Illinois River Trail (to Indigo Creek)

A quick limerick about this hike:

Men are from Mars and women are from Venus

This is a tale of a hike in extemis

If I may be so bold,

This story to be told

Of a tick, a man, and his penis!

Quintessential sunny day in the Siskiyous

Yup, and here I thought it was only deer I had to worry about! You know, it had been an enjoyable run of several years where the ticks completely left me alone while simultaneously pestering and tormenting my hiking buddies. Being the totally empathetic individual that I am, all kinds of jokes, quips, taunts, and verbal slings and arrows of outrageous fortune were directed at hikers less fortunate than my tick-immune self. Clearly it was time for karma to champion the cause of my picked-upon comrades by making me repent for every tick-magnet joke that ever found its way out of my mouth or onto my blog page.

Unsullied by the Biscuit Fire

After our challenging hike on the Oregon Coast Trail the day prior, it was made known to me that today's venture needed to be a "mountain hike". Well, fortunately for your eminent hike director, the Siskiyous were just a short drive from the coast so we headed up the Rogue River to Oak Flat, a primitive campground next to the Illinois River just upstream from where it joins up with the Rogue. This area had been burned in Oregon's largest wildfire ever, the massive Biscuit Fire of 2002. Burning just a few acres short of a half-million, the fire nearly burned all the way to Oak Flat. So, it was no real big surprise when after a short walk on the Illinois River Trail in a forest untouched by fire, and as green and shady as a forest should be, we walked out into the Biscuit burn area. 

World, meet Bridges' triteleia

The Siskiyous, unlike most other mountain ranges in Oregon, were not created by processes volcanic in origin. Nope, the rugged Siskiyous were seismically extruded from deep within the earth and are comprised of serpentinitic soils and heavy metals. Accordingly, the soils here are nutrient poor, which would explain the slow recovery from the Biscuit Fire, ably demonstrated by our hiking in terrain still denuded by the fire, even though the fire occurred eighteen years ago. Plant life must adapt to the peculiar blend of minerals in the Siskiyous and that would explain why we saw so many plant specimens common in the Siskiyous but not so much anywhere else. I was able ro recognize some of the usual suspects like California ground cone, luina, yerba santa, and elegant brodiaea. Growing all over the first part of the trail was another brodiaea type of flower, one that I had never seen before, that I was able to identify after copious research on the Internet: Bridges' triteleia (Triteleia bridgesii ). I learn something new every hike!

The bridge at Ethel Creek might, just
might, be in need of some repair

Even though we were just twenty-five or thirty miles from the coast, it can get quite hot in the comparitively arid and dry mountain range and we quickly shed jackets and sweaters as we toiled uphill in the rapidly heating-up sun. In spite of the relative aridity of the terrain, numerous creeks flowed across the path, seemingly at odds with the overall dry clime. The bridge at Ethel Creek had taken a hit from a falling tree and the fence railings were irretrievably shattered beyond repair. We were still able to walk safely across, despite the lack of safeguards.

Epic view from Mother-in-Law's Buzzard's Roost

Walking uphill should always provide a reward and this one did, the climb culminating in a superbly scenic overlook at Mother-in-Law's Buzzard's Roost. The pointed tip of the Roost would be a worthy destination in and of itself, but when the roost is poised over the deep Illinois River canyon, well it just goes to a whole other level of landscape view. The tip of the rocky spire was only about ten feet higher than the overlook and the rough terrain dropped away at our feet into a river canyon that was about one thousand feet deep. At the bottom of the canyon, the remote and inaccessible Illinois River snaked in between the surrounding mountains like the watery turquoise serpent it is. Much higher above and still mostly denuded from the fire, rose the rugged peaks of Horse Sign Butte, Lawson Butte, and Game Lake Peak. Amazingly, a trail allegedly leads from Oak Flat Campground (a low-water wade across the Illinois is required) to Game Lake, which would be like a four-thousand foot climb over eight miles or so. You'd really have to hate yourself to pull that one off and besides which, I'm not even sure if the trail exists anywhere else besides on maps.

