Shug's Story On The Oregon Coast Trail

Many of you remember the backpacking trip on the Colorado Trail that I led these guys on last summer. Piece of dog biscuit. No problems whatsoever. I'm a mountain dog and crossing streams, climbing peaks, and traversing alpine meadows to chase marmot squeaks comes naturally to me. So I have to admit that when they first pitched the Oregon Coast Trail idea to me this spring I hesitated before agreeing to accept the trail boss position again. No marmots? No alpine? No snowfields? Sounds like a drag to me. But, what can I say, I'm a service-oriented dog and when duty calls I casually wander into position. Come to find out, I love the beach. For every whistling mountain marmot there are a hundred seagulls who totally bring their A game every day. Walk with me through these last few days of my coastal adventure. No, you don't have to be on the leash so relax. Come!

Camp at Arch Cape

An hour past low tide we leave Cannon Beach heading for Hug Point and Hug Beach. Easy pace on plenty of wet sand. A few straggling gulls dive at me as I pad along the edge of the waves but nothing I can't handle with a quick nose jab. Distance perception is weird on the beach. Hug Point looks close but we keep plugging along and it's still way down there. An oyster catcher scudders along in front of me. They kind of creep me out with that orange beak and those orange feet and the orange eye thing throws me over the edge. I ignore him and focus on the rocky point. Even from this distance I can see the white foam of the waves breaking across the base. When we finally arrive at Hug Point we hurry to make an attempt to get around. The pack insists on putting my leash on even though I'm an accomplished dog paddler. As we start out the foamy water swirls around my feet but I jump across a small pool and make it to the rock bench. Rounding the corner a huge wave crashes against the rocky edge dousing me pretty good. At this point I'm thinking forget  the leash--where's my personal flotation device? We make a run through the straightaway being careful to keep our paws and feet off that slimy green stuff and clinging to the barnacle grips along the side. Counting to three after a wave splashes at our feet, we rush to the edge. Uh oh. Four to five feet of swirling water blocks us on the beach side. I'm confident I could have made it, but for the safety of the pack I advise that we turn back. Replay that previous section in reverse. Yikes! This ocean stuff is serious business. 

Safely back on the beach on the north side we settle in to wait out the tide. By positioning myself with my butt up against a huge log, I can keep my eyes peeled for intruders. That oyster catcher is back and I don't trust him. I might have dozed off because time passes quickly, but I can see that the tide has backed off a little. We pack back up and make another run for it. This time the water level has dropped a couple of feet and a brief plunge into water that's still over my head but paddle-able gets us safely to the other side. The pack wades across behind me and we check out Hug Beach. 

Sunset neat Hug Point

Dark caves and steep black walls line the south side of Hug. A waterfall, really just a trickle, runs onto the sand. A quick scramble up the side leads to a pool deep enough to drink from.  The pack gets out their water filter while I wade in and start slurping. 

After the water resupply we saunter down the beach looking for a place to camp. A couple of miles from Hug we find a deep cove  nestled back into the cliffs, a good spot to pitch the tents. I survey the area for hazards and spot a lone bald eagle perched in a tall pine, harmless enough since I'm no chihuahua. The afternoon unwinds into evening as we splash in the surf and lounge in the sand. With both doors unzipped a sea breeze cools the tent enough to be comfortable for sleeping. Before nodding off we watch the sun sink into the sea, streaking the sky with bands of pink and orange. There's not a single gull left on the beach and I fall asleep tired and satisfied. 

Kindness of Strangers

The Kindness of Strangers

Every day of this trip holds surprises.

Throughout this section we push the limits of how much beauty and goodness we can soak in. After our wintery first two days, the weather turns sunny and wonderful. Ocean breezes keep the temperature refreshingly cool and the visibility stretches for miles. We look back up the coast and see the southern jetty of the Columbia River and marvel at how far we've come. The beaches tick off the map one by one. Sunset Beach, Del Ray Beach where we tuck our tents against the dunes and awake to a windless, sunny day. To exit Gearhart we need to maneuver around a large inlet and  a man crabbing or maybe just a crabby man points us in the wrong direction so we end up wandering through the grassy hills trying to find an outlet to take us to Hwy 101. Before long a kind woman walking a big poodle comes along and stops to tell us how to maneuver our way up to the road. In neighboring Seaside, a sweet older couple brings us bottled water as we unload our backpacks onto the picnic tables of a small park, asks about our journey then wishes us safe travels. This small kindness buoys our spirits and we sit for a while to cook oatmeal, make tea, and down a liter of water. Several passing locals direct us to the trail at Tillamook Head just around the corner and down the road, assuring us that the hiker camp is close by--it isn't, but the trail that winds it's way through the tall Sitka pines soothes us with beauty and bird song. The small-bodied, big-voiced pacific wrens sing to us as we climb. An unfamiliar bird call that sounds like a traffic cop's whistle rings through the tree tops all around us (we later identify it as a varied thrush). Lynn lays out her gear in one of the lean-tos while we pitch our tent nearby in an opening where gigantic ferns dwarf our tent, creating an enchanted emerald forest coziness. In the morning we hike the cliff edge trail down to Ecola State Park enjoying spectacular views of the crashing waves below and of the Tillamook Head Light House. A sign informs us that the out of commission light house is now privately owned and will, for a price, house the urn of your cremated remains in perpetuity--FYI in case you don't already have a plan. 

