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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Threemile Lake Loop

Slowly, I walked past every enclosure, peering analytically at each forlorn sad-eyed inhabitant residing within. The godlike power of my pending decision weighed upon me, as my choice would autocratically decree by capricious fiat who would be loved in a happy home and who would not. Desperate pleas emanated from each container: "Pick me, pick me! I'll fetch!" "I promise to scratch YOUR belly!" "Oh whatever, I'm housetrained!" So hard to pick just one, you just kind of want to take them all home with you. But a decision had to be made. "Hmm.." I mused "I'll take this one". And that is the story of how I bought a brand new pair of Keen hiking boots. Initially, the boots were deliriously happy to be going home with me but may have changed their minds when on their maiden outing, they had to endure a bushwhack venture around Threemile Lake.

Life is good (so far!) for new boots

At the outset, I took it easy on the boots with a nice and easy stroll on the beach. As we hiked on the seashore under a deep blue sky with nary a cloud in sight, the sun shone brightly yet the temperatures remained pleasantly mild. It was low tide and the surf roared some distance from the wet sand I was walking on. The retreating tide had left behind a smorgasbord of ocean souvenirs for our perusal, mostly in the form of sea shells, seaweed, and driftwood.

Reindeer lichen thrived on the forest floor

At Exit 115A, marked by an obvious sign colored florescent yellow, it was time to leave the beach and hike up through forest and dune to Threemile Lake. The lake was not all that full of water and an exposed isthmus divided the long and slender lake into two nearly equal-sized bodies of water. Upon the lake's waters, the ever-changing caprices of a light breeze set wind zephyrs to whirling and cavorting in joyful abandonment like so many attendees dancing at a reggae festival. 

The north end of Threemile Lake

After sliding and striding down a steep sandy chute plunging from the lake's overlook, my boots made some kind of complaint about being filled with both sand and stinky feet. I could empty out the sand but just like my poor wife, the boots would have to suck it up and endure my putrid feet for the remainder of their lives. After perfunctorily pouring out the sand accumulated in the shoes, it was time for the bushwhacking segment of this hike to commence. However, the bushwhacking initially consisted of a mere walk along bare shoreline and was not at all rigorous.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept..."

The easy hiking made fairly quick work of the first of the two lakes, my progress startling ducks who took flight and landed elsewhere on the lake where there was less likelihood of incredibly handsome hikers disturbing their peaceful quackery. Things changed though, as I neared the isthmus cleaving the lake in two. Water pooled behind the isthmus in a series of bays and coves and I walked across one such bay that had dried out, the formerly muddy soil now cracked and baked by the sun.

Trust me, that is not terra firma!

Yikes! The soil may have been cracked like a tiled floor but underneath, the ground was as soft and gooey as caramel. So, in order to get around this disguised quagmire, a scratchy detour through thick brush was performed out of necessity. The bushwhacking became a tedious mano a mano mortal combat, making the remaining two miles or so of remaining lakeshore seem like a near insurmountable obstacle in my way.

A mile or so of fallen trees made this hike even "better"!

Things got worse on the second lake, for not only was there soft mud to contend with, but fallen trees blocked the way and I spent an inordinate amount of time and effort slithering through the tangle like the most ungainly and clumsiest hog-nosed snake ever. Except snakes don't wear new boots and on more than one occurrence I thought I might irretrievably lose said boots in the sucking mud. The banks here sloped steeply into the lake and my ankles were feeling the strain of the constant sidehilling as I walked. Additionally, it was getting to be late afternoon and when the winter sun ducked behind the forested ridge above the lake, it started to get quite cold. Whose idea was this anyway?

An agaric stands straight and tall

Perseverance and effort won out in the end, and eventually there was no more lake to bushwhack past and it'd be time to walk on a real trail. Once on the path, I hiked as fast as I could to ward off the increasing chill. But really, the trail leaving the lake was pretty steep as it climbed through the forest, so I didn't just zip along either. Occasional pauses for rest were supplemented by photography of mushrooms sprouting in the forest duff and moss on the ground.