Horse Sign Butte, in the rugged Siskiyou Mountains

At any rate, we had a much easier time of it after we crested at Mother-in-Law's Buzzard's Roost, beginning a long descent down to Indigo Creek. Here on the south-facing slopes, there was no real wildfire recovery in process. Most of the snags from the Biscuit Fire had toppled over long ago to be replaced by nothing. Well, that's not entirely accurate for the once and former forest had been supplanted by a regrettably robust growth of poison oak and buck brush. The poison oak as we all know, is more than willing and able to make hikers rue a hike through the accursed oily-leaved devil-spawned spreader of itchy torment. However, ticks thrive in malevolent abundance in the buck brush, patiently waiting for months and months to leap on the first warm blooded animal that walks by and on this day, that would be us. We quickly discerned that we were prime candidates to become tick dinner, so we stopped frequently to perform tick checks and we all plucked the odious arachnids (ticks are not insects, by the way) from our respective selves. For the remainder of the hike, this would be the hiking mode du jour because the ticks were so pervasive.

Silver Peak rules over the Illinois River and Indigo Creek

We had been hiking steadily downhill and the complete and utter lack of forest provided a great and awesomely unimpeded panorama of the surrounding landscape. Way below the trail, the Illinois had forsaken its snaky to-and-fro journey for a route that was straight as an arrow in a slot canyon for about a mile or two. At right angles to the river and between us and the Illinois was the equally impressive canyon of Indigo Creek running into the larger canyon of the Illinois. A grassy pasture at Frantz Ranch lay below the massive pyramid of Silver Peak, which someday I will hike to the top of. On our side of Indigo Creek was Fishhook Mountain, looming like a lesser version of Silver Peak. The view was magnificently epic and this is the reason we hike through tick-infested brush.

Indigo Creek, on its way to the Illinois River

The trail bottomed out at Indigo Creek, where a stout footbridge spanned the wild stream tumbling in a narrow and rocky defile. Downstream of the bridge were a series of beautiful swimming holes, if you could actually find a way down there, that is. The canyon was rough and rugged and I'm not sure you could safely get down there without mountaineering equipment and know-how. The canyon and creek scenery deserved an extended session of contemplation so we sat down in the shade of a sheer cliff and ate lunch while admiring the view.

Be glad there are no photographs of the "tick incident"

After the climb out of the Indigo Creek canyon under a hot sun and through tick-laden brush, we rounded Mother in-Law's Buzzard's Roost, and began the relatively gentle descent down to Oak Flat. It was definitely shadier and cooler on this side of the ridge we had just hiked over and around. However, an uncomfortable burning sensation "down there" was calling my attention with ever insistent urgency. During the hot slog away from Indigo Creek, I had drank enough water to feel it sloshing in my belly with each step taken. Because enough water had been drunk to stimulate the call of nature, I went behind a nearby tree with the dual purpose of relieving myself and performing a primitive backwoods medical examination. 

California ground cone was a welcome diversion from ticks

I remember being totally aghast and gasping "Noooo..." Right where a tick should never be, right next to The Anaconda's lone eye, there it was, completely embedded with disgusting little spider legs flailing in annoyance at being discovered. If I thought the pain had been uncomfortable before, that paled in comparison to the removal of the evil eight-legged invader of southern nether regions and as that little backwoods surgery took place, I could almost hear Glenn, Lane, Dollie, John, Dale, Rheo, and all the other hordes of tick victims I had ever made fun of over the years laughing in triumph as they all high-fived each other in it's-about-time celebration. We should all be thankful that in the horror of the moment, photography was completely forgotten, which was OK because I didn't bring the wide-angle camera lens anyway.

I can just sense the ticks waiting for to hike through

Because of my impromptu tickectomy procedure, I arrived at the trailhead well behind my compatriots who were blissfully unaware of my mentally scarring episode with the tick. Some of them were just putting on their shirts, sheepishly explaining they were doing tick checks in case I presumed they were having wild sex while waiting for me to arrive.  "Heh-heh", I laughed "I have a funny story about that!"

