Tuesday, June 30, 2021
- Starting Point: Washburn State Park
- End Point: Siltcoos River
- Daily Miles: 27.2 miles
- Cumulative OCT miles: 224.4 miles
Although I’ve been sleeping well the past few nights at the hiker-biker camps, last night was definitely an exception. I woke up at 1:30 am and it took me over an hour to fall back asleep. Something was keeping me awake.
I doubt it was the sign in the campground about bear activity that was nagging at my psyche and keeping me up. The problem was more likely all my nervous energy about this morning’s traverse through the Cape Creek tunnel just south of Heceta Head.
As I mentioned in my last blog post, this particular obstacle has been weighing on my mind since I started the trail. When the state of Oregon built the quarter-mile long Cape Creek Tunnel in the 1931, they didn’t allow any extra room for a sidewalk or road shoulder to run through it. The tunnel just consists of two narrow lanes of traffic, one for each direction of travel.
This tunnel is barely wide enough for two ordinary vehicles, and if you get some larger traffic like a logging truck or RV, then watch out! It’s down to inches of room to spare.
As such, OCT thru-hiker’s only have two options for getting through this dangerous tunnel: (1) find a car ride through to the other side; or (2) carefully brave the tunnel with the vehicle traffic, running through it as fast as possible.
This morning would be when I finally encountered this scary problem face-to-face.
HECETA HEAD
I was up for good around 6 am and walking out of the campground a half hour later. On my way back to the beach, I encountered a really nice woman staying at the campground for the entire summer season.
When she saw my pack, she asked me if I was hiking the OCT. I was momentarily taken aback with her question. So few people out here seem to know anything about the trail.
But then she revealed that she’s a seasonal employee up at the Heceta Head Lighthouse. She’d seen the trail markers directing hikers around the lighthouse, and had plenty of free time to do a little sleuthing about the trail.
I desperately wanted to ask her where all the other OCT hikers were hiding. I still hadn’t seen any. But I didn’t expect an answer. For all I know, I might be at the very front end of the pack. Maybe there’s a bubble of thru-hikers just hours or days behind me!
Once I left Washburn State Park and got myself back out on the beach, I was pleased to discover that yesterday’s strong headwinds had died down. It was dark and overcast, but the conditions were much nicer without the pervasive wind trying to blow me backwards.
I only had about a mile of beach walking down Roosevelt Beach and Hobbit Beach before the trail turned inland. My next stretch was on the Hobbit Trail, a popular day hiking trail from between the beach and the highway, which ran through a dark forest.
This trail must get a lot of visitors with a bizarre sense of humor because the area closest to the beach had a bit of a theme to it. Old crab shells decorated the waist-high dirt banks beside the trailhead. It was like a makeshift art installation with whimsy and creepiness all rolled into in one.
The next two miles were a challenging climb through dense forest as I made my way up to the top of Heceta Head. I was the only one out there on this super-popular trail this morning. But, that probably had everything to do with the early hour. A person has to be pretty dedicated to be out here hiking before 7 am on on a Tuesday morning.
I stopped to catch my breath a few times on the climb, and behind me I could glimpse the ocean down below. The sandy strip north (back toward Washburn State Park) stretched out before me, and the beaches were still empty and quiet.
As the trail crested the headland, I found myself eye-to-eye with the top of a lighthouse for the second time on this thru-hike. Unlike the squat lighthouse on Cape Meares, this lighthouse was much taller and fully operational.
The fresnel lens of the Heceta Head Lighthouse was rotating, bringing a warm flash of light with each turn. It was the most surprising and wonderful experience to be above the lighthouse and looking down on it.
The trail curved around the lighthouse, then several switchbacks that took me down to its base where I was eye-to-eye with it.
The air was almost completely still and I was seemingly the only soul around. It was far too early in the day for tourists, or employees, or tour guides. It was just me and the lighthouse shining brightly at the edge of Heceta Head.
Looking south, I could see a pocket beach below me. Then my eye was drawn inward toward the curved arches of the blue Cape Creek Bridge. This bridge carried Highway 101 through the tunnel bored into the next forested headland.
