Tuesday, July 13, 2021
- Starting Point: Floras Lake
- End Point: Humbug Mountain State Park
- Daily Miles: 21.6 miles
- Cumulative OCT miles: 334.2 miles
Floras Lake was super windy last night, just as I’d expected it to be. Yet, my tent fared better that I’d expected. The soil here at this campground was more like sod than sand, which was a huge benefit in keeping everything snug whenever the gusts blew in.
It was a gray, overcast morning when I got up, and the air still felt chilly with all the wind. Most of the windsurfers were still fast asleep at 6:35 am, so I tried to be quiet as I made breakfast and went though the routine of breaking down camp.
There was one fellow camper awake though. He was returning from an early morning beach walk with his dog, and we crossed paths on the wooden footbridge as I departed the campground.
When he saw my pack, he asked me if I was hiking the Oregon Coast Trail. I nodded in assent, still somewhat surprised that people know about the OCT. Especially if they aren’t hikers themselves. He had lots of questions about the trail – How long had I been hiking? Where did I start? How many miles did I hike each day? How heavy was my pack? And so on.
I patiently answered each query and I could see he was considering whether he could hike this trail too. Thus, I encouraged him to give it a try. “Just try a smaller section and see what you think,” I nudged. “You don’t have to commit to the entire 400 miles.”
BLACKLOCK POINT
As I bid him goodbye and departed the campground, the first order of business was make my way around Floras Lake on a sandy trail marked with tall brown pickets.
The narrow sand was deep and soft, and it seemed amazing to me that those windsurfers and sailboarders lugged all their gear around this lake. How did they manage it?!? It was much farther than it appeared to where I’d seen them on the water yesterday. Did they all have the upper body strength of body builders?
After circumnavigating half the lake, the trail transitioned from soft sand back to dirt as it made its way up a sandstone escarpment. I welcome the firm ground under my feet, along with the wonderful views of the lake and the ocean on either side of me.
Up ahead, I could see a tall brown picket with an OCT trail sticker guiding the way. The trail dove into a forest where a thick wall of trees blocked the ever-present wind. And down below the branches, there were so many wonderful places to stealth camp here.
Had I know about this place yesterday, I probably would have just made a quick detour into the campground to get water and then stealth camped out here for free! I could have saved myself $16. Oh well. Lesson learned.
The next section of trail led up me to Blacklock Point, a forested headland providing a nice long reprieve from both the sand and the wind.
The trees here were gorgeous, and a network of trails was marked with tall 4”x4” wooden posts. Each post had a trail names inscribed into it, and I’m sure some local trail crews must have spend a good bit of time working on this section of the OCT to ensure people didn’t get lost on the various side trails.
A little more than an hour after I left camp, I crested a flat open area atop the part of the headland. To my right, I could leave the the trees on a short trail and inch my way out toward the edge of a cliff. There, I was greeted with idyllic views of the gray ocean and the golden bluffs.
Down below these cliffs, tall sea stacks rose from the water and shiny black rocks met the sandy beaches. The wind was blowing so strongly out here, I had to place my hand on top of my hat to keep my hat from flying away. Yet the side trip had been well worth it.
Back on the trail, I continued a bit farther south until I met a second side trail heading out to Blacklock Point. My curiosity got the better of me, and I followed it back out of the protection of the forest to see the rocky point jutting out in the ocean.
The top of the headland was like a giant football field. It was flat and covered in green grass, but I was careful to watch my steps as I strode over toward the edge in the raging wind to see the slick black peninsula of Blacklock Point. I couldn’t afford a single misstep here.
I returned to the trail and the trees for the journey down the back side of the headland, feeling happiness and joy in my heart.
Sights like this were why I was out on the coast hiking toward the California border. The people in their cars driving down Highway 101 had no idea what they were missing. I was coming to believe that you had to be on foot to see the real beauty of the coast.
As I descended toward the beach ahead of me, the trees disappeared and tall grasses took their place. Up ahead I spotted two tents perches on the side of the trail near one of the switchbacks.
Their occupants were still asleep, but I had to admire their initiative in finding themselves one the best campsites out here. Giant waves crashed against the boulders below them, and I bet the sunset views from their tents were stunning.
SIXES RIVER
As I made my way down on the beach below me, I wondered what the sand would be like. Would it be the soft sand I’d trudged through near Floras Lake this morning? Or the kitty litter texture that I loathed so much yesterday?
As it turns out it was neither, at least not initially. It was all about the driftwood. The entire top of the beach was covered with driftwood. It looked like someone had tipped a container of giant Lincoln logs over onto the beach.