Victims of the Biscuit Fire

I've got to hand it to my people. If it would have been me listening to a hiking buddy recalling a penile encounter with a tick, I'd be rolling on the ground with laughter at my buddy's discomfiture. But not my peeps! After listening to my tale, a look of mutual horror crossed each one's face and with all the dignity that each could muster, they each dispersed behind their respective trees for a subsequent and more detailed tick check. I guess it's universal, no male likes to hear about tick bites on certain body parts, except for maybe me, I still would have laughed.

A tiger beetle is a much nicer alternative to ticks

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

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Oregon Coast Trail (Thomas Creek Bridge to Lone Ranch Beach)

"You're in charge, Richard!" Bwah-hah-hah, oh how I love to get the mantle of leadership conferred on me. It's like being given free rein to come up with a Richard Hike. Of course, my three comrades John, Katchan, and Edwin were all up to the task and to be honest, a Richard Hike is much easier than a John, Katchan, or Edwin hike, anyway.

A carpet of false lily-of-the-valley

This was the first day of a weekend campout at Harris State Beach, located near the town of Brookings, Oregon. Since the consensus was that I was the only one even remotely familiar with this area, I could and should choose the hikes. Feeling some responsibility for coming up with a challenging hike, I settled on a rugged section of the Oregon Coast Trail that ran through the southern half of Samuel Boardman State Scenic Corridor. Basically, the Oregon Coast Trail lives and breathes in the narrow strip of land between Highway 101 and the ocean. Despite the narrowness, the coast here is nothing but scenic with a plethora of viewpoints and coastal landmarks to gawk at. And when not gawking at landmarks, we could simply enjoy the lush coastal jungle growing on near vertical slopes that are the rugged line of demarcation where the Pacific Ocean begins and Oregon abruptly ends.

Tangled tendrils on a coastal manroot

The plan was to begin at Thomas Creek Bridge, a highway bridge spanning the narrow canyon of Thomas Creek. At 271 feet above creek level, Thomas Creek Bridge is noteworthy because it is Oregon's highest bridge. It is hard to get a good look at the bridge even on a good day, but it's completely impossible when the viewpoint is closed because of construction, which was the case on the day of our hike. 

John takes the scramble trail down to the Oregon Coast Trail

No worries, even though the viewpoint and trailhead were closed, we followed a scramble path (with some use of hands required) that dropped precipitously to the Oregon Coast Trail contouring through a dark and shady forest. The Oregon Coast Trail in Samuel Boardman Park is notoriously rugged as it constantly goes up and down but rarely level, and suffice to say we got plenty of exercise within the first several miles.

Katchan stops for a photo-op

As we were maybe just starting to get habituated with the forest, the forest suddenly stopped and we found ourselves perched high above a narrow defile, with surf crashing against the rocks well below our trailside aerie. It would be just a few horizontal steps to get to the beach but it'd be roughly about a thousand foot drop to get there so we decided it'd be best to stay on the trail. 

A patch of lupines perch several
hundred feet above the ocean

As the trail descended through trees and salal, stunted and shaped into phantasmagorical forms by the constant sea breeze, we enjoyed an awesome view of the Oregon coast stretching north. Massive cliffs and steep slopes, all densely forested, plunged more daringly than a courtesan's neckline at a royal ball. Below the cliffs were some incredibly narrow but scenic beaches which would be amazing to explore, were it not for the nigh impossible task of getting down to them. Scattered randomly offshore were a myriad of islands big and small, collectively dotting the azure sea like a rash of black measles on a Smurf.

Douglas iris was all along the route

On the trail, Douglas irises were blooming in veined purple profusion and the two hikers with cameras (Katchan and your merry blogster) soon found themselves lagging behind the two without. While the trail steadily lost hard won elevation, we were not going all the way down to the beaches below. Instead, we leveled out at beautiful and fascinating Indian Sands.

Sand dunes at Indian Sands

Indian Sands are a series of sand dunes but what makes them unique from other Oregon sand dunes is the fact they are perched atop a cliff a couple hundred feet or so above the sea. I'm not sure what geological or meteorological mechanism creates and replenishes these dunes but who cares, they are still way cool. 