From this distance, it appeared very little traffic was driving crossing the bridge. Perhaps my plan to get up early would bode well for my success. Maybe all my anxiety over this tunnel was for nothing.
CAPE CREEK TUNNEL
Signs pointed the way down to an old carriage road toward a wonderfully ornate white lightkeeper’s house. The large Queen-Anne style home was built back in 1896, and has since been converted into a bed and breakfast, where guests can spend the night in one of the six bedrooms.
One of the guests sat outside on the wrap-around porch enjoying the sweeping views. And as I trod past, he raised his coffee mug in acknowledgement, and I gave him a quick finger wave back.
Below the B&B, down near the edge of the beach, I could see the giant parking lot where visitors would normally park when coming to see the lighthouse. It was completely empty now. Not a single car was parked in the lot. Even the bathrooms were locked until 9 am.
Well that eliminated my first option for getting through the tunnel. If there weren’t any cars here, then I certainly couldn’t ask a driver for a ride. I’d have to go through the Cape Creek Tunnel on foot.
I looked up at the blue bridge, now towering above me. It was now or never. So I climbed the steep asphalt road back up to Highway 101 while gathering my courage to race through the tunnel.
As I approached the mouth of the narrow tunnel, I could see there was another push button on a light pole just outside it. When I pushed the button, it would light up the signs on either end of the tunnel and warn oncoming traffic that a cyclist (or pedestrian) was in the tunnel.
The drivers should then, as least theoretically, slow down to avoid the hazard on the road. But I wanted more than a simple flashing road sign to get their attention. I desperately wished I had one of those reflective vests all the cyclists were wearing on the highway.
The one thing I did have available though was my headlamp. And it had a strobe mode on it. I would wear my headlamp backwards so the traffic behind could see me in the roadway. I turned the red strobe light on, hoping it would make me more visible to drivers when I entered the tunnel.
Then I waited. I was going to try my best to head through the tunnel without any vehicle traffic whatsoever.
A few cars passed me in either direction, and then I seemed to have a break in morning traffic flow. I looked toward the opening at the far end of the tunnel. There weren’t any cars as far as I could see. I didn’t hear any logging trucks using their airbrakes. And no one was behind me either.
Ok, I was going in.
I pushed the button next to the tunnel to light up the flashing warning signs. Then I started walking as fast as my legs would carry me.
As I speed-walked through the tunnel, my heart raced. I was in the southbound lane hoping that anyone who came behind me would see the red strobe light of my headlamp and slow their speed.
Ahead of me there was one car heading in my direction in the opposite lane. It entered the tunnel and sped past me with the noise of its wheels echoing loudly off rock walls. Then it was gone and the tunnel was quiet again.
I kept taking furtive glances over my left shoulder to see behind me. I was expecting to see the bright headlights of a logging truck racing toward me at any moment.
When I was 50 yards from the end of the tunnel, I finally saw a car coming. It was just a passenger car, but it was traffic nonetheless. I picked up my pace to a jog until the end of the tunnel, then stepped over the guardrail just before the car pulled even with me.
Whew! I made it. As horrible as I’d imagined the tunnel to be, it wasn’t really that bad. My plan to get through it early had been successful!
And once I rounded the far side of the mountain, I could see light of the Heceta Head Lighthouse winking at me as if it was congratulating me for my audacity. I’d done it!!
200 miles
The next three miles of the OCT were on the shoulder of Highway 101, high above the Pacific Ocean. Light rain started to fall as I passed the Sea Lion Caves – the largest natural sea cave in the country, where sea lions regularly come to hang out until August.
A viewing platform was cantilevered below me, but I couldn’t see (or hear) any sea lions from way up here on the highway shoulder. The best I’ve get was a quick view of a verdigris statue.
As I walked by, I was jonesing for a hot cup of coffee and hoping I might get one at the gift shop. Unfortunately, the Seal Caves didn’t open until 9 am. It was still too early. I’d need to just keep walking the road shoulder south.