A fading sun lights up a fading thimbleberry leaf

A short walk on gravel Sparrow Park Road closed this surprisingly tough hike off. At the car, I dug through the mud glommed onto my boots and located the shoelaces hidden within. After I removed my boots, they informed me they wanted to return to the store and take their chances with all the other lost soles. 

Shadow Man says "Look at my muddy Shadow Boots!"

For more pictures 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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Tahkenitch Dunes Loop

This has been one wet winter and yeah, I know I've been saying that a lot lately. "But O Awesome Hiking Dude" you answer " I read your blog and look at your pictures, you've actually been hiking in sunny weather" Touché, and thanks for reading the blog and looking at the pictures. But the truth of the matter is I've just managed to coincidentally catch rare single sunny days dividing solid weeks of rainstorms. But winter will eventually have to heed our pleas of "rain, rain, go away" and disappear until winter comes round again, which will probably be in another month because in Oregon, it only rains 18 months out of the year.

We should all hike like dogs!

The first such heeding of pleas took place mid-March when Dollie, Luna (our dog), and I enjoyed what was an unbelievably gorgeous day, especially given the wintry and watery context. The following weekend, I'd be leading my innocents (also known as the Friends of the Umpqua Hiking Club) on a hike in this area and wanted to scope out trail conditions before that hike. Uncharacteristically, I was being responsible. Anyway, since the route called for two wades across Tahkenitch Creek, I really needed to lay eyes on the creek to see if such a thing was even possible, considering the amount of rainfall this season.

Diametrically opposed

The three of us set out on the trail on the aforementioned glorious day. Not a cloud in the sky, not that we could even see the sky from the amply shaded footpath wending through the forest. The trailside vegetation was bursting at the seams and the trail tunneled through the burgeoning spring growth. Luna seemed like she was really beginning to understand the concept of walking on a leash so with some trepidation, I took it off. She behaved and generally was able to handle her newly won freedom as she remained within eyesight and obeyed voice commands. Now if I could only get Dollie to do that!  Anyway a "Good doggie" for Luna!

The Grand Canyon of Tahkenitch

Once the dunes were crossed and the forest re-entered, there were a few winter-related travails to overcome. The winter rains had filled up the marshes behind the beach foredunes to the point of overflowing. All that water has to go somewhere so a small creek formed and ran across the trail. The soil here is all sand so that small creek in no time had carved a veritable Grand Canyon of the Tahkenitch. Not only was it relatively deep and abrupt, fallen trees had tumbled into the ditch, filling it with brushy skin-clawing and eye-gouging debris. We met a backpacking group with sad faces heading back, and they advised us there was no way to get to the beach. Sounded like a dare, so we continued on and scrambled across the ditch. It really wasn't all that bad, just a tad bit tedious.

Whee! 

Just after that, the trail disappeared for good under a couple feet of water and Luna took her four feet into the standing water and splashed in happy delirium. Dollie made it plain her two feet were not going in there so a perfunctory bushwhack to Tahkenitch Creek was performed, followed by a scramble down the abrupt bank of the creek. Or in Luna's case, a leap of canine ecstasy took her right into creek with a loud splash and joyous yip and there she was, a little black dot bobbing in the stream, being carried away in the strong current towards the ocean. The creek was probably chest deep in places and with the current moving as fast and strong as it was, a new route for the following weekend's hike entered the planning stage. Thankfully, Luna managed to scramble back to shore before she reached surf line, in case anybody was wondering.

Bye storm, hate to see you go...not!

A week later, I led a dozen trusting souls into the woods and we were off and hiking. It had rained a fair amount of on the drive over from Roseburg but the storm was breaking up by the time the hike began. When the route broke out onto the dunes, sunlight danced on the beach far ahead while tall clouds shaded the open sands.

It's a Richard Hike!

