Wed. June 9, 2021
- Start: Fort Stevens State Park (Northern Terminus)
- End: Hiker Camp on Tillamook Head
- Daily Distance: 24.4 miles
- Cumulative OCT Mileage: 24.4 miles
I’m finally beginning my SOBO thru-hike of the Oregon Coast Trail!!
It’s probably worth noting here that I intend to embark on this trail a bit differently that some of my prior thru-hikes. This new approach is mostly a result of prior obligations that I simply can’t avoid.
For example, I still don’t have my Oregon driver’s license yet. When I moved to Oregon back in early April, I went online to apply for one and thought it would be a simple task. But Covid makes nothing simple. And the earliest appointment the DMV had available was in mid-June, right in the middle of my OCT thru-hike!
Then there was the major mishap where Finn fell off his bike and broke his arm in multiple places last month (and had to have surgery to put it back together). So while he’s mostly doing fine now, I still want to be there for his follow-up appointments with the orthopedist.
Consequently, I going to need to be more flexible on the OCT. Rather than pounding the trail relentlessly day after day like I normally might, I’m planning to have take a few zeros throughout the month to take care of some of these unavoidable tasks dictated by my ‘real world’ life.
Thus, I’m breaking this thru-hike into three different segments:
- The Northern Coast (or the 140-ish miles Fort Stevens to Depoe Bay),
- The Central Coast (the 130-ish miles from Depoe Bay to North Bend/Coos Bay), and
- The Southern Coast (the 130-ish miles from Coos Bay to the California border)
And now, on to the hike itself.
The Northern Terminus
Last night we spent the night down at Barview Jetty Park, approximately 65 miles down the coast from the OCT’s northern terminus. It was a lot colder at our campsite on the beach last night than I’d expected it to be. The weather dropped down into low 40s and we got a bit of overnight rain. But, at least I didn’t have to pack up a wet tent first thing this morning.
Instead, we all got up at 5 am when Keith’s bladder got the best of him and hit Highway 101 for the drive to the northern terminus.
We’re all well versed with this particular drive up the coast. Last October, Keith and Finn dropped me off at Fort Stevens so I could ride the northern 60 miles of the Oregon Coast Bike Route. Biking the route gave me a fairly good idea of what to expect on the next few days of this hike – at least in terms of the towns along the way.
Despite this preview, I’m expecting the OCT to be quite a bit different than my two-wheeled adventure. That’s because instead of sticking purely to Highway 101, like I did last autumn, I’d be following the beaches, delving into the the forests and over steep headlands, and pretty much anywhere else the creators of the Oregon Coast Trail deemed worthy to include on this route.
As we head into Fort Stevens itself, we pass the museum, some artillery gun batteries, and lots of military memorabilia that reminds visitors that this park was once a U.S. military installation that guarded the mouth of the Columbia River from the Civil War to WWII.
In June 1942, a Japanese submarine entered U.S. coastal waters and the sub’s commander, Meiji Tagami, ordered his sailors to fire upon Fort Stevens’ battery. The fort’s commander instituted an immediate blackout and ordered the American soldiers to hold their return fire because he didn’t not want to prematurely reveal their position while the submarine was outside their effective firing range.
Of the 17 shells the submarine fired at them that evening, none did any real damage – and the majority landed on the fort’s baseball field or in a nearby swamp. However, very few people know that Oregon was the few states actually attacked by Axis forces during WWII. I guess it’s a humbling place to start this adventure.
Our first destination this morning was the northernmost tip the park — Catslop Spit – the sand bar that forms the state’s northern boundary along the mouth of the Columbia River. At the end of the spit, a long rock jetty extends into the Pacific Ocean and a substantially similar rock jetty (Cape Disappointment) rest on the the Washington side of the river’s mouth.
It didn’t take long to discover I wouldn’t be able to begin my hike at the northern terminus though.