When I eventually made it past the driftwood obstacle course and down to the wet sand, I was treated to boulders that had an aqua hue to them. I had no idea what caused that or why they weren’t black like most the other rocks on the coast.
Before I could give it any more thought, I was brought back to reality by the wet sand. More kitty litter. Damn it! At least it was low tide and I could walk close to the water where the sand was packed the tightest.
As I walked down the beach, I could see Cape Blanco and the outline of the lighthouse in the distance. The flash of light blinked at me every 19 seconds and and seemed to call me to walk in its direction.
The cold, brutal wind was still blowing just as fiercely down on the beach as it had been up above Cape Blacklock. As a result, I had to put my rain jacket on and pull its hood over my head to trap my body heat in as I walked along the sand.
From that point forward, I just put my head down and pushed on thinking about the next water crossing ahead of me. I needed to ford the outlet of the Sixes River before climbing to the top of Cape Blanco to the lighthouse. Luckily, I should approach the river near low tide.
I’ve gotten much better about aligning my mileage with the tides as I traveled south on the OCT. Low tide would be at 9:15 am. Just about perfect for my needs.
When I got to the Sixes River, I turned my attention inland to see the wide estuary it was making and admire the turquoise hue to the water. And that distractedness is how I nearly walked right up to a seal without even noticing it.
I was admiring the water and walking with my head turned inland, when I suddenly I heard vigorous splashing directly in front of me about 10 yards away. A seal must have been playing in the river near an exposed sand bar, when I startled it into action.
As the seal undulated on the sand and then swam out into the deer part of the river, I stood there gazing after it. I felt bad for scaring it. If I’d been paying closer attention, and been a bit more stealthy in my approach, I might have been able get some really nice photos of it playing in the river.
Once the seal was off to safely, I stripped off my shoes and socks again, and pulled my tights up over my knees before fording the choppy whitecaps on the river. Thanks to the low tide, the water barely reached the middle of my calves. This was a good thing too, because the current of the Sixes was much stronger than I’d expected.
While sitting on opposite bank and drying my legs and feet, I kept my eye out for the seal. Clearly the river was a good spot for it to play, and maybe it would return once it felt the danger of my presence dissipated.
Eventually, I spotted it resting at the water’s edge. Or maybe it was a different seal. Either way, at least I hadn’t permanently scared off the wildlife.
CAPE BLANCO
The rest of the beach toward Cape Blanco was easy walking. The wind was to my back and blowing mightily. I had my hood back up to keep my ears covered, and the sun was finally breaking through the clouds to try to warm everything up again.
I wasn’t 100% sure how the heck I was going to get up Cape Blanco though. From down on the beach, it seemed impossibly steep. The lighthouse stood in the center of the headland, along with some tall antennas and outbuildings. But, it wasn’t like there was a set of stairs leading up to them from the beach.
I’d read one blog that recommend hikers take a sandy trail inland along the Sixes River to the Hughes House – a historic Queen Anne house built in 1898 and similar to the B&B near the Heceta Head Lighthouse. From the Hughes House you could follow a paved road up to the top of Cape Blanco.
However, my day hiking guidebook said there should be a dirt trail at the very end of the beach near the base the cape. My eyes couldn’t see a trail ascending the side of the escarpment, neither from afar nor as I got closer. And I wondered whether the information was outdated.
Yet this was the same book that told me about the hidden trail up the north side of Cape Meares (where I’d needed to climb up a knotted rope from the beach). I’d doubted that trail’s existence too, but it worked out fine! So I put my faith in the guidebook’s author and hoped for the best.
My patience and faith was ultimately rewarded. Down near the end of the beach, I spotted a listing brown picket with an OCT sticker on it. And just above it there was a trail buried between the tall grasses covering the steep slope.
The trail switched backed up the headland, and as I climbed, I could begin to see people’s heads peering over the edge and looking down toward me. There were several tourists up at the top of the trail watching me as I ascended toward them.
Once I got to the summit, two older ladies from Eugene came over to talk to me. They were camping at the nearby Cape Blanco State Park and had come out to see the beach this morning.
Watching me slowly climb up the steep headland convinced them their knees weren’t up for the trail though. And once I shared that it was just as windy down on the beach as it was up here, that news made up their minds. They’d rather stay up here at the top and enjoy the ocean views.
I waved goodbye to them and detoured down the paved path toward the Cape Blanco lighthouse in what felt like gale force winds. The wind speed was so high, I was struggling to remain upright as I worked my way out onto the peninsula toward the tall white tower set against the backdrop of the blue sky.