The phrase "It's a Richard Hike!" was bandied about upon arrival at the new creek and newly eroded brush-filled ditch. So, just to be mean, I led them further down the trail where it disappeared under two feet of water and said "Now THIS is a Richard Hike!" Then I let them know they'd been pranked before they started crying, and led the short bushwhack down to Tahkenitch Creek.

Wildness at high tide

It was high tide at Tahkenitch Creek and it was a wild place where ocean and creek collided. Waves were breaking every which way and there was not a lot of room to walk between rampaging creek and tall sandy cliff. Rachel was ahead of me by about 20 yards and she turned back to monitor our progress behind her. One should never turn one's back on the ocean and behind Rachel, a rather belligerent sneaker wave was coming in fast and furious with malevolence in its heart. I emphatically pointed at the wave in warning (It was a little too noisy and she was a little too far to yell back and forth). Rachel smiled sweetly, and waved, thinking I was taking a photo or something and the wave kept roaring in like a bull lining up an unarmed bullfighter. So now I flap my arms a little, point at my eye, point even more emphatically at the wave and still Rachel smiles sweetly and waves some more. Really unclear on the concept, as they say. So now I point with both arms, jump up and down and then it clicked, Rachel looked behind her, sees the wave about to smite her, and takes off running in panic with nary a sweet smile or friendly wave. I didn't get to see the outcome as I too had to run from the same wave. Lindsay and I clung to the sandy cliff like spiders on a living room wall while the mini-tsunami swirled below. Upstream, I could hear shouts of alarm from the rest of the group as they spotted the sneaker wave running up the creek. When next I saw Rachel, her legs were soaking wet as she obviously did not outrun the sneaker wave.

Stella certifies this pond

After a wonderfully lazy lunch on a sunny beach, we backtracked to Tahkenitch Creek. The tide had crested and already there was more room to walk. Fortunately for Rachel, there were no more sneaker waves sneaking up while smiling for the camera. Everybody was in the mood for a few more miles so we grabbed the faint path running across Tahkenitch Dunes to Threemile Lake. Here it was all soft sand and the warm enjoyable sun on the beach transitioned to cold gray clouds that threatened rain. Small ponds filled in the dimples between dunes and I'm always surprised to see water collect in sand, I figure it should just seep into the seemingly porous soil.

Threemile Lake 

Threemile Lake was full to the point of overflowing, just like a bladder on 50¢ Beer Night. It was so full that the body of water might have actually been three miles long and living up to its name. The black water with dark clouds encroaching from above created a rather portentous atmosphere that delighted the camera-toters in our crowd.

One out of two hikers use the bridge properly

A one-railed footbridge crossed the lake's outlet and water lapped at the bottom of the bridge. Normally the wooden bridge spans a 10-foot deep channel there so it was definitely different to see the water level so high. Cattail reeds collected at the bridge, creating the illusion of solid ground surrounding the wooden footbridge. Splash! Jeremy's dog Stella was suckered in by the reeds and was unpleasantly surprised to find erstwhile solid ground to be cold water, instead. A panicked swim to shore brought her to safety and some amused humans.

Zzzzz...

Leaving Threemile Lake behind, it was time to say goodbye to the beach and sand dunes as the trail climbed up and over a forested ridge before dropping down to the trailhead. Green was the dominant color as moss covered everything that did not move. Creeks and trickles ran across the trail and slugs joyfully slithered in the fresh new growth. Rough-skinned newts were spotted crossing the trail here and there and kind-hearted humans gently relocated them off-trail. And in a sign spring has finally arrived, trilliums were in bloom

Tahkentitch Creek, you've been a wonderful host!

So, even though this wound up being an ad-lib route of a hike, we all had a good time and did not feel like we missed anything by not wading across boisterous Tahkenitch Creek. But watch out for those sneaker waves! For more pictures of my scouting trip to Tahkenitch Creek, visit this Flickr album. For the club hike a week later, visit this one instead. Or visit both!

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