There was orange construction fencing blocking access to pretty much everything beyond the spit’s parking lot. There was no chance of making our way to the South Jetty’s observation tower or the rock jetty beyond it.
So, it was on to plan B… About 3/4 of a mile further south, Parking Lot B also led to the beach. I could begin my hike there and not fret about the small stuff like the boulders crashing down around me from heavy construction equipment!
Let’s get this party started
After finding my alternate starting point and hoisting my pack onto my shoulders, I set down off toward the beach with tons of energy. It was 7:30 am, and I was ready to see what this adventure had in store for me.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure how to pack for this trail. The temperatures this upcoming week were supposed to be somewhere between the 40s and 60s. Somewhat chilly considering it was nearly mid-June. And it was also supposed to rain. Ugh!
That unpleasant combination meant I undoubtedly overpacked for the conditions. Everyone says you have a tendency to pack your fears. And I really, really HATE being cold and wet.
I can deal with cold. And I can deal with rain. But cold and rainy is the combination that will break me. As a result, my pack felt way heavier than I would have liked at the beginning of a thru-hike. Only time would tell if I really needed all this extra gear.
As I crested the 20-foot dune that separated the trees from the beach, I was pleased to find nothing but open, flat beach for as far as I could see. There were no other hikers in sight. Nor any trucks or ATVs revving up and down the beach. Not even early any morning beach walkers dotting the horizon.
Then, I suddenly movement caught my peripheral vision, and I spotted a bald eagle flying toward a wooden post and landing atop it! I got a handful photos before he flew off, but he wasn’t the only eagle I’d see this morning. About 10 minutes later, I saw a pair of bald eagles together.
In case you didn’t know this, bald eagles are normally solitary creatures. But they are also monogamous and maintain the same mate year after year. So, I suspect I might have spotted a breeding pair that morning since at the water’s edge.
More important to my journey, bald eagles represent strength, courage, and freedom.
All things that I love.
So perhaps the unexpected construction at the trailhead wasn’t a bad omen signaling adversity on my upcoming hike! Instead I’m going to focus on the positive symbolism of the eagles as I begin this 400-mile journey down the coast.
Shipwrecked & Social media
The first several miles of the OCT were nice easy walking along the beach. The environment was tranquil and about as perfect of a start as I could have expected on this journey. It was low tide too, so the wet sand was nice and compact and easy to walk on.
After about three miles, I could see the outline of the wreck of the Peter Iredale, a steel sailing vessel that ran ashore in 1906. The 27 man-crew (plus two stowaways) were all rescued from the wreck, but the remains of the ship are still stuck in the sand and is now a tourist attraction.
When I arrived, there were a fair number of people mingling about, but they lost interest quickly enough that I eventually had the spot all to myself and was able to get some photos without a horde of kids in every shot.
About an hour later, I could see the silhouette of what appeared to be another hiker ahead of me in the distance. My pace was a bit quicker than his, and it didn’t take too long before I closed the gap and caught up. The guy appeared to be in his early 20s and introduced himself to me as Bear.
I asked if he was doing the entire OCT, and I was suprised to hear him tell me that he actually planned to hike the entire coastline from Canada to Mexico! He said he started up on the Olympic Peninsula in northern Washington last month and had followed the coast south before taking a detour over to Cascade Locks to stay with a PCT trail angel.
After that interesting introduction, he then proceeded to tell me all about how he was some sort of social media influencer and then proclaimed he was “documenting” the Oregon Coast Trail.
Hmmmm. Let’s just say I’m not sure how much of this story is fact, and how much is fiction.
First off, Cascade Locks is quite a bit out of the way – about 135 miles to be exact – to be a reasonable detour off the trail. And doesn’t pretty much everyone in their 20s claim to be (or want to be) some sort of social media ‘influencer’ these days??
Moreover, he wasn’t exactly dressed like any typical thru-hikers I knew. He was hiking in a pair of jeans rolled up to his calves and was carrying a giant 80-liter pack, with a machete and a lot of other extraneous, heavy gear that most hikers I know would have almost undoubtedly ditched in their first 300 miles down the Washington Coast.
Despite these inconsistencies and quirks, I figured it wasn’t worth my time or energy to probe his story. I’d probably never see him again, and I just didn’t care enough. I had miles to hike. So, I bid him goodbye and picked up my pace on my way to the coastal town of Seaside.
More beach
The next 10 miles of the beach was really easy walking and I was surprised at how quickly I was moving along. At this rate, I’d have no problem making it to the hiker camp in Ecola State Park this evening. Heck, my first day on this trail might be a 25 mile day! That’s wild!
The only downside of walking on the beach (other than the constant wind) was the number of cars and trucks that were now appearing along the way.
Driving on the beach is legal in much of Oregon, and more than a few people seemed to be enjoying the pasttime. Truth be told, I didn’t mind the vehicles I could see – even as some of them were tearing up the sand while doing donuts and making the turf so much harder to walk on.
What I really disliked were all the cars and trucks that would drive up behind me. With the constant wind and roar of the ocean, I could rarely hear these vehicle approaching. And the next thing I’d know a car would catch my peripheral vision as it roared past at 20 or 30 miles per hour.
It was a completely unnerving experience to say the least. So I was grateful when I finally passed a sign announcing that the next stretch of beach was completely closed to vehicle traffic.
Of course, this sign was just about the same spot where the OCT departed the beach too, so I didn’t get too much of a reprieve from the cars. After 15 miles of secluded walking it was time head into the town of Seaside.
The reason for my short detour into town was the upcoming terrain. Both the Neawanna Creek and the Necanicum River feed into the Pacific Ocean, which make this the first estuary I’d encounter that was too wide and too deep to wade across. I’d need to cut into town and cross over the rivers on a manmade bridge instead.
seaside
The walking was so easy all morning, but I’d only stopped for a single quick break, and I was now starving. Even though I was carrying plenty of food in my pack, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I was walking though town to make a stop at one of the breweries in Seaside.
The OCT passes more than 20 breweries and cideries as it weaves down the coast, and Seaside is home to two of them – Sisu Brewing Co. and Seaside Brewing Co.
Given that Sisu is my trail name, I’m sure most people would assume I’d stop there for lunch, but I actually opted for Seaside Brewing instead. The main reason was because it had plenty of outdoor patio seating and I (probably) wouldn’t offend anyone if took off my shoes while eating there.
After close to an hour of relaxation and enjoying my beer and lunch, I knew it was time to get back on trail. With nowhere to legally camp between here and Tillamook Head, I had another 8 miles before I’d get to set up my tent for the night. Thus, it was time to make my way out of the tourist-laden kitschiness that seems to dominate the town of Seaside.
On my way out of town, I passed Meriwether Lewis & William Clark (or at least a bronze statue of them) looking out onto the Pacific Ocean. This is where their two-year expedition through the Louisiana Territory and Pacific Northwest ended more than 215 years ago.
It’s amazing to think about their journey west, and how they would have almost certainly perished if they hadn’t had the fortune of meeting a Shonshone girl named Sacagawea to help interpret for them.
Moreover, you have to imagine her mere presence with them must have served their interests. When local tribes saw Sacagawea, with her infant son Jean-Baptiste, it must have given them pause and comfort. After all, how much of a threat would these two dudes be if a native girl and her baby are accompanying them?
As I was making my way back down toward the sandy beach below the Lewis and Clark statue, I spotted a water spigot and quickly debated whether to stop and top off my water bottles. I still had one full liter left. That was plenty, and water is so heavy. So I kept walking and didn’t give the spigot much thought.
In hindsight, that moment might have been the worst decision of the day. I was still feeling plenty hydrated from my lunchtime beer, but soon I’d be completely parched from climbing the steep trail that would lead me through the Elmer Felhenheimer Forest Preserve and up to Tillamook Head.
