Dear Oregon Coastline: Trip Gratitude

Another beautiful sunset on the Oregon Coast

Dear Oregon Coastline,




Although it's been less than two weeks since we hiked your last few miles to the Oregon Coast Trail's official finish line at Crissey Field, we already miss you. Five weeks of wandering your lonely beaches, hiking up and over capes through your temperate rain forests, and hanging out in your small coastal towns worked its magic in our heads and our hearts. Now, our conversations begin with “Remember that amazing...”  and then trail dreamily off into into a purple sunset. You mean a lot to us so please accept our brief notes of gratitude.




Enjoying the muted colors on the Oregon Coast

Thank you for fog-soaked early mornings like that day cloud vapor swirled around us as a dune trail dumped us onto a gloomy beach. We thought we were alone until Shug stopped, sniffed, and gazed out toward the surf. Not even a hundred feet away, a large pod of sea lions materialized in the gloom as the fog parted long enough for us to watch them lumber from the water onto a long sandbar. Their sleek, wet bodies reflected the fog-filtered light and they looked beautiful and wild.

P.S. We also really appreciated the orange-eyed oyster catchers watching over us and the roaming bands of snowy plovers who joined us on the beach.




A favorite campsite on the Oregon Coast

Thank you for beach campsites where long days of walking gave way to sandy solitude as we tucked out tents against the cliffs. We will always remember padding barefoot in the sand to splash in the surf streaked pink and purple in the sunset. Our sleep was sweet as your lullaby of waves sang to us through the night. The intense darkness of your night skies littered with all the stars of the Milky Way still twinkles in our daydreams.

P.S. Thank you for not manifesting Lynn's deepest fears by sucking us out to sea in a giant sneaker wave.




Thank you for treating us to awesome seafood from the bounty of your waters. Our fresh-caught fish and chips breakfast at 9:00 a.m. sounded a little crazy, but, man, was it delicious. Our amateurish attempts to compare the merits of every bowl of clam chowder exercised out taste buds and our vocabulary—rich, no buttery or maybe calorific creaminess. Sampling dockside fish sandwiches while sitting at salt-sprayed tables watching the hubbub of fishermen around the wharf fascinated these landlubber Coloradans.

P.S. Thank you also for tall cups of steamy coffee whose warmth helped both hands and hearts on cold, coastal mornings.




Completion of the Oregon Coast Trail thru-hike

And finally, thank you for challenging us with a new kind of backpacking experience. The cold and windy day when rain pelted us for hours as we hiked down the beach toward Bullard's State Park made us believe in the possibility of freezing to death on a summer day on the Oregon coast. Learning to pay attention to the tides for timing our water crossings and our access to capes and points made us feel more connected to the ocean and her beaches. The flexibility factor that kicked in when we had to reroute via a boat, a bus, or a hitch in a car kept us on our toes and opened doors for meeting interesting, kind, and funny people whose energy and well wishes never failed to lift our spirits.
Much love. The Wander Women and Shug

The big Finale/ OCT thru-hike

The beautiful Oregon Coast

Fog hugs the hillsides as we slip away from the small bay town of Charleston to tackle the 12-mile pavement walking section on Seven Devils Road. Determining that an early start will get us close to our destination before cars awaken and roar around the curves, we hit the road at 5:30 a.m. The Seven Devils reveal themselves one by one on a tree-lined, hilly road that climbs and descends, climbs and descends as we curve our way through the forest en route to the coast. Occasionally, we stop to feed Shug roadside blackberries and thimble berries and snatch a few for ourselves. The road miles evaporate under our feet and just as the sun burns through the gloom, we reach the large parking area and grassy bluff of Seven Devils State Recreation Area.