Two miles later, I got to scenic pullout and found the trail leading back south to the sand again. The beach was open and desolate, with signs every so often warning me that I was, once again, beside the snowy plover nesting area.
It’s beginning to feel like the entire coastline is the domain of the snowy plover. Everywhere I look, there are signs on the dunes warning me to stay on the wet sand… Shore bird nesting area… March 15 to September 15… No dogs… No kites… No activity in dry sand… Basically, no fun.
But I had at least one thing to celebrate. I’d passed the 200-mile mark of my thru-hike while up on the asphalt earlier today. So it was time to draw the number in the sand to commemorate this milestone. I was roughly half way between Washington and Oregon on the OCT!
I walked the sandy beach for the next several hours, and even got a few moments of sunshine. But it was desolate out there. Nothing but me and the sand.
As I got farther south, I could hear the horn signaling that I was getting close to the Suislaw River. But it wasn’t until I was a mile north of the rock jetty that I would finally begin seeing people once again.
When I saw the outline of the jetty, I turned inland. But it turns out, I did so too early. I took a path that looked like a trail led up from the beach, but it soon disappeared in the medium-sized foredunes.
This mistake meant I had to wade though a half mile of deep, soft sand all the way to the jetty’s parking area, and then waste even more time and effort dumping out my shoes. My gaiters were no match for this lousy sand!
I was not at the mouth of the Siuslaw River, but there was no easy way to cross to the far side. It was far too deep and too wide to ford, regardless of the tide. And there were no fisherman or boat shuttles just hanging out at the channel between the two jetties. Sigh! I’d have to roadwalk 5 miles along the river, all the way into the town of Florence, and then cross over the river there.
I left the beach feeling super hungry, but didn’t stop to eat. I would arrive in downtown Florence just after 2 pm, and with I had 18 miles under my belt. That physical achievement deserved some sort of celebration, right? And what better way to celebrate than with town food?
As I walked into town, I took my aching body and sore feet over to Los Amigos Burrito, where I chowed down on the best chile relleno wet burrito ever. I’ll admit, town food always seems to bolster my spirits and help me temporarily forget the physical pain I’m feeling.
OREGON DUNES
While I ate my lunch at picnic table in front of the restaurant, I pulled out my map to check out my options or this evening.
The next hiker-biker camp was Jesse Honeyman State Park, three miles south of Florence. Even though the distance there was ideal for today’s mileage, there was one big problem with staying there. It would put me on the wrong side of the dunes!
This next segment of the OCT runs parallel to the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. The beach is the west side of the mammoth sand dunes, while Honeyman State Park (and Highway 101) is on the east side of the dunes. But there’s no trail connecting the state park and the beach.
Trying to make my way across two miles of tall windswept dunes, without any sort of trail through them, was about as problematic as navigating the open desert without a map. That’s why most OCT hikers skip Honeyman State Park, and angle their way over to the beach access point just below the Siuslaw River instead.
If I went to the hiker-biker camp at Honeyman State Park tonight, I’d have to backtrack several miles tomorrow to get back up to the beach’s northern access point. Nope. That option didn’t sound fun.
If I skipped the hiker-biker camp, I could set up my tent and just dry camp somewhere on the beach. And, perhaps if I been anywhere else on the coast, I might have considered that as a viable option. But here, just the suggestion of beach camping was a major non-starter.
The Oregon Dunes are the primary spot on the coast where people come to ride ATVs, OHVs, and dune buggies. These massively tall dunes are the major attraction, and thousands of people descend each summer to speed up and down the sand.
There was ZERO chance I was going to set up my tent anywhere near that hazard. The likelihood that someone would run over me with their OHV at night was far higher than I wanted to even imagine.
So, the only remaining option was to head down to one of the primitive campgrounds along the Siltcoos River. It would mean hiking a 27+ mile day and I wasn’t super excited about that prospect either.
My feet hurt and body was already tired. Yet, it was still early enough in the afternoon that I could make it down there before dark. My 6:30 am start to the day had ensured that I had enough time to hike a marathon-plus distance. But did I really want to??