As I continued walking south down the sandy strip of beach, I couldn’t help but notice that it was no longer the tranquil shore I’d experienced early in the morning. Seaside was filled with tons so people hanging out, flying kites, or playing frisbee.
Not only did I now have to dodge tons of people who weren’t paying much attention to their surroundings, I now also had to keep my eyes peeled for a safe space to step. The sand was simply littered with crab carcasses everywhere. High tide had been around 1:30 pm, and the Pacific Ocean was receding leaving behind the detritus of the sea.
After a short time, sand and crab shells transitioned to cobbles and small round rocks, which were picturesque, but not easy to walk on. I worried I might turn an ankle the entire time as I navigated my way up toward a neighborhood where the Tillamook Head trailhead was hidden between large, expensive beach homes.
As I climbed the paved road into this neighborhood, I started to feel the fatigue of the day setting in. All the energy I felt before lunch was quickly disappearing. My feet felt heavy. My pack was digging into my shoulders. I just wanted to get to the hiker camp. But, I still had the massive climb up to Tillamook Head.
Tillamook head
As I slowly trudged up the paved road toward the trailhead, I saw the shape of a familiar figure moving ahead of me. It was Bear — the hiker/social media influencer I’d met back on the beach earlier this morning.
As I pulled even with him, he immediately recognized me and was eager to talk to someone familiar. The next few minutes were spent with him sharing all the details of how he’d gotten ahead of me (long story short, he’d taken a 9-mile bus ride shortly after I’d seen him this morning).
Interesting. But I’m not sure how he’s going to create this documentary about hiking the OCT from the seat of a damn bus. Then again, what do I know? I’m not a social media influencer. So I kept my thoughts to myself.
Bear stayed at the trailhead to smoke some weed (which he offered to share, but I politely declined), while I decided to forge ahead once again. I was more than ready to get to camp instead of sitting around listening to him wax on about himself.
After all, I was pretty sure I’d get that same opportunity up at the Hiker Camp… if he actually made it up there tonight (and didn’t take another bus detour somewhere further south).
Up to this point, I’d been feeling really good about my fitness and progress for the day. It was only 3 pm and I’d walked just over 20 miles. The beach had been really easy and flat, and I only had another 4 miles left for the day. Perhaps I wasn’t nearly as out of shape as I’d though on this early season hike!
Of course, those moments when you are feeling strong are usually when the trail decides to humble you a bit. You begin to feel rather confident about yourself, and Mother Nature shows up to put you back in your place.
The next 4 miles were the hardest thing I’d do all day. The climb up Tillamook Head was steep and strewn with roots. There was plenty of mud. And took me nearly two hours to make those final four miles to the Hiker Camp near the summit.
One of the most challenging parts of this section of trail was the fact that the trail was braided. It would split and seem to go in two different directions, both of which headed up. I’m not sure if this was a result of haphazard bypasses created to get around downed trees and trail closures, or if it was done deliberately. Regardless, it was frustrating.
Sometimes the two trails would only diverge for 100 yards or so before meeting up again. Other times, it was much longer. Most of the time, I had no idea whether I was taking a meandering side trail or was still on the main path. It always seemed to work out each time though.
Until the one time when it didn’t.
I was easily about a 300 years past the last junction, when I suddenly turned a corner and came upon a spot where the trail ended. There was a massive blown down tree blocking the path and no easy way around it. The trunk of the tree was a good 4 feet in the air, while the foliage around it was too dense to navigate to the left of the right.
I assumed I’d simply climb over it and find that the trail resumed on the opposite side. But, after hoisting myself up onto the now horizontal tree, there was nothing but downed trees and brush as far as I could see. Dammit. This the trail didn’t go through.
I’d taken a right turn the last time the trail split, so I figured the main trail had to be somewhere off to my left. I could see the trees seemed to be more open and thinner in that direction, and I took a risk. Instead of backtracking to the last trail junction, I walked 30 feet down the massive tree trunk.
