Thursday, July 15, 2021
- Starting Point: Gold Beach / Turtle Rock
- End Point: Indian Sands Trailhead / