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.