SILTCOOS
After mulling over my three options, I decided to just hike on to the Siltcoos River and set up camp somewhere down there.
I know I’d promised myself I was going to dial it back on the OCT. I was only planning to hike distances in the 18-20 mile range for the next week so my feet could heal.
Yet, biting the bullet and hiking longer today seemed to be the best of three bad options. I didn’t want to waste precious time backtracking, and I certainly wasn’t going to stealth camp and get run over. So what else was there to do?
On my way out of Florence, I made my way over the dark green water of the Siuslaw River on another art deco inspired bridge. This giant bridge was a drawbridge, and I prayed I wouldn’t get stuck near the middle when I boat signaled its arrival. That would be even scarier than jogging through the Cape Creek Tunnel!
After successfully crossing the bridge, I had another a 2-mile long roadwalk back out to the beach access point at the northern end of the dunes. The skies were angry looking, and I was pretty sure there’d be plenty of rain rolling in tonight.
It was an nearing high tide now, so I found myself constantly inching toward the dry sand to keep my shoes from getting soaked by the waves or stepping on any jellyfish.
OHVs were racing up and down the dunes to my left, and the series of tracks in the sand near my path confirmed my decision that beach camping was NOT an option here.
The next two hours of walking were pretty lackluster. The scenery was flat, tan, and dull. The skies were darkening to an ominous gray color. A cold wind was starting to pick up again. And my feet ached with every step.
I toyed with the idea of putting my thumb out and seeing if I could bum a ride from one of the many OHVs buzzing past me, but I didn’t have the guts to do it. So I just trudged on with my slow progress.
I made it to the Siltcoos River just after 6 pm, only to discover that there weren’t any walk-in spots at the Driftwood II Campground. Thanks to the pandemic, the U.S. Forest Service (which operated the campgrounds out here in the recreation area) was only taking online reservations.
With no cell service, I couldn’t even try to book a spot online. And the place was completely packed with RVs, OHVs, giant pickup trucks, and trailers!
So, with limited options, I did the next best thing. I finagled a stealth spot from some of the existing RV campers.
Over near the bathrooms, I could see a group of campers sitting out at their picnic table. The area behind their paved campsite was flat and covered in grass (the perfect tent site) and it looked vacant, so I asked if they would mind if I set up my tent there. I explained I was hiking the Oregon Coast Trail and there wasn’t a ranger to coordinate with for walk-in hiker camping.
I was half expecting for them to tell me to beat it, but instead they welcomed me over and told me it was perfectly fine to camp by them.
They introduced themselves as Trevor, Brian, and Emily. The three of them were from Tacoma, Washington, and out on the coast to ride the dunes on their ATVs. They’d brought Brian’s kids out camping and they’d booked two adjacent RV sites for all their gear. The more the merrier, they assured me.
As I started to make dinner out in my tent’s vestibule out of the wind, Emily waved me over to their picnic table and asked me if I knew how to play dominoes. I could be their fourth player, she said.
So that’s how I ended my night. Hanging out with some super chill OHV riders, drinking beer, and playing dominoes after a 27-mile day of hiking!
Highlights
- Hiking up to Haceta Head early this morning was truly awesome. I really liked climbing up and over the headland, and having the Heceta Head Lighhouse all to myself this morning was super cool.
- Passing mile 200 of my thru-hike. I’m half way to the southern terminus!!
- Meeting a group of really nice people at the Driftwood II campground who let me set up on their campsite. It was very kind, I and genuinely enjoyed playing dominoes with them well into the night.
Challenges
- Getting over my fear of the Cape Creek Tunnel was a challenge. I’m glad I got up super early this morning to get through there before the constant line logging trucks and beach traffic was on the road.
- The deep Siuslaw River didn’t leave me with any options but to roadwalk 5 long miles around it, but at least I got a tasty wet burrito in Florence.
- The last few miles beside the dunes with the OHVs whizzing by and the soft sand at high tide sucked! My feet were so over it. I definitely need to rein the mileage back to something more reasonable again. Hiking 27 miles was way too much.