The rocky bowl at Indian Sands

If the dunes weren't attraction enough, there is a spectacular rocky bowl complete with arch, waterfall, and ocean pulsing through the arch and into the bowl. This whole little scene is ringed with dense and close-to-the-ground patches of purple lupine and bright red Indian paintbrush plants. Just wow, already.

The Oregon Coast Trail was not always this well defined

After an appreciative view-soak at Indian Sands, we bushwhacked uphill back to the Oregon Coast Trail. After the tedious bushwhack, it was a happy occasion to attain the nicely maintained trail, From there, it was another forest walk on a trail lined with lush ferns to an egress at the road leading to Whaleshead State Beach. Unfortunately for us, we could see the Oregon Coast "Trail" continuing on the other side the road.

Yes, this is really the Oregon Coast Trail

Why did the hikers cross the road? Why, to search for the trail, of course. The Oregon Coast Trail was not at all nicely maintained here and in fact, I'm speculating it had not seen a weed whacker at any time since the invention of weed whackers. At any rate, we discerned the route by hiking in brush that was marginally not as dense as the surrounding vegetation. Obviously, most hikers walk down the road to get to the beach. Our reward for this brush beater of a trail was a nice lunch on real picnic tables in the park.

Some of that Whaleshead Beach scenery

The formal Oregon Coast Trail route calls for a wade across shallow Whaleshead Creek fanning out across the beach strand, followed by a mad quad-straining charge up the same hill we had just struggled to come down, and on the same "quality" of trail, too. I told the guys I knew a much better way and even they all should know better, they agreed to follow me.

Tidepools aplenty on Whaleshead Beach

It was a two mile walk on the scenic beach and we explored the many tide pools full of mussels, barnacles, and starfish that had become accessible during low tide. But when the sandy shoreline ended where a creek tumbled over some rocks and boulders to reach the beach terminus, we had to scramble up a cliff, with heavy use of hands required, to gain a faint path on the grassy slopes.

This section of trail was challenging, to say the least

Now, I'd done this trail before and it always had been sketchy at best. In fact, at the upper end, there is a sign discouraging hikers from taking that trail down because of the level of difficulty. On this day, the trail had become even more sketchy, to the point of being nearly nonexistent. Fortunately, there were old trail markers we could follow and if we couldn't find the next marker, sometimes we'd get lucky and find a faint piece of the old trail. As if this degree of difficulty wasn't challenging enough, the route was incredibly steep. The funny thing is, as we worked (emphasis on "worked") our way up, I daresay we all had joyous grins of enjoyment on our faces. On the plus side, the views of Whaleshead Beach and House Rock, a house-shaped island in the ocean, were eminently enjoyable, especially when bent over with hands on knees, trying to restore overworked lungs back to anything resembling a normal respiratory rate.

Back on a civilized trail

Once we enjoyed a felicitous reunion with the blessedly civilized Oregon Coast Trail, it was a relatively level hike through a dark forest, way darker than normal, to the House Rock Overlook where we took a well-deserved break from hiking. From there it was back down through a thinning forest to open grassy slopes on windblown Cape Ferrello.

Windy Cape Ferrello

Did I mention Cape Ferrello was windy? If not, just let me tell you it was breezier than the inside of a wind tunnel at Boeing. All the grass on the cape was laying down sideways and any plant that was not a grass specie did not grow any taller than an inch high. We all put on jackets and layers and it didn't matter, the cold wind forced its way through each and every microfiber as if we weren't wearing any protective clothing at all. Having duly whined, though, the view to the rocky cape from our clifftop perch was pretty cool and was worth battling the buffeting air currents for.

Blackberry was in full flower near Lone Ranch Beach

Instead of backtracking back to the Oregon Coast Trail, we rounded the cape and then performed a tedious bushwhack (grasswhack?) up a windblown grassy slope to where we correctly surmised the trail would lie. Ah, a real trail is so much easier than rough ground, especially when it gently switchbacks down through dense patches of blackberry brambles being tended to by fuzzy bumblebees. As we descended, we enjoyed the panorama of arcing Lone Ranch Beach with a populous congregation of islands afloat in the bay. We also really enjoyed the view because our arrival at Lone Ranch Beach would bring this long and rugged trek to a close. A short boardwalk, in the literal sense of the word, for the boardwalk was just an actual board spanning Lone Ranch Creek, closed this hike out and there was much rejoicing.

