a recent eight mile hike on the Elk Creek Trail that was noteworthy because I had forgotten to charge the camera's batteries so no photography ensued, and also because one half of my boots turned the underside of my left foot into confetti. What the heck (on both counts)? When you don't take pictures, then it's like the hike didn't happen but when your foot is blistered into shreds then you wish it didn't happen. This particular boot miscreant had been purchased at REI which, if you are a member, has a generous gear return policy so if my left foot and boot continue their philosophical disagreement about life and hiking, then I may go back and trade the boot duo in for a roomier model.

Off and running (dog) or walking (everybody else)

The Tahkenitch Dunes area is a beachgrass-dotted expanse of sandy dunes situated between coastal forest and an ever encroaching young forest taking root behind the beach foredunes. Accordingly, this erstwhile sandy hike does manage to serve up some quality forest time in addition to the taxing soft sands of the dunes. Naturally, a sublimely lush and green coastal forest was enjoyed when we hiked up and over the heavily wooded ridge crest separating the trailhead from the dunes. Normally, the trail is shared with a healthy population of rough-skinned newts but on this day, we (Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club) were the only rough-skinned users of the trail.

Where forest becomes dune

After about a mile and a half of uphill walking through a verdant forest, the trail crested and then dropped us onto the dunes and we blinked in the bright sunlight like those white grubs that scurry away when you turn over a garden rock. And thus began the muscle-taxing portion of this hike as we followed the soft and sandy track across the dunes and into the new forest lurking between dunes and beach, eventually winding up on the seashore after another mile or so of hiking.

What low tide looks like

The tide was way, way, low; for the ocean had retreated further than the Roman army fleeing Hannibal's forces after the defeat at Cannae. The vast expanse of wet sand glistened in the morning sun like the skin of a silver eel taking a bath, and the beach strand was wide enough for two 747's to land on side by side while holding hands. Tidal flats were exposed by the retreating surf and we mostly walked as close to the water as possible.

Out of its elements

One oddity (besides Lane) we encountered were a number of purple starfish found beached on the beach. Normally, starfish inhabit rocky islands and tide pools so it was a small mystery as to why we found them on wet sand today. Per my Internet research, there are a number of reasons that this could be so, one of them being that just like some humans, they inadvertently get too close to the beach during breeding season and accidently get swept up by tidal currents. There are also other plausible causes such as storms and more than likely, the overall warming of the sea.

Can't get blisters on your feet if you don't have feet

While sandy, at least the wet strand was fairly firm for hiking on but all that changed when we left the beach for a return to dune hiking. Trudge, trudge, trudge all over again, the leg-taxing tedium broken up by the spectacular vista of Threemile Lake on a spring day. Regular readers will recall that generally I refer to Threemile Lake as two Onepointfivemile Lakes because as the water level drops, the lake gets neatly bisected by a sandy isthmus. However, on this day the lake was swollen with collected rainwater and lived up to its three-mile name.

Faster hikers (without blisters) trek through the dunes

The original blister on my left foot had been behaving quite nicely thank you, but chafing from the tape holding the Second Skin pads in place were creating new blisters on the big toe. So, when we first reached the beach, I taped those up and now at the lake, the tape was putting new blisters on the neighboring toe. Talk about your basic domino theory or ripple effect, blisters were spreading like a pandemic across my left foot. Needless to say, it was a slow and painful trudge through the soft sands of Tahkenitch Dunes where I mostly just wished the hike would come to an end. Sad, because normally I don't ever feel that way about a hike.

Threemile Lake was remarkably full

Fortunately, the hike did come to a close and once I removed my boots, my poor toes got some proper relief, assuaged somewhat when John and I stopped for some adobada tacos at my favorite eatery in Reedsport, the rather generically named Mexican Express taco stand. Now, both my lips and foot were seemingly on fire but unlike my foot, the lips and other sensitive mouth parts were quite happy about this.

If I could only be half as elegant as a trillium!

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

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Tahkenitch Dunes Loop

I pretty much hike alone these days. There's a pandemic going on of course, so being in a crowd of people is more dangerous than juggling running chainsaws while wearing oven mitts. But besides the virus avoidance reasons, I also use the quiet trail time to converse with myself which kind of keeps me grounded mentally, because there's certainly been enough of life's adversities this year on top of the pandemic. Plus, if I talk to myself in the forest and there is no cat and dog to hear me (like they do at home), I don't have to pet or feed them to assuage their fuzzy-headed fears that their Lord and Master's rubber toy no longer squeaks, metaphorically speaking. But even though hiking alone has its benefits in terms of physical and mental health, you can only spend so much "me time" before you begin to desperately crave human company. That's why, even though I hiked at Tahkenitch Dunes just over a month ago, I accepted an invite to reprise this beautiful coastal hike with Penny, John, Jennifer, and Cleve, because every incredibly handsome lone wolf has to howl with the pack every now and then.