Lynn, Annette and Shug admiring the blackberries

Below the bluff, on Merchants Beach, a few beachcombers searching for shells and agates wander near a small, flowing creek. A short distance up the beach, we set up our camp at at the base of the cliffs, close enough to the creek to make pumping our water an easy chore. A southerly wind provides energy for a group of wind surfers who fly into view, cutting in and out of the waves and then grounding their kites and exiting up the same trail we had descended. From our beach vantage point, we watch a large wedding party assemble above us on the grassy bluff. We can see the bride's veil whipping above and away from her head and see her voluminous skirt billowing around her legs and then up and over her shoulders as a photographer captures what will undoubtedly be dramatic wedding portraits. The wind builds to an audible whistle and the wedding party flees to their cars. We duck into our tents as fat raindrops start to fly.

No backpacker likes to wake to the paired sounds of wind and rain. Our heads pop out of our rainflys to assess the situation and we quickly move into "Oh, well" mode. Pulling on rain gear, we cram some Bel Vita biscuits into our mouths and start breaking camp. Our tents are a sodden, sandy mess and the whipping wind defeats all efforts to fold them so we wad them up and stuff them into their sacks instead. We velcro Shug into her raincoat, pull our rain ponchos over our packs, and hike down the beach straight into hellbent wind. Moving our bodies forward feels like trudging through deep snow on a steep hill. Even the usually firm wet sand along this stretch mushes beneath our feet, creating a sinking, bog-like suck new to our beach walking experience. To keep herself warm, Shug runs zig-zags from the cliffs to the surf and then races between us as we plow through the wind. We're at sea level, on a flat beach, pumping out some of the toughest miles we've ever hiked. Eight miles that feel like eighteen miles later, with the wind and rain still blasting, we veer left through the dunes to find the hiker/biker camp at Bullards State Park. Our faces frozen and our hands blockish and useless, we step into the enclosure of Bullards day use restroom and take shelter from the storm. And then, in an Oregon coast sleight of hand, the wind goes flat and dies right before our eyes. The last windless mile to camp feels, literally, like a walk in the park. As we cut across the campground, even the rain calls it quits and feeble sunbeams shine on our water-logged heads.

At this stage in our coastal hike, we're discerning about the merits and flaws of campgrounds and Bullards Beach State Park is a beauty. The hiker/biker campsites offer us a comfortable, flat spot tucked into the trees, a big picnic table, bear-proof food lockers, and electrical outlets to recharge our cell phones--not too shabby for $5. In addition to campsite luxury, for us, one of the coolest parts of staying in a state park is meeting amazing people on their own incredible journeys. Our nearest neighbors, two German women who have biked all the way from Los Angeles with their 18-month and 21-month-old toddlers, blow our minds. Behind her bike one mom pulls a double-seater child trailer while the other mom pulls a cargo trailer loaded with all their gear. While we dry out our tents, take hot showers, and sip hot chocolate, these amazing women tirelessly play with their kids, feed their kids, sing with their kids, and demonstrate some of the best parenting skills we've ever seen.

Somewhere along the OCT

After a slow-moving morning around camp, we wish moms and babies safe travels to Vancouver, B.C. before packing up and heading out for nearby Bandon. A short bit on Hwy 101 and another bridge crossing delivers us into Bandon's old downtown area along the wharf. After picking up our general delivery resupply package at the post office, we wander until we find a waterfront restaurant, Bandon's Bait and Tackle, which offers wind-sheltered outdoor tables where we can sit with Shug. We eat fish sandwiches so delicious none of us speaks while we devour them. Then, to chase away any leftover chill from the previous day's hike, we swallow steaming coffees and linger over refills, reliving yesterday's coldest moments from the comfort of their sun-filled patio.

Soon we're back on our feet, soaking in the local dock scene before heading south to a prearranged tent spot at Beach Loop Road RV Park. Maybe we lingered too long. The late morning heats up as we walk along a small side road which overlooks this stretch of sea stack-studded coastline. Shug lags a little and acts like she's getting tired. After a rest and water stop, Shug still looks puny so we stand off to the side of the road to discuss our options. Almost instantaneously, an SUV passes us then whips a U-turn and pulls up next to us. "Your dog looks tired. Can I give you a ride somewhere?" Within 2 minutes, we stow our packs in the back of a shiny Toyota and place Shug between us on the backseat to ride the last mile to the RV park in air-conditioned comfort, courtesy of a dog-loving, nice guy named Eric.

