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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Dellenback Dunes

The Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area is not one single area, but actually a patchwork collection of many sand-filled areas. Of all the dune areas set aside for hikers, John Dellenback Dunes is the largest of them all. I don't have any actual square acreage data to throw out, but based on my non-empirical impression, the Dellenback Dunes are huge. Recently, the Friends of the Umpqua were going to play, frolic, and generally caper about in Oregon's largest sandbox, so Daweson and I got up early to join the club on what promised to be a sunny day at the coast.

Perfect weather for hiking!

So much for the forecasted sunny day! It was overcast at the trailhead and would remain so for the entire day, but no complaining will be tolerated, for the temperature was cool and perfect for hiking. Even though there was cloud cover overhead, enough UV rays leaked through to cause mild sunburns on some of my more sun-challenged friends.

Uphill in sand, so much fun!

After a short walk from the trailhead on a sandy track through a coastal forest, we headed uphill in soft sand to attain the crest of the "Great Dune". Once atop the dune, the sand was firm and hard-packed (just like me!), making the hiking easy and enjoyable. Sand stretched out in all directions and wind had adorned the sands with patterned artwork.

Beaach lupine

The large dune we were walking on pointed like an abrasive dagger aiming into the sandy heart of Dellenback Dunes, the dune terminating at a prominent tree island that keeps observant  hikers oriented in all the featureless sand. Just before the tree island, we dropped off the tall dune and  set off across a sandy plain, heading south toward Tenmile Creek.

Ponds dotted the dunescape

As of today (May 30th) the Forest Service still has a flood damage alert posted for the Oregon Dunes area. Apparently the ample rain this year has raised havoc with campgrounds, trails, and roads (we ran into some of the flood damage on our Tahkenitch Dunes hike earlier this year). Dellenback Dunes was apparently spared from the watery rampage but there were still a number of leftover ponds collecting in the dune dimples, like so many oases. It seemed like there were more ponds than usual and the usual ponds were fuller than they'd normally be. Of course, our two youngest hikers (Daweson, age 14; and Emma, age 6) just had to sink in the quicksand that typically forms at the edge of the ponds.

Tenmile Creek looks more like a river

Tenmile Creek was wide and deep and looked more like a river as it cut through the dunes. We bushwhacked along the snaking creek/river, eventually trading open sand for thin forest and beach grass. Since I was the only hiker clad in shorts, I quickly became more aware than most that the tips of beachgrass blades are sharp and pointy. When Tenmile Creek made a pronounced turn to the south, the vegetation became too thick to bushwhack comfortably through. In the interest of scratch-free hiking, we bid adieu to the creek and took a more direct route to the beach.

A marsh just begs to be waded across

Despite the forested aspect of our route, we were basically navigating across a series of marshes so  it figures there'd be at least one large marsh in the way. The water was probably knee deep or better and Daweson and I were just about ready to gleefully splash our way across. However, our allergic-to-wet-feet comrades found it fairly easy to walk along the edge to get around the marsh and sadly, our boots remained as sere as a desert as we followed the dry-footers.

It's a bird, a plane, no...it's Super Daweson

Just beyond the marsh was the delta area of Tenmile Creek. The creek obviously changes course with great regularity, frequently shifting its track through the sand, as evidenced by a stagnant bay that formed where the large creek had been particularly indecisive about its route to the sea. Daweson demonstrated his long-jumping prowess by leaping across a tributary creek.

Yes

No

Speaking of showing off skills, Daweson further entertained the crowd by performing some flips, sticking the landing each time. I'd claim that I taught him that but the difference between my flips and his, is that my flips are not done on purpose. Rachel averred that she too, had tumbling skills and began a "graceful" run into an awkward leap in the air that culminated with an emphatic thud in the sand, much to the amusement of all onlookers. She might have jumped as high as six inches but without a ruler, it was hard to tell.

We're so sorry, Mother Kildeer

After a short visit to the tidal flats (it was low tide) and beach, we turned around and headed back. As we skirted a marsh, a kildeer was shrieking in the brackish water, dragging an injured wing behind her. The wing was not really injured, though: kildeer engage in deception in order to protect their young when nesting. Kildeer eggs are speckled and very hard to see, and lie unprotected on the open ground. We did find the nest but not before a hiking boot had disturbed it. It was really quite sad to listen to her anguish as we hiked past, all we can do is say "we are so very sorry, please forgive us for our trespass."

This sums up the hike on the return leg

On the return leg, the two youngsters shed their shoes and slid, rolled, somersaulted, and leaped in the sandy dunes. Progress was slow but it was entertaining. All that energy expended resulted in sleeping passengers on the drive home but at least nobody asked me "Are we there yet?"

Gaoying is dwarfed by the sandy expamse

Because of all the rainfall, it's been prognosticated to be a bad year for ticks. Well, to be more concise, it is going to be a great year for ticks, and not so great a year for hikers. Continuing a recent trend, John kept plucking them off his pant legs on the hike and on the way home, he dispatched no less than eight of the bloodsucking parasites. One tick burrowed into Daweson's shoulder and judging by the excited Chinese emanating from the back seat, Gaoying also found a few crawling on her and Emma. Also continuing a recent trend, not one tick was found on your merry blogster. Not sure why that is, but I'm going to keep eating those habanero chiles. 

