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.