Beach Loop RV Park welcomes us and our little tents and makes sure we find good shade for Shug. We pop the tent up, orienting it so that the ocean breezes flow through, and settle Shug in so she can rest. Although Shug loves running free on the beach mile after mile, the sand makes her paws tender. Shug stretches out in the tent and we massage her feet with the Musher's Secret paw wax that we carry for her. She's glad to be lounging in the shade and gets herself comfortable on our inflatable sleeping pads before falling fast asleep.

Shug resting up

While Shug naps, we lay out our maps and guide book and look at the days ahead. Keeping Shug healthy tops our list of priorities when doing these long hikes. The mileage works out to four more days of beach walking to reach Port Orford and then multiple big mile stretches on Hwy 101. We make a group decision to skip all the road walking after Port Orford and instead, to catch a bus and ride it to Gold Beach. If we can't get Shug on the bus, we'll hitch. We ask the park manager about the next day's beach walk and he tells us the beach is beautiful, but we might get turned back because of the snowy plover habitat restoration work going on.

Early the next morning, keeping a close eye on Shug, we head for the beach access road a half mile down the road. As we approach the parking area, we can see volunteers sitting at an information kiosk with Oregon State Wildlife banners. The volunteers kindly inform us that we will not be able to walk with Shug, even on a leash, because state biologists gathering snowy plover nesting data are working this section of the beach. Since our only alternative would be a long stretch of highway walking we decide to walk the mile to Beach Loop Road's junction with Hwy 101 and try to catch a transit bus from there. Even on this short stretch, we notice Shug lagging, looking like she's not having fun. All three of us realize that the snowy plover restrictions helped us make the best decision for Shug.

Kristy hitching a ride

After making a few phone calls, we find out that we can flag the transit bus down at the Hwy 101/Beach Loop Road junction even though there isn't an official stop and that service dogs are allowed. Unfortunately, Shug is not a service dog, but we ignore that detail. Positioning ourselves for the best possible visibility, we wait for about an hour and then we see the bus coming down the highway. Noticing our athletic display of bus flagging, the driver pulls over and opens the door. We slip onto the bus, Kristy slips the fare money into the box and we're on our way. The driver never even raises an eyebrow about Shug who plops down on the floor at our feet and promptly falls asleep. Propping our backpacks in the adjoining seats we sit back and enjoy the driver's friendly chatter as he describes the local sights for us as we roll along.

Standing in the Ray's Market parking lot in Gold Beach, we start calling around trying to find a place where we can pitch our tents. Turtle Rock RV resort two miles away on the south end of town has tent spots available so we put our packs on and head their direction. We check in at camper services then set up camp in a grassy site in the shade of a small stand of trees and put Shug to bed for the day. In the morning, although Shug looks better, she's still not her goofy Shug self and she still wants to sleep. We add another night to our two night reservation and decide to just hang out until Shug acts really rested. Taking short walks around the campground, hunting for Oregon jade down on the beach, and exploring the nearby town of Gold Beach make for mellow days where we simply enjoy the coolness and beauty of the Oregon coast.

Shug trying to train Lynn to share at Turtle Rock CG

Between the town of Gold Beach and the town of Brookings most of the OCT is road walking. One of our Turtle Rock campground neighbors, Denise, offers to give us a ride to Harris Beach State Park just north of the town of Brookings. When strangers connect with us and become part of our journey, a thread of their life weaves into the fabric of our story and our lives become richer. The following morning, we load our gear and a well-rested Shug into her Honda Pilot. After sharing breakfast together at Mattie's Pancakes, and resupplying at Fred Meyers, Denise drops us off at the hiker/biker camp at Harris Beach State Park.