In hindsight, it would have been a disaster if I’d fallen off. I would have undoubtedly injured myself. I was a good four feet above the ground and all the brush below me. The tree’s bark was wet and slick. And walking the length of the tree like a gymnast on a balance beam wasn’t all that smart.
Yet, I successfully made it far enough down that I could walk safely jump down into some thinner underbrush. And sure enough, near the opening in the trees, I found the main trail again!
Sisu: 1; Mother Nature: 0
Hiker Camp
While I was feeling pretty smug about my progress and avoiding the need to backtrack, I soon realized something else. My water was low. I’d left Seaside with about a liter, and was now down to barely half a liter.
There hadn’t been a single water source in this forest. No streams or rivers. Nothing. This was not good. I was parched and tired and would need more water if I planned to cook dinner or breakfast. I was certainly hoping there’d be water at the Hikers Camp.
As I’d soon discover, there was no water up there.
There were three logs cabins to sleep in. There was a pit toilet. There was even a covered picnic area. But there wasn’t any water!
As I dropped my pack and slouched down at the picnic table, I took in my surroundings. I was the only backpacker up there at the moment, so I couldn’t even ask anyone if they had water to share. I walked over to the signs near the pit toilet hoping for more information, but they merely told me it was only 1/8 mile to the overlook for the Tillamook Head Lighthouse.
Just then, a group of fresh and clean smelling dayhikers popped out of the woods. What the heck?!? Where did they come from?
I asked how they got up here, and they said they’d parked about a mile down the trail near the Indian Beach parking area. My next question was whether water down near the parking area.
After a long pause where they all silently looked around at each other, someone shrugged. They hadn’t noticed. There was definitely a pit toilet down there. But water? No one had seen any faucets or water fountains. So probably not, they each conceded.
Sigh.
As I debated whether to make the mile-long trek down to the parking area, one of the girls offered to share her water with me. It wasn’t a lot. But, it took me from under half a liter to nearly a full one. Plus, it was still cold from the ice she had in the bottle. So that was delightful.
I thanked them profusely before setting up for the night. There was a 40% chance of rain, so I decided to camp in one of the cabins instead of setting up my tent. I just hope this isn’t like the shelters on the Appalachian Trail, where rodents would be running across my sleeping body in the middle of the night looking for food crumbs.
Terrible Tilly & WWII Bunkers
After spreading out my gear on one of the plywood bunks, I decided to set down the side trails to see if I could get a glimpse of Tillamook Rock Lighthouse in the early evening sun. The sign said it was only a 1/8 mile away.
Terrible Tilly, as she is known, sits atop a basalt island about a mile off the Oregon Coast and I was curious to see this unique structure.
I already knew the construction of the lighthouse was a complete nightmare thanks to the coast’s stormy weather and immense waves constantly crashing onto the rocky island. All told, it took the crew more than 500 days to build the lighthouse before it was finally lit on January 21, 1881.
This lighthouse wasn’t a plum assignment for lightkeepers either. It was isolated. The weather was often horrible. And there was absolutely nowhere to go when you started to feel stir-crazy. Consequently, Tilly’s lightkeepers were give shorter assignments (42 days on, 21 days off) to offset the harsh mental and physical conditions brought by their isolated duty.
The lighthouse eventually ceased operations in 1957, and it changed hands a few times before two investors gutted the structure and turned into a columbarium (repository for cremated remains). Although it no longer has a license for this macabre purpose, more than 30 urns are still stored in the former lighthouse’s structure.
The trail down to the overlook was short and easy. It led to the edge of the headland where a fence stood to protect people from falling, and then I could see the rocky island resting a mile away in the distance. The ocean was quiet now. I wouldn’t get any grand photos of the waves crashing up and over the lighthouse, or anything else to hint at its dramatic surroundings.