A big rest stop!

At the base of Tillamook Head the mountain trail empties onto a grassy knoll. We drop our packs onto a table amidst several families flying colorful kites and picnicking at Ecola Point. The day is postcard beautiful, cool and sunny. A bald eagle careens through the surrounding trees, tagging their tops with his beak and playing in the breeze. A woman about our age sees our backpacks and comes over to tell us of her derailed attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail. We encourage her to try again or try another long trek like the Colorado Trail instead. A few minutes later she comes back to offer us half a tray of cinnamon rolls which we devour, with deep gratitude, in seconds. 

No camping on the beach in Cannon Beach so we follow a tip from our guidebook and locate the Seaside Ranch RV Park on the north edge of downtown. The woman in the office suggests some good places to eat and only charges us for one site for our two tents. The campground borders a creek lined with blackberry bushes and shade trees that protect a wide grassy field where we park our tents. We take showers which oddly enough are designed for women five feet tall or less, a feature that we laugh about and wonder who would do such a thing. We love that from our camp we can bop into downtown Cannon Beach with just a short walk. First, we check out the fish and chips at Tom's Seafood and then wander through the rest of downtown. Cannon Beach has a great feel, laid back and friendly. After a stop at the market for potato chips and cottage cheese, a favorite rest stop treat, we walk back to camp to stretch out on the grass and relax. One thing about traveling on foot is that even after hiking for miles to get somewhere, your feet are your only transportation  to see the sights. An evening walk down on the beach to Haystack Rock finishes us off and we're ready to zip in for the night.  

Haystack Rock/Cannon Beach, OR

In the morning, we break camp and head to the bakery for a cup of coffee. Other folks waiting with us for the shop to open chat about things not to miss as we continue our southbound journey. We loved this little town and linger over our refills before starting our trek down the beach. The misty air feels soft on our faces and we talk of how different the air feels compared to Colorado's dryness. A man with a birding scope pointed toward Haystack Rock offers us a look at the tufted puffins nesting on the big rock face and we eagerly accept. We each take a few moments to observe the orange-beaked birds while the man shares some puffin facts with us. Heading down the beach, we talk about the kindness of strangers and wonder what this new day will bring

Fwd: OCT hiking

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Annette Demel <annette.demel2016@gmail.com>
Date: Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Subject: OCT hiking
To: Rvsters.postsecret@blogspot.com

Here we go!!

Our little hiking group hits the beach early on Sunday, June 12, hiking to South Jetty, the official start of Oregon Coast Trail (OCT). Starting in the cold and drizzle at Fort Stevens State Park , we hike north toward the Columbia River whose flow marks the border between Oregon and Washington. Along the way, we find a bottle bobbing in the tide containing a scrolled message and a dollar bill. We stash the bottle in a pack and resume our walk while rain and hail, fog and mist welcome us to coastal Oregon.

By the time we get back to Fort Stevens' campground, we're cold, drenched, and ready for a hot shower and a cup of tea. Lynn's hands are so cold she fumbles the key trying to unlock the door. We dry Shug off and she hops on the bed, stretches out, and puts herself to bed on the wooly, Rockies blanket. We crank the furnace on, sip our hot tea, and appreciate each drop of the hot showers. Knowing that backpacking affords us none of these niceties, we savor our last few hours of creature comforts.

Today the RVsters step back into our WanderWomen boots. We move from camping in Lynn's trailer into our tents in hiker/biker camp. Just after checkout time at1:00, Kristy and Lynn drive Lynn's truck and trailer to a storage lot while Shug and Annette hunker down in the new tent camp to await their return. Five hours later, Kristy and Lynn trudge into camp with a surprisingly cheery, "Anyone home?" Unfortunately, the trailer storage place ends up being a big run-around, bait and switch hassle, resulting in a change of venue which triples the cost, but at least offers a feeling that there will be a truck and trailer there to collect upon our return.  

Annette and Shug handling the rain

After that long day of hiking and transitioning,  Lynn awakens us in the middle of the night hooping and hollering at three raccoons she hears rousting around in our backpacks on the picnic table. Wielding both of her trekking poles and blasting light from her headlamp, Lynn thumps and shushes the three wild-eyed raccoons up a tree. Kristy jumps out of our tent, runs up the hill and grabs Shug's dog food-filled backpack which the raccoons are trying to drag into the woods. Meanwhile, Annette collars Shug and holds on for dear life as Shug pulls and strains to join the fray. Eventually, we move all the backpacks into a nearby restroom and flop back into our sleeping bags. Surprisingly, we all fall back to sleep and manage to wake up ready to hike early Tuesday morning. 