As we set up our tents, the realization that this is our last campsite of the trip hits us. We decide to spend a few days exploring Brookings and the local beaches instead of hurrying ourselves along. The first day, we walk through downtown Brookings to the port to watch the Southern Oregon Kite Festival events where professional kite flyers perform elaborate kite routines set to music. For one of just a few times since we began the trip, the day feels genuinely hot. Kites dance across a blue, almost cloudless sky above a grassy, green field crowded with observers. Feeling inspired by the festival, we buy a couple of small, brightly-colored kites to take back to Harris Beach to create our own kite event. Although sea stacks cluster along the coastline at Harris Beach, the sand stretches wide enough for kite flying. The consistent, yet gentle ocean breeze proves to be fool-proof even for cheap kites in the hands of amateurs and we add our own bits of color to the sky.

Kristy flying kite at Harris Beach

During the next couple of days at Harris Beach, we explore the trails near the campground and wander the rocky beaches. We admire our last sunset and zip ourselves into our tents one more time. Early in the morning, we pack up our camp in a foggy drizzle and begin our final day's walk. Ducking into Downtown Coffee Lounge, we sit at a table in the entryway and unroll Shug's pad at our feet. At this family run cafe in Brookings, our favorite morning stop over the past few days, we sip coffee and enjoy bacon and eggs, toast, and hash browns. One of the owners, Rose, fixes a serving of bacon for Shug in a little to-go dish, wishes us well, and assures us that Crissey Field, the official end point of the Oregon Coast Trail, is not that far away.

Harris Beach

Walking and talking as we follow Ocean View Drive which passes through small neighborhoods before leading us through miles of fields of Easter lilies, we reminisce about all this OCT hike has given us. We talk about visible beauty like sandy beaches guarded by huge, black sea stacks and of rugged capes where the trail wanders among giant trees. And we talk about the sensory beauty of breathing salty, ocean air and of listening to bird song throughout the day and frog song throughout the night. The energy of each person we encountered, the boat rides, the campgrounds, the bowls of clam chowder, the ten o'clock sunsets, and the fog-soaked mornings coalesce into a bright light in our mind's eye as we climb the stairs into the visitor center at Crissey Field and cross the finish line of our Oregon Coast Trail adventure.

The big finale

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Life's A Beach

Annette keeping the wind from taking our tent

It's the 4th of July and we're camping on the beach two miles north of the Umpqua River. A cold wind whistles across the beach making our rainfly snap and flutter and blasting fists full of sand in grainy splats onto the tent walls. Inside, we stretch out on our Thermarest Neolite sleeping pads grateful for the warmth of our sleeping bags. A film of fine sand clings to our bags, our sleeping pads, and our faces as we hunker down with our Kindles for a long tent-bound evening. Around 9 o'clock the distant boom of fireworks sneaks into tiny gaps in the wind-swept soundscape. Lynn sticks her head out of her tent and calls out, "I can see fireworks, but it's so freaking cold out here I can't stand it. I'll watch fireworks next year." 

"I'm giving up and going to sleep," Kristy moans. 

"I've got so much sand in the corners of my eyes I don't even know if they'll close," Annette says.

Shug dune

"Well, there's so much sand in my lips if I close my mouth my canines will be ground into molars and I'll be forced to eat jarred baby food for the rest of my life," says Shug. "Oh, hey. I love baby food, especially turkey with gravy. It reminds me of Thanksgivings at my grandpa and grandma's house. And, oh my dog, big soft couches. Yes. Yes. Yes. And remember that corner cupboard with dog treats in it? Sigh. Remind me again why we're out here."

Wind slices under the bottom edge of the tent and all we hear is sand crackling as Shug licks her lips. 