A small visitor center sat adjacent to the lighthouse, but it was closed up (due the pandemic). At least I could stand next one of its outbuildings and use it to block the wind while I dug my phone out to take a few photos of the lighthouse.
A sign told me that Cape Blanco is the westernmost point in the contiguous U.S. Thus, the remainder of my hike down the Oregon Coast would switch to a slightly more eastern trajectory as I walked toward California.
PORT ORFORD
After taking some quick photos of the lighthouse, I retreated back to the parking lot where I’d spoken with the ladies from Eugene. They were gone now, and were replaced with new onlookers ogling the beach and wondering where the path was that took them down.
I trod down the paved road atop the cape just a bit farther before the OCT diverted across the open headland toward the beaches on the opposite side. The wind was still blowing, and the tall grasses rippling next to the trail reminded me of avocado green shag carpet.
As I made it over the crest, the wind disappeared. The rocky headland of Cape Blanco blocked it out as the trail sloped downward, past the nearby state park and campground, and back to the sandy beaches below. Finally! I could enjoy a break from the constant roar. And with that, I lowered my jacket’s hood to let the still air and sun warm my ears and face.
Back on the beach, the dark “kitty litter” sand I’d been walking on since Bandon was now gone and replaced with smooth supple tan terrain. Oh, how my feet rejoiced with its return once again.
About nine miles into the day, I made my way down to another river significant enough to get me to take my shoes off. The Elk River was deeper than that Sixes, rising up just above to my knees. But the perilous part came after my crossing.
I finished wading across the river and sat down on my foam sit pad to put my shoes and socks back on. I’d made sure to carefully pick a spot on the sand far enough from the river’s edge so the ground I was sitting on didn’t shear and collapse into the roiling water. But, I hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to my proximity to the ocean and the tide that was coming in.
I was just standing back up again and reaching for my pack when a wave rolled directly over the spot where I’d just been putting on my shoes on! Oh moly! My good fortune and a few seconds saved me from getting completely soaked. But only just barely.
The next five miles of beach was completely empty and barren. The wind had returned, but at least the sun was out now warming me as I thought about what I’d eat for lunch. I was going to walk right through Port Orford in the early afternoon, so I’d patiently held off stopping for lunch until I got to town.
At Garrison Lake, I knew I was getting close. The trail was supposed to turn inland at the southern end of the lake at a state recreation site called Tseriadun.
I assume the “t” in the name Tseriadun is silent (like the word tsunami). But I had no one around to confirm the correct pronunciation when I arrived. Tseridun was just a few empty picnic tables and a lone camp host in an RV.
I followed the deserted road into town and turned my phone on to check cell service. As it pinged to life, I opened Google maps and began searching for places to eat a late lunch. Unfortunately almost everything was closed today! Who knew it would be so hard to find somewhere to eat lunch on a Tuesday?
My best bet was a food truck that only served fish and chips. But, I figured it was that option or the local convenience store, so I headed north on Highway 101 and hoped for the best.
As it turns out, stopping at ‘The Chipper’ food truck turned out to be the best decision of the day. They served a giant portions of fish battered to crispy golden perfection, and the thick cut fries were ‘oh my god’ delicious. 100% percent recommend to any OCT thru-hikers coming behind me
After lunch, I headed down the sidewalks of Port Orford toward Battle Rock. I was now 15 miles into the day and still had another 6 before I’d make it to Humbug Mountain State Park, where I planned to stay in anther hiker-biker camp.
Battle Rock is one of those sights you can’t miss though. It’s a giant island protruding above the beach right off the coastline. And, how the island earned its aggressive moniker is a story worth recounting.
In 1850, Congress passed the Oregon Donation Land Act. This was a pure land grab and allowing white settlers to file claims on native lands in the Oregon Territory — even though none of indigenous nations had signed any land treaties with the U.S. Government to cede this land.
The following year, in June 1851, the steamship Seagull landed nine men on the Port Orford beach with the purpose of establishing one of these new land settlements. The indigenous inhabitants were none to pleased to see these American intruders and a conflict soon ensued.
For the next two weeks, the settlers were besieged out on the island, now known as Battle Rock. The expedition was later able make their escape north under the cover of darkness and ended up in Umpqua City. However, the following month, the Seagull’s captain returned. And this time, he arrived with a well-armed party of 70 men to occupy Port Orford.
The natives didn’t stand a chance when the Seagull returned. Their land would be taken without their consent. And, over the next decade, most of them would be forcibly removed to the Coast Reservation to the north. Just like so many others.
HUMBUG MOUNTAIN
As I walked south on the Port Orford beach below Battle Rock, smaller sea stacks and rocks formed caves along the beach. The tide was coming in now and making it harder and harder to get around these beautiful objects.
The day was warming up and the wind was finally dying down. I felt like my head was baking in the afternoon sun, and my body found the sensation difficult to reconcile with cold wind from this morning on Cape Blanco. I was guzzling water to stay hydrated, and I hoped I wouldn’t run out before I got to camp tonight.
Up head, I knew Rocky Point protruded into the ocean and would probably be impassible. I’d need to detour up to Highway 101 after just a mile of beach walking and follow the road’s shoulder until the turn-off for Humbug State Park.
As I made my way up the soft dunes up toward the highway, my right knee felt like it was on fire. All the walking in the kitty litter sand these past few days had taken its toll. I could see it was a bit swollen, and I knew I’d need to dig out some ibuprofen of my first aid kit this evening to deal with it.
A little while later, the OCT diverted off Highway 101 and onto the Old Coast Highway. This crumbling asphalt road I was now walking on was once the main road up and down the Oregon Coast, before a new highway was built closer to the ocean in 1931.
As I climbed the ascent toward the state park on the Old Coast Highway, I could still catch glimpses of the ocean off to my right. The sun was glimmering off the water like it was trying to blind me with its glare, while pink and purple wildflowers dominated the foreground.
Up, up, up it went until the now-dirt road crested near an old water tower. Then it was down into the busy state park, where RVs and tent campers were enjoying a warm summer afternoon.
The hiker-biker campsites weren’t part of a communal open area like all the other state parks I’ve visited on the coast. Here, a trail led hikers and cyclists up a hillside, and every 20 yards or so, there would be individual campsites branching off the main path.
The first few campsites were already full, but as I climbed higher, I found a vacant spot that looked ideal. Each site had its own picnic table and was surrounded by tall bushes and trees giving it a very private feeling. Above me, I could hear voices and laughter coming from one of the sites further uphill.
After setting up my tent, I went to explore the noise and found a bunch of cyclists huddled around a table telling stories at one of the campsites. An older guy from Seattle introduced himself as Shrek. A younger guy from Virginia was named Eddie, and then there was Peter, who was from Germany.
Peter and I struck up a conversation immediately and he told me all about his crazy ride across the US. He’d planned his big North American cycling adventure for 2020, but then Covid happened and he had to stay in Europe, and postpone his plans.
As spring 2021 rolled around, the US still wasn’t allowing most Europeans to fly here, but EU passport holders who were already in North America could usually get in. So he flew to Cancun, Mexico, and spent two weeks on the beach in a self-imposed quarantine before flying to Atlanta from there.
Once in Georgia, Peter rode north, though Tennessee and Kentucky, before stopping to meet up with some friends in Indiana. Then he turned west, riding through the Great Plains, stopping to see Yellowstone, then over the Rockies, and continuing west to Seattle. After Seattle, he headed south down Highway 101 and was currently en route to see the redwood forests before finishing his trip in San Francisco and flying back home to Germany.
All told, Peter’s adventure would take him nearly 4,000 miles around the US, and I was impressed. That’s more of the country than many Americans experience in their lifetime, and here he was doing it all on his bicycle in a single season!
Peter and I hung out until 8 pm, eating dinner and and talking about different adventures. But, by dusk, the mosquitos were trying to devour me. It was time to hit the hay.
Tomorrow would be a big day for me. If my knee could handle it, I was going to try to push my mileage up to 24 miles and make it all the way down to Rogue River and the town of Gold Beach.
Highlights
- Hiking up and over Blacklock Point was spectacular. I loved the forested trail (that blocked the wind) and the views of the cliffs were out of this world.
- Enjoying the absolute best fish & chips ever from a food truck in Port Orford. Delicious.
- Meeting Patrick (the German cyclist) and hearing about his grand tour of the U.S. was inspiring. I’m not 100% ready to swamp my pack our for a bicycle, but I really enjoyed listening to his stories.
Challenges
- This morning’s brutal wind up near the Cape Blanco Lighthouse was unreal. I was worried it might blow me right over if I wasn’t careful!
- Encountering more miles of “kitty litter” sand today left me limping into Humbug Mountain State Park with even more knee pain than yesterday. I hope my body recovers enough to get me to Gold Beach tomorrow.