Sublimity on the coast

You couldn't pick a better day for hiking, it was absolutely gorgeous. Nothing but mostly blue sky above with bright sun casting a warm glow over the Oregon coast and into the hearts of hikers. There were some clouds scudding overhead like so many floating fluffy pillows, aesthetically pleasing to both human eye and camera, and blotting out just enough sun to keep temperatures cool and perfect for hiking in. All life should be like such a day on the beach, forest, and dunes!

Don't tread on me!

Before we could get to that sunny beach paradise though, we had to hike up and over a deeply shaded ridge crest. We ran into many other hikers, mostly in the form of rough-skinned newts crawling on the forest floor, each enjoying their own quiet trail time until we picked them up. Their brown coloring made them hard to see on the earthen trail so we stepped carefully and hand-carried amphibian captives off the trail for their own safety. We didn't lick or eat any (their skin is highly toxic), making both hikers and newts grateful. At any rate, I'm glad to report that I did not see any squished newts, which is always a disappointing sight. 

A salmonberry leaf basks in the morning sunlight

    

As stated, the first part of the hike was on a ridge covered by a forest lush and green. Sunbeams fought through a thick skein of tree branches to reach the forest floor. Where they beamed onto salmonberry and rhododendron bushes, the leaves glowed green, further adding to the emerald-colored ambience of the forest. Moss covered the forest floor and the whole vibe was so pleasant I barely noticed the steep climb up and over the forested ridge between the campground and coast. 

Do not stare directly without putting on dark eyewear first

It's not unusual to see fungus in a coastal forest, given all the decaying biomass on the ground, but what was unusual this day was a veritable Great Barrier Reef of coral fungus populating the forest floor. Most were of the usual coloration, ranging from light beige to a darker brown-orange. However, a significant percentage were colored a bright Chernobyl red, like something you would find in the core of a nuclear reactor in full meltdown. Much photography abounded and no radiation burns were suffered by any of the hikers in our group.

Some of that dense vegetation flanking the trail

The walk to a backpack campsite near Threemile Lake was pleasant, if only for the fact that most of it was downhill once the ridge was crested. At the lake, the forest transitioned to sandy dunes and encroaching deflation plain forest, which is a younger and smaller-treed version of the woods we had just hiked through. I left my little group behind to execute to a side-trip to Threemile Lake's worthy overlook while my companions hied it for the beach for rest and repast. After a look-see at the lake, I rejoined my peeps eating lunch on a large log on the beach.

The charge of the Barefoot Brigade

After a lunch and laze spent eating and watching white clouds birthing into and dying out of existence over a roaring surf, we divided into two groups. Jennifer, John, Penny, and Cleve all formed an impromptu Barefoot Brigade by removing shoes and walking in the cold surf. The rest of us, consisting of just me in lone wolf mode, kept boots on and made faster progress along the beach as a result, despite being slowed up somewhat by the camera.

Jellyfish on a "sand" wich!

After a mile or so of walking at the ocean's edge, kicking up seafoam before a brisk sea breeze carried it away, further progress north was blocked by Tahkenitch Creek running across the beach strand. The creek wasn't all that full, so I could have waded across but instead decided to rejoin the anti-shoers sitting on yet another large log putting on their boots. As a proud pro-booter, I waited patiently for them to shoe themselves. In return, they would soon leave me behind, eating their sandy trail dust.

Mother and child

After crossing tidal flats carved into abstract patterns by the retreating tide at Tahkenitch Creek's mouth, we grabbed the trail back toward the dunes. The deflation plain forest was carpeted with pine needles, the decomposition of which supported a contingent of flapjack sized and shaped mushrooms. The older forest at the end of the trail also supported a healthy population of fungi, moss, and lichen and before long, Penny and I assumed our customary place well at the end of the hiking queue. But hey, we did acquire what seemed like thousands more fungi photos for our respective collections. All in all, it was another fun hike at the coast with good friends. I'll be good for another round of solo hikes now.

Nothing but blue sky (and clouds!) from now on

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

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Tahkenitch Dunes Loop

And then the trouble started. The weather forecast for late afternoon on September 7, 2020 contained two dire weather-related warnings: extreme warm temperatures combined with a 100 year windstorm. Sure, why not. Good old 2020 just has to be the year to have that happen along with all the other "delights" this year has brought us. At any rate, winds of up to 70 miles per hour were expected to blow into the Cascades in the evening. Hurricane force winds, hot weather, and dry forests, what could ever possibly go wrong?