We wake to the gentle wash of waves, grateful for a  sunny, yet chilly, morning. Sand is in our tents, our backpacks, and the pockets of our pants. Kristy runs her fingers through her hair saying it feels stiff like baby doll hair, then pulls her hat on and starts packing up. Shug's brindle-striped back looks dull and gritty as she ventures out of the tent to survey the beach. Heavy overnight dew makes the sand sticky and muddy making it impossible to shake our gear clean so we stuff pads, bags, and tents haphazardly into our packs and wander down the beach to the jetty. 

Shug and Kristy waiting for the boat

Call us wimpy, but we are ready for a big dose of town. If all goes according to plan, our prearranged fishing boat will carry us across the Umpqua River into the tiny town of Winchester. Along this short 3 mile stretch to our pickup point, Shug shows off her talent for snagging sand crabs and popping them into her mouth in one smooth arc. She trots happily down the beach chasing a gull near the dunes and then zagging right to investigate a large, empty Dungeness crab shell lying on the shore. We get a kick out of watching her take ownership of the empty beach, queen of all she sees.

Shug in action

The world shrinks to just this sun-filled stretch of beach. Shug leads us on and we soon reach a cove beyond the jetty wall. We wait a short time and then wade out to meet our boat. Shug and Kristy ride on the bow and Lynn and Annette plop down in the cabin for a short ride to the marina. OMD (oh my dog). We're in a town, albeit small, and we're ready for showers, food, and unlimited cups of hot tea. While oo-ing and ah-ing over the restaurants and the market we spot the Windy Cove RV Park, a county-owned campground across the street from the main part of town. We shuffle into the campground looking for the camp host and instead meet a friendly woman named DelRae who scurries out of her RV to help us out since the host is gone. DelRae offers to keep an eye on our packs while we hot foot it back to town to find some food. 

Picture with DelRae

After a brief discussion, the pizza at Bedrock on the Bay calls to us and we order a big, black olive and Italian sausage. Finding benches protected from the wind with just enough sun to warm our legs, we savor every cheesy bite while Shug sprawls beneath us, waiting for pizza bones. We chase the pizza with ice cream from BJ's and then decide to indulge in tall cups of steamy coffee, humbly acknowledging our descent into decadence.

Back at Windy Cove, DelRae invites us to pitch our tents in a grassy area behind her 5th wheel. It's a perfect spot at the base of vine-covered cliff walls that protect us from the wind and we gladly accept her offer. After checking it out with Arlene, the camp host, we pay our $5 and start triaging our battered gear. We frame the tents and leave them drying in the sun while we dump everything out of our packs and stuff sacks and start shaking things out. The afternoon blurs into hot showers and cup after cup of hot tea. Shug stretches out in the grass, moving back and forth between shade and sun, raising her head occasionally to see what we're laughing at, then dropping again into snooze mode. 

In that lazy afternoon, fortune smiles on us, cracking open a sweet spot in the universe by bringing us into the orbit of DelRae's campsite. She mothers us even though she's close to our age. (National Enquirer headline: Oregon Woman Gives Birth to 3 Grown Women and a Boxer Dog at Campground) We chatter on about Oregon's coasts, about the perpetually cool coastal weather where 70 degrees qualifies as a heat wave, and about the joyous freedom of camping. 

Later, DelRae builds a big fire and delights us with funny stories and we laugh ourselves to tears. Even though we've just met, there's a kinship. Before long, we toast marshmallows and slap them onto the chocolate laden graham crackers, sealing our bond with that most venerable of camp rituals. We click photos and share info, hoping to someday reconnect.

Ryan and Casey paddling the Pacific

Not surprisingly, coastal hiking has its ebbs and flows. We become the sand, the water, and the filtered light. Miles pile up in a mesmerizing heap of crashing waves and foggy vistas. Where Ten-Mile Creek's winds its way across the beach we take our boots off and wade across the stream to find a small niche in the trees just flat enough for our tents. 