Tea and cream of wheat cooked on our backpacking stoves nurtures us enough to start us on our way at 8 a.m. The weather waits at least 10 minutes into our hike down to the beach to show us it's full potential. With a swoosh the wind speed accelerates from 10-15 mph to 25-30 mph. Pelting rain turns to wind-driven hail as we head south for our 11 mile walk to Del Ray Beach. The weather cycles from drizzle to pelting hail with tiny intervals of sunshine. We get a pretty decent upper body workout just pulling our rain ponchos on and off. Shug looks daggers at us, but plugs along like a trooper. Shug is not a fan of intense wind or hail...honestly, neither are we. 



Beach front property on the Oregon Coast

As we approach the stretch of beach where we want to camp, the sun shines beatifically on our shoulders. We've warmed up, our clothes are dry and we are ready to relax. We casually pull our tents from our backpacks and bam--the rain starts again, swirling around us in tornadic gusts. Rushing to get our tents up and getting soaked in the processes the wind whips our tent as we set the poles and stakes. We hustle Shug into the tent and toss our backpacks and our bodies in after her.  Lynn gives up and wraps her rain fly around herself and her gear and waits it out on a log looking like a bedraggled Madonna cradling her backpack in her arms. 

Minutes later, the wind slows, the rain abates, and we tentatively emerge from our tent into a sun-filled scene, the beach grass wafting gently as the waves crash and foam in the distance. With a bit of anchoring help, Lynn snaps her tent up and we all collapse onto our sleeping pads for a well-deserved rest. Day 2 OCT hiking writ large in our backpacking memories.

Hasta be Shasta

Mt. Shasta from truck window

After living within view of Pikes Peak for many years, we appreciate a mountain with a strong persona. In this northern California region, Shasta reigns supreme as a queen beauty of a mountain. Instead of hiding her volcanic birth, Shasta’s snowy mantle looks like white lava flowing from her conical top and the hovering clouds like puffs of smoke. We’re heading to a free camp site at Lake Shastina Public Campground and we can’t help but crane our necks as we wind our way down CA Highway 97 Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway, to see what our girl Shasta is up to. Lake Shastina gives us a chunk of lake front property and we park Biggie Moms within kayak carry distance from the water. The amenities here are simple: one pit toilet, one water spigot, tables, fire rings, and trash cans-- a pretty slick set up for a free campsite. Shug rates our spot an 8 on her dog-o-meter and rushes immediately to the water to splash and chase after a few seagulls. For those of you who don’t believe that dogs smile, Shug’s grinning mug banishes all doubts. Following an exhausting, muddy romp, a couple of ear flapping shakes dry her off just enough to enhance the cooling effect from the breeze as she stretches out on her bed in the shade of the awning.

Annette with view of Mt. Shasta

Early the next morning we explore our new digs. A dirt road from camp curves around the south end of the lake along pastures and wetlands populated with red-winged black birds, blue herons, and members of several different duck clans. The road turns north, climbing a hill that offers still more great views of Mt. Shasta. Our morning trek takes an hour and half round-trip, a good enough jaunt so that Shug doesn’t mind being left to guard Biggie Moms while we take off in our kayaks.  As we paddle toward the middle of our part of the lake we can see that the lake is much bigger than we realized. Skirting around an island hillock, two small islands appear in the larger body of the lake. Within moments of spotting the islands we hear riotous cries, belching gurgles, and loud squawking. As we approach, we realize these small rocky islands are seagull rookeries. Thousands of seagulls, pacing or plopped on the rocky ground, scream and chortle in a non-stop screech fest. Above the rocks, in sparsely-branched trees, cormorants and great blue herons nest among the branches. The cormorants throw their heads back and shriek, gargling with their rubbery neck pouches while the herons rattle and croak while jabbing at the air with their wide open beaks. This place is a living soundtrack from the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland. Add in the visual of seagulls swooping and diving with bits of branches in their beaks while cormorants do a mock-flasher strut around the island with their wings spread open to dry and you have a good picture of our most amazing kayaking experience to date. After circling around both rookery islands, we paddle back toward camp buzzing with all we’ve seen and heard.

Kristy and Shug on Lake Shastina

Over the next few days, Lake Shastina’s smooth, glassy water mirrors our peaceful and blissful state of mind. Twice, while walking the winding road above the boat launch, we see a bald eagle leave his lookout in a tall tree and take flight over the lake. During the middle part of the days we wade out into the cold water of the lake to relieve the heat that bakes the afternoons. Even Shug, an able yet reluctant swimmer, channels her inner pup and takes a cooling plunge or two with us, dog paddling (of course) a few loops before heading back to splash along the shoreline. A cooling breeze graces the evenings and a night-time chorus of frogs sing us to sleep.

Shug's inner pup

FYI: If you visit Lake Shastina Campground expect good Verizon cell service. 1 NPR radio station. The small town of Weed is 13 miles from the campsite. Martha’s Internet Café serves killer sandwiches and dishes up great wifi connection. Groceries, gas, fast food restaurants as well as a few local eateries, and all the basic towny stuff is easy accessible.  

 

 



The silky waters of Lake Shastina



Kristy with Biggie Moms in background