Given the distance (and the limitations of my iPhone), I could barely make out the edges of the lighthouse even when zooming the camera in as far as possible. I suspect you’d have to be down in the water and immediately in front of the lighthouse to actually get a truly decent photo. But this was good enough for me.
On the way back up the trail to the Hiker Camp, I spotted something that was even more interesting than the lighthouse, and went off to explore it up close. Tucked into the woods, I could see the faint outlines of a concrete bunker that the forest was clearly trying to reclaim.
Ferns and other foliage concealed its presence, but it was clearly a WWII bunker so soldiers could keep an eye out for enemy aircraft hoping to attack the West Coast. I’d seen similar structures in Hawaii, but I had no idea there were bunkers built in Oregon.
The mossy bunker was about the length of a school bus, and much more narrow than other ones I’d visited. Nowadays it seemed like a good home for snakes or bats (or other wildlife I had no desire to come in close contact with) so I kept my distance as I walked around its perimeter. Still it was interesting.
A Bear, a moose, and some ignorance
As I made my way back to the Hiker Camp, I could now hear voices. Lots of them. And they weren’t day hikers. A family with two young kids was setting up their tent in the woods behind the log cabin I’d previously set my stuff in.
Meanwhile, three more hikers had joined me at the cabins. There was a duo in their early 20s, named Dillon and Dan, who’d hiked up Tillamook Head from the south who were now setting up their tent and a hammock in the camp. And there was a solo female hiker in her late teens or early 20s staking claim to the middle cabin. She’d started a 2-day hike in Seaside and had come up the trail not far behind me.
As we all got to know each other, we were joined by a fourth hiker….Bear, who I’d last seen down at the trailhead smoking his weed. He collapsed into camp was asking about the closest water source while complaining how he must have left his water bottle back at the trailhead.
The girl in the center cabin chimed in to say she’d see saw a bottle and then described it in great detail. Bear happily confirmed it was definitely his bottle she’d seen. Then she told him she’d walked right past it at the trailhead thinking it probably belonged to a lazy day hiker who didn’t care about littering.
You could see him instantly deflate. He was getting called out as a schmuck.
Dillon and Dan came to Bear’s rescue and shared their water with him so he wouldn’t have to resort of rehydrating with the several tiny bottles of 4-hour energy drink he’d been downing the past hour in lieu of water. Oh man, this guy was a hot mess!
Then Bear started to regale the group with stories about his ‘vast social media presence’ and his adventures down the Washington Coast (where he needed his machete), so I decided to turn in for the nigh. I wasn’t interested, and I’d met plenty of storytellers like him before.
As I lay there trying to fall asleep, I could hear him asking everyone if they saw the giant moose prints on the muddy trail. Then he went on about how he was glad he knew how to defend himself against moose and other large animals.
Oh for crying out loud! Those weren’t moose prints.
There are only about 60 moose in the entire state of Oregon, and they all reside in the far northeast part of the state, nowhere near the ocean. Those prints belong one of the 60,000 or so Roosevelt Elk that live nearby! Oh, how his ignorance and hubris hurts my head!
I definitely need to make an early start and get ahead of this guy tomorrow!
Day 1 Summary
Highlights
- Seeing the Wreck of Peter Iredale up close. It’s amazing to witness what the power of the ocean can do.
- I made much quicker time on the sand than expected today. I certainly didn’t expect to hike nearly 25 miles on my first day on the trail!
- Views of the Tillamook Head Lighthouse. There are 11 lighthouse dotting the Oregon coastline, and I’m hoping to see them all during this journey!
Challenges
- Having to adjust my starting location on Catslop Spit because of the ongoing jetty construction. It was a bit of a bummer, but part of thru-hiking is having to adapt on the fly.
- The final four miles up to Hiker Camp were definitely challenging and I didn’t have enough water. I need to be a bit more careful about carrying enough on this hike.
- Tryin got fall asleep while in earshot of a certain young wanna-be social media influencer with just enough knowledge (and a machete) to be dangerous.