Loading all our water reservoirs and bottles into one pack we grab the filter and hike the creek upstream to where it flows free of tidal backwash.  As we're pumping our liters, two blonde, bearded young men call out to us, surprising us since we're in the middle of nowhere and haven't seen a single person along the beach all day. They have come on an identical water seeking mission and carry large plastic jugs and a cooking pot. We start a conversation and find out that these twenty-four year old twins started out on their prone paddle boards in Ketchikan, Alaska in March to paddle the length of North America's Pacific coastline. And today they stand here in the silty mud of this creek with us seeking fresh water. Wandering back to the beach together, they share their story, wish us well on our hike and cut across the dune to their camp.

The next morning we pass by the boarders' camp, two small tents pitched next to two long skinny boards topped by their full length wetsuits. They're just crawling out of their tents, but they greet us and we snap a photo to share back to them on their website. (Northamericanpaddle.com)

Waving goodbye, we head for the wet sand and walk toward our next camp at Horsfall Beach. The day grows progressively hotter and the reliable ocean breeze mysteriously disappears. By the time we cut through the dunes to the campground, it's downright hot and we're looking for shade for Shug. Looking around we realize that Horsfall is really an RV camp, no shade structures, no trees. We duck Shug into the shade of a massive parked RV and go to talk to the campground host.

As we approach the host's site, we can tell she has it all going on. She's giving info to one man while directing another to an empty camp spot in the far corner, totally in control, courteous and efficient. She's fit and tanned and wears jean shorts with her Forest Service shirt and a flashes us a big smile. Noticing Shug right away, she tells us to drop our packs onto an empty picnic table and points out the water spigot. Expressing our need for a shadier environment for Shug we tell her we'd like to try and hitch a ride to the town of North Bend to avoid walking the OCT's route of 15 miles on Hwy 101. Without hesitating for even a moment, she says that's she's heading to town in a few minutes and will give us a lift. Gratitude and a huge sense of relief washes over us. Imagine offering a ride to three women, each with a large backpack, and a good-sized boxer. Kathy starts emptying her personal gear out of her jeep to make space for us and in short order announces she's ready to go. We stow our backpacks in the back, and pile inside. With Shug stretched across our laps in the back seat, we exit the campground and head for town. Knowledgeable about all things Oregon, Kathy acts as a tour guide and informs us about local landmarks and history. She takes us beyond North Bend to a little motel in Charleston because she thinks it's safer for us to get past the bridge in a car. Refusing our offer of gas money, she wishes us well on our journey and motors away leaving us with a stronger faith in humanity and a deeper sense of what genuine kindness feels like. 

In Charleston, we spend two nights in a cheap motel that's not so cheap, but is reasonably clean and comfortable. We wander around the marina watching the fishermen clean their catch on the dock or unload their big icy tubs of fish at the cannery. Downtown, there's a small market, a coffee shop, and a bar and grill called Millers that serves us delicious burgers to go which we eat while sitting on our beds watching the rain pour down. "If it weren't for Kathy we'd be walking the road in this pouring rain right now," we say. Our gratitude brightens our time on the bay in Charleston, Oregon. Adding luxuries like hot coffees, hot showers, and plenty of time to catch up with friends and family deepens our appreciation for all the gifts this Oregon Coast Trail trip brings to us. 

Shug Likes It: A Dog’s Beach Life



Shug guarding our packs for a potty break

Happy 4th of July to all my peeps. Despite a stiff breeze we pitch our tents on the beach just a couple of miles north of where the Umpqua River empties into the Pacific on the central Oregon coast. My plan is to stay here tonight far from any fireworks and cherry bombs and then move the pack a couple more miles south on the beach to a jetty where we can catch a ride on a fishing boat tomorrow. This will be my third boat ride which is a new-fangled way to backpack, but I like it. 

The pack and I have been trying out some other new-fangled backpacking strategies the past few days. On one long hiking day, a nice old guy named Jerry scoops me into the back of his SUV and crams the rest of the pack into the seats with their backpacks on their laps. Burl Ives croons cowboy songs to us the whole way while Jerry tells us about the old days and drives us to a local campground surrounded by mooing cows. Listening to Burl Ives and to mooing cows is new for me on backpacking trips, but I like it.