A small creek tumbles across the trail

So, this tough 9.4 mile hike was an epic Oregon coast sampler, but not the ultimate Oregon coast sampler. For that, we drove into Brookings for Mexican food and craft beer. Now, THAT was the ultimate Oregon coast sampler!

Oh, what a tangled web of branches we weave!

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

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Taylor Creek

In the summer of 2018, a wildfire broke out close enough to Taylor Creek to acquire the name of Taylor Creek Fire. Twenty miles away and in the vicinity of Klondike Creek, located within the Kalmiopsis Wilderness, the Klondike Fire birthed into flaming existence. In the rugged topography of this area, fire crews had no real chance of extinguishing either fire and eventually the two wildfires merged into one humongous conflagration which eventually consumed 228,097 acres of forest, making it Oregon's second largest fire ever. "If you're going to go, go big" says the old adage, but wildfires and deer should really be an exception to that rule.

All that hard was not for naught

Needless to say, that summer I didn't hike at Taylor Creek once the fires began. But, an entire year had elapsed since the fires raged, and I was curious to see what was left of what had been a gorgeous forest, creek,  and trail. Also, my friends at the Siskiyou Mountain Club had refurbished the trail before the fire and had replaced the decaying and teetering footbridges with some of the more well-constructed bridges you will ever find on a trail. The thought of all that hard work being turned into acrid ash and brown smoke filled me with dismay but word was out this summer that all seven of the new bridges had survived the fire intact. Additionally, the Siskiyou Mountain Club had recently returned to Taylor Creek and cleared the trail which had a fair amount of fire debris on it. A well-deserved tip of the hat to those guys for all the fine trail work they do.

Beetles honeymoon in a farewell-to-spring flower

At English Flat Trailhead, the fire damage was readily apparent in the form of charred trees with dead leaves attached to blackened branches. You could almost still smell the smoke a full year after the immolating fire. Despite the rampant death and destruction, there nonetheless was plenty of life growing in effuse abundance in the burn zone. Greenery was plenteous under and around the charred trees while wildflowers put on a show as if the fire had never happened at all. Birds twittered in the forest and flying insects buzzed noisily as they commuted from flower to flower. I generally sort of pull for wildfires to completely vaporize poison oak and ticks but alas, I was disappointed on both counts, having to pluck off several ticks found crawling on me and then winding up with a small itchy poison oak rash on my calf. 

There was a fire here?

Anyway, the trail descended through the forest down to Taylor Creek itself, flowing fast and clear as it always does. At the bottom of the canyon, it appeared as if the humid air of the creek had offered some protection from the fire, for at  the English Flat homestead site, the meadow was full of green grass as if to demonstrate a seeming imperviousness to the ravages of wildfire.

Aftermath

After crossing Taylor Creek on one of the aforementioned bridges, the trail headed uphill in earnest, eventually settling on sidehilling through the burned woods roughly about 150 feet higher than Taylor Creek flowing on the canyon floor. It was not as green here, for the fire damage was pretty severe and pervasive as the trail contoured its way through the dead forest. Plenty of fallen trees were randomly scattered both above and below the trail, but fortunately the path was mostly clear of any fire-caused downfall. 

Waterfall on Burned Timber Creek

There wasn't much of interest at this point as the forest was monotonously charred and mostly dead, until a clear stream with the unfortunate but apt name of Burned Timber Creek flowed across the trail. Shortly after the trail crossing, the creek plunged over a cliff in one of the prettier waterfalls you can find on any trail. At least, the cascade is a little easier to see now that the forest doesn't block the view like it used to before the fire.

No more rails for you, trail!

After crossing a forest road near the falls, the trail re-entered the burned forest and where there used to be a fence railing to keep hikers on trail for some undiscerned reason, there now existed only the charred nubs of the former fence posts, each blackened nub being only about a foot tall. Wow, now that the railed fence is not there any more, hikers will surely wander lost in the woods, how will we ever survive? After a protracted climb and equally protracted descent, I stopped at a rocky overlook of some nice swimming holes on Taylor Creek. Here, the slopes were open and exposed to direct sunlight, and sun-loving wildflowers were expressing their gratitude by blooming profusely.