Tahkenitch Creek reaches the end of its journey

But hey, Armageddon was at least 12 hours away so that left plenty of time to get a hike in before the world ended. Off I went to the coast, where the temperature was decidedly cooler and more pleasant than what could be found in the mountain ranges and valleys of southern Oregon. The Tahkenitch Dunes area is one of my favorite hiking haunts because of its relative proximity to Roseburg and because it serves up an all-you-can-eat buffet of coastal delights ranging from lush forest to sand dunes, along with every other other ecology and biome ranging in between.

Rhododendrons all lit up by the sun

Beginning from  the trailhead at Tahkenitch Campground, the trail immediately tunneled uphill through dense vegetation comprising a typical coastal forest. Rhododendron leaves fanned out leafy fingers like a hand asking for charity, glowing green where illuminated by the sun. Coastal huckleberries were not yet quite ripe (yes, I sampled) but the thick bushes contributed to the vegetative vibe. Moss tendrils hung off of every available branch like so many beards at a ZZ Top concert while anything at ground level, including the ground, was covered with a cushiony layer of bright emerald green moss. You could almost imagine leprechauns and leaping gnomes (besides yours truly), cavorting through the woods in delight.

A dune swallows the forest, or vise versa

The trail is fairly steep for the first mile or two but to be honest, I was feeling pretty frisky and didn't really mind. At one point, a migrating sand dune had entered the forest and it was kind of odd to see tall trees standing in sand instead of on solid ground. At any rate, the path followed a densely forested ridge crest before beginning a protracted descent down to Threemile Lake.

Dog vomit smile mold, in all it's disgusting glory

It was a leisurely stroll down through the forest with me photographing woodland delights such as fungi of various ilk and at least one specimen of dog vomit slime mold, my most favorite name of anything. My child-rearing days are long behind me but if I were to have another child, his or her name would be Dog Vomit Slime Mold O'Neill, whether boy or girl. It's probably a good thing I'm done raising children. With that name, that poor child would have no other choice in life but to become a punk rocker.

Threemile Lake, cut into two lakes by low water levels

After several miles of hiking through a sublime forest, pleasantly losing elevation all the while, the trail temporarily bottomed out at the north end of Threemile Lake. The lake level was low and in the middle, an isthmus exposed by the shrinking lake divided Threemile Lake into two Onepointfivemile Lakes. A contemplative stop took place at the lake's overlook and as I ruminated upon the meaning of it all, wind zephyrs danced across the surface, reminding me that the Hundred Year Storm was probably at Year Twenty-Five this very moment. Yes, it was breezy and yes, it was the advance wave of the incoming storm system.

Blustery conditions prevailed on the beach

Needless to say, things got chillier once I was out of the forest and into the exposed dunes. A large fog bank loomed skyward but for the time being was hanging out over the ocean, coming no further inland than the beach strand, so things weren't as cold as they could have been. Of course, the wind was right in my face as I hiked north on the beach, making eyes water enough that it was hard to see where I was going. Fortunately, I avoided walking blindly into the ocean and made my dry-footed way to the edge of Tahkenitch Creek.

Lines, lines, everywhere a line
Lining up the scenery, breakin' my mind...

It was low tide and the ebbing waters had created a large artist's canvas of ripples and other abstract patterns on the beach. It almost seemed a shame to walk on the artwork but I did have to deface the sand painting to make the beach egress needed for continuation of my trek. Much of this area is off limits due to snowy plover protection efforts and at one point a sign said "Sensitive Wildlife Area" which struck my funny bone. What's next? Signs that say "Do Not Harshly Criticize the Animals" or "Wildlife Have Feelings, Too"? 

Pathway through the dunes

At any rate, I left the animal snowflakes behind and continued on to Tahkenitch Dunes proper. I had earlier been passed by younger (and faster, naturally) hikers but overtook them in the dunes when they stopped to catch their breath. Eat my tortoise dust, hares! After leaving the dunes and reentering the forest, it was a short walk down to the trailhead and a speedy drive home to beat the wind's arrival.

Still life with thimbleberry leaves and sunlight

That night, the winds did arrive and basically set the entire Cascades on fire. Thick, acrid, ashy smoke choked us for nearly a week and the whole vibe was end-of-the-worldish. Large swaths of the National Forests were closed and I think we can forget about hiking on the lower segments of North Umpqua Trail for a long time. The wind and fire combined to create a genuine catastrophe and I vote we should promote that wind event to at least a Hundred Thousand Year Storm.

The end of the world begins

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

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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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