After relaxing a couple of nights at dairy camp, getting my paws waxed and generally catching up on my napping, our friend Juliet flies in from Colorado Springs, picks us all up in her rental car, and takes us to a dog friendly motel in Pacific Beach. Pacific Beach, AKA doggy bag heaven. Add tasty seafood to the new-fangled backpacking checklist. Fish and chips, clam chowder, grilled rock fish--I sampled it all and I liked it. 

Whale spotting at Depoe Bay

Somehow, someone sitting at a desk far, far away from the outdoors thinks it's okay to route the Oregon Coast Trail on highway 101 and pretend it's a trail. I try hwy 101 with the pack and have to give it the big four paws down. Trucks zooming past as we tread the 14 inch wide shoulder makes it too hard to maintain pack morale and safety. Juliet's rental car leap-frogs us over the road walking sections and drops us in Depoe Bay at a whale watching lookout point. Kristy, Lynn and I hunker down and watch whales spitting water out of the top of their heads and flopping around while Annette and Juliet ditch the car  back in Lincoln City and catch a bus to rejoin the pack. Once reunited, we hustle down to the beach and head south for a 10 mile walk on a deserted beach littered with crab carcasses to Beverly Beach State Park. This automotive intervention approach to backpacking, although unorthodox, reduces stress and eliminates the risk of being flattened by a logging truck. I like it. 

Juliet, Lynn and Annette.... Wander Women

Later in the week, back to our pack of four, we once again need some new tricks. We're hiking a no camping stretch of beach so we cross through the dunes to a US Forest Service campground. As we trudge through the deep sand with our packs even I break a sweat. ATV engines rev and whine around us as we hit the campground road. 4th of July weekend and this place is packed. Dirt bikes, jeeps, ATVs, and dune buggies crowd into tight campsites. "No room," says the campground host. No way can we walk any farther. It's hot and our paws are poached. We fill up on water and I lead the pack down an off-road vehicle path where we skedaddle off into a treed section just out of sight. Our first opportunity to try stealth camping and we're all in. I like it. 

Juliet and Lynn beach river crossing

One of the best things about stealth camping is the pre-dawn escape. The morning air is cool and quiet except for the crash of waves on the nearby beach. I wake the pack at 4 a.m. We break camp and hightail it over to the bathrooms to resupply our water and by 5:00 we're back on the beach heading for Tahkenitch Creek Campground 10 miles away. I'm new to beach walking and find it amazing to traipse across the wet sand for mile after mile and never meet any other packs. These beaches are deserted. A bald eagle perched on a driftwood stump monitors our progress but poses no threat. After about 8 miles we cut through the trees to find our trail and head east on a dirt path. Our dirt trail soon turns to sand and then to deep sand as we climb through the dunes.  I hear moaning and groaning behind me but I bravely shoulder my pack and keep on. Abruptly, the dune trail becomes a forest trail lined with ferns and shaded by huge Sitka pines. I'm too tired to even sniff tree trunks so we continue on and eventually the trail dumps us right into the campground. Good dogs can spot a good person from a mile away. A camp host named Cory, who's Labrador retriever nice, welcomes the pack into her camp. "No room, but no problem," she says. "I can hide you over here in the picnic area." And she does and we love her for it. We drowse on the grass in the sun, look at the light filtering through the green leaves and feel the bliss. I perk up every so often and rouse myself enough to scare away a squirrel or two. Later in the evening, Cory drops by again and brings us turkey sandwiches, cinnamon raisin pastries, and big poofy glazed donuts that she bought for us while she was in town. I give her my double-down wiggle and wag    and she ambles away into the sunset calling back to us, " If your dog gets cold tonight she can come sleep in my trailer." Angelic camp hosts are one of my favorite parts of this new-style backpacking. Cory--I like her.