Hey, this flower's taken!

A brodiaea that goes by the name of "pretty face" was blooming in spherical onion-type ball-head formation which only makes sense because brodiaea, like onion, is a charter member of the allium family. I think that when I die, I will return as a pretty face, which would only be fitting. Ookow, luina, and angelica were also blooming away in the sun, the angelica providing rafts of white flowers dotted with all kinds of beetle species ranging from longhorns to ladybugs. 

Some trees survived the fire

After a lunch and laze at the charred and sooty rocky point overlooking the creek, I decided to turn back instead of continuing on to the next set of trailheads. With nothing but a dead forest surrounding the trail, it was getting to be downright hot in the rocky canyon and shady succor was in short supply. Not only was it hot, it was also humid and I dripped enough sweat to start a new forest were it not for the salt contained in perspiration. 

A crab spider lurks

Walking head down as I focused on returning to the trailhead, I wound up on a path that was rapidly getting sketchier and sketchier. Darn game trails do it to me every time, and I had to backtrack to the real trail, but it wasn't all bad for I did get a nice extended visit to some rare green forest next to Taylor Creek. 

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

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Dellenback Dunes

Dellenback Dunes is one of my favorite places to hike at. Even though I've hiked here like a million times, somehow there is always something different about each and every outing. For instance, I've seen the dunes in rainy weather that had me questioning why I was out there in the first place. But then, I've hiked the sands when wind-driven sand particles pained my poor exposed face and legs. I've been on the dunes on a fogbound day, which always makes navigation interesting, to say the least. I've also sweltered there under a blazing sun, the hot and sandy expanse making me feel like I was in the Sahara desert instead of the Oregon coast. And I've been there when the dunes were covered in ice on a day cold enough to make a penguin shiver. And yes, I've enjoyed many a hike in ordinarily good weather where nothing bad happened, as was the case on this early June hike.

Rhododendron was putting on a floral show

By the time we actually started hiking, the sun was already out, but there still was a trace of morning fog above the beach Nine hikers and one dog set out on the trail which in short order, crossed Eel Creek and entered a lush coastal forest. Under the trees, the rhododendrons were putting on a show with their extravagant pink floral display. Less than a mile into the hike, the forest thinned out and sand made an appearance shortly before the trail spit us onto the dunes proper. A chill wind blowing across the dunes maintained all hikers at a comfortable temperature and would do so throughout the day.

Hiking uphill in soft sand is so much fun!

The first order of business upon entering Dellenback Dunes was a requisite slog up to the top of the "Great Dune", a large whaleback dune that does double duty as hiking route because it's so easy to follow across the trailless dunes. In the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area, Dellenback Dunes is the largest swath of sand set aside for hiking and because of its superior height relative to all the other dune features, the "Great Dune" offers up a fantastic view of the Dellenback Dunes sandbox. To the west was the ocean, east was the coastal forest and equally coastal mountain range, while north and south was nothing but light and bright whitish sand under a clear blue sky. Hovering above the beaches was a rapidly dissipating bank of gray fog well engaged in evaporation from the morning burn-off.

Missy follows our hike leader

Despite the lack of actual trails in the dunes, there are several routes we regularly use without being limited to any one standard route in particular. The choice of route depends on the whim and imagination of the hike leader. Having said that though, we unimaginatively took the one route we do most of the time. Today's hiking choice was to walk straight over the dunes and take the forested trail to the beach, walk south on the beach for a couple of miles to Tenmile Creek, bushwhack (one of my favorite words) through the dense forest growing behind the beach foredunes, skirt the edge of Tenmile Creek for a bit, and then close the triangular loop by way an overland hike across the dunes. Dunes, forest, beach, large creek, marsh, beachgrass, large creek (again), and even more dunes...we would be partaking of all the toppings (including anchovies) on the menu for this Dellenback Dunes pizza.