Whee!

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

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Dellenback Dunes

There is just something about a meadow. We hikers have been known to hike all day just to reach one. With acres of green grass and wildflowers, a meadow is indeed a special place. Then, why is it so wrong to have a meadow in the back yard? I posed this question to Dollie as we gazed on the wilderness wonder forming behind the house and got a "harrumph" for an answer. She didn't tell me to go take a hike but I took one anyway, yard work will just have to wait for another weekend.

Castles on the dunes

Joining up with other Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club yard work truants, the weekend began with a trailless trek on Dellenback Dunes. The dunes get a regular workout from not only me, but from the club as well. And just like me, the dunes are large and expansive, with plenty of sand to explore. Since there are no trails in the Dellenback, the route is limited only by one's imagination.

...and they were never seen again

At the start, a large dune runs perpendicular to the ocean and most hikers walk on top of the "whaleback" to the beach. Boots have chewed up a sandy path on top but we veered southwest off of the dune and headed across the sandy hinterlands towards Tenmile Creek. Kevin (and dog Talon) and I lagged behind, our camera shutters clicking merrily on the cool overcast morning. 

Tenmile Creek

After two miles of trudging in sand, we arrived at the banks of Tenmile Creek, the brown waters snaking languidly through the dunes. We followed the banks of the creek and Kevin, Talon, and I walked slower than the other hikers while the pace of the camera clicking sped up. The two events are related.

A former hiker in the deflation plain forest

When Oregon was being settled, the settlers did not like all the sand blowing in the wind so they planted European beachgrass to stabilize the dunes. The transplanted beachgrass was ever so happy to emigrate and now the Oregon shoreline has tall foredunes on it, formed by sand piling up around the beachgrass. The air currents on the shore were interrupted by the resulting barrier so lighter sand particles stacked up at the base while the wind scooped out the sands behind. The resulting depression is called a deflation plain and a forest is taking root behind the foredunes. 

Yup, had to wade across that

So, as we walked along the sandy banks of Tenmile Creek, the sand eventually gave way to thick deflation plain forest, forcing us to walk in the increasingly marshy area next to the creek. When I saw my hiking buddies backtracking towards us, it was obvious that the route had become overly marshy. So we had to splash our way through some standing water and feet got wet on this hike.

Lindsay on the bushwhack

Now we had to beat our way through the forest and in single-file formation, we followed fearless leader John as we worked our way to the mouth of Tenmile Creek. Lindsay, Kevin (and Talon), and I were at the tail end of the line and as we walked down a less dense path in the thick forest we became aware that we could not see or hear our compatriots, nor could we see any of their footprints. To be politically correct, we were not lost, we were just location challenged.

Tenmile Creek was more like a river

Situations like these call for compasses and GPS's and all of those were consulted. We were heading west towards the ocean but Tenmile Creek lay between us and the shore, we really needed to head north. Unfortunately, dense vegetation kept pushing us west despite our best intentions to head north, and we finally wound up on a sandy bluff above the Tenmile Creek estuary. Looking like a bunch of ants on the other side of the estuary were our hiking compatriots. Thanks for waiting for us, guys!

Captain Hook

Another short bushwhack brought us upon the sandy shore of the creek's bay followed by another marsh crossing. I quickly splashed across the marsh and feet got wet. Kevin (and Talon) and Lindsay quickly veered inland in search of a drier crossing. Apparently they will not follow me everywhere and what a shocking display of disloyalty!

Uncaring hikers

Well, we finally caught up to our uncaring so-called hiking friends lunching on a sandy bench overlooking Tenmile Creek as it met the Pacific Ocean. This was a wild place as Tenmile Creek was more like Tenmile River, it was wide and coursing fast. The collision between creek and ocean was quite spectacular with waves exploding violently in random fashion. 

The ever shrinking Oregon coast

According to Wikipedia, Oregon is the ninth largest state, having 98,381 square miles of land. Oops, make that 98,380 square miles of land as we watched our ever shrinking state disappear into the ocean in large chunks. The violent wildness of the place put on quite the show as we dined. Oregon was down to 93,372 square miles by the time I had eaten my sardines, crackers, and grapefruit.

I think we go this way

The shoreline mayhem was pretty much confined to Tenmile Creek as we had no problem walking on the beach after lunch. Periodically, a large wave would move us inland a bit as the dark clouds above kept raindrops to themselves. After a mile and a half, a hiker's sign atop a grassy dune signaled our exit off the beach.

David has a new appreciation for boardwalks

Crossing over the grassy foredunes, the trail dropped back into the woodland marsh. Not to worry, though, an elevated boardwalk kept our feet mostly dry, there were some puddles on the trail once we dropped off the boardwalk.

Me, on my way to yard work

On familiar ground now, we followed post markers back to the whaleback dune from whence we started. From there it was the two hour drive back to Roseburg where presumably yard work is still waiting there for me.

Umbel of manzanita flowers

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

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