The trail tunneled through the deepest and darkest jungle

The trail through the deflation plain forest tunneled through the densely tangled trees in the young forest but at least the trail was dry, something that does not always occur in the swampy environs behind the beach foredunes. Once on the beach, it was a two mile hike to the south until we ran into impassable (without swimming across) Tenmile Creek. On the plus side, the brisk breeze was at our backs, sparing us toil and skin pain caused by wind-driven sand striking handsome faces like so many miniscule paint gun pellets. There is a certain ambiance about hiking next to the roaring surf and some hikers walked barefoot while others searched the beach strand for sand dollars, present company included on the latter count.

Behold the Mighty Tenmile!

At its mouth, Tenmile Creek appears more like a mighty river and not much at all like a creek. Over time, the creek has carved out a sandy flood plain on the beach and when the creek is tame, like on this day, it loops back and forth like a snake in search of prey. Arlie, our canine companion, was only too happy to go for a quick swim in Tenmile Creek, serpent analogy notwithstanding.

The flock follows the alpha sheep

After a creekside lunch on some large driftwood logs, we regrouped and cut across a large marsh that again, was fairly dry. Boots were most appreciative of the fact that there was no standing water in the marsh, the lack of swampy boot-filling liquid being a a dry clue that it must be early summer or something like that. On the far side of the marsh was a stunted forest comprised of beachgrass and small scratchy trees that we had to find a way to get through. Because there is no prescribed trail or route through this area, we just followed John in single-file formation like the mindless sheep we are. At least we weren't following like suicidal lemmings.

Tenmile Creek flows through the dunes

We rejoined with Tenmile Creek after crossing the forest, the creek visually at odds with the sere and austere looking dunescape on the north side of the creek. The terrain was rather hummocky and covered with beachgrass. Beachgrass can best be described as "plants with sword points" and since I was walking in shorts, I was very much aware of the pointy ends of the grass blades counting coup on my calves as we hiked through the hummocks, still in our single-file sheep formation. 

Hi ho, it's across the sands we go

All good and painful hikes through beachgrass come to an end though, and our legs and perseverance carried us out of the leg-poking hummocks and back into the much kinder and gentler sand dunes. There are no formal trails across the dunes but navigation is made simple by orientation to a prominent tree island. All you have to do is hike across the dunes, aiming for the west side of the tree island, and then tediously slog up to the crest of the "Great Dune" and voila, nobody gets lost that way. It's always a good thing to finish with the same amount of hikers (and dogs) that started the hike.

Look out for sandworms!

The landscape of this last leg of the triangular route was alien looking, like something out of a science fiction novel (Interesting factoid: Frank Herbert wrote "Dune" after being inspired by a visit to the Oregon Dunes). Apart from a few beachgrass clumps, low mats of lupine, and isolated patches of beach strawberry, pretty much nothing else grows out here. Nothing to see but a train of hikers walking on sand while surrounded by sandy alps rising above on all sides. We sort of looked like a thin army of ants mindlessly marching back to the colony. At least we were no longer in sheep or lemming formation!

Oasis in the dunes

The day had warmed up considerably yet that chill wind was still blowing across the sandy expanse, so it was kind of hard to make up our minds whether to keep light jackets on or hike in shirt sleeves. Depending on the choice, you either were baking hot or uncomfortably chill. Most of us opted for the shirt sleeve look because the heat was more taxing than the chill. 

Abstract art by Michealange-a-Blow

The wind had created what I euphemistically refer to as "sand art" which consists of abstract patterns of stripes, splotches, and striations all left by that famous artist Vincent van Wind. What, you wanted Leonardo di Breezy? It was easy to figure out how the stripes were painted upon the sand: they had been created by winds blowing in the same direction but at differing instances. Some round whorls in the middle of the stripes, kind of resembling Jupiter's red spot, were harder to deduce how they were created. Tornadoes, maybe? Coriolis effect? Witchcraft?

We leave but the beachgrass remains

The hike ended with the quick walk back through the blooming rhododendrons, and we were happy to have hiked here on a gorgeous summer day instead of through some of the travails enumerated at the start of this blog. Hiking in nice weather was markedly different from some of my other hikes here and like I said, it's never the same.

Sand dollar, not quite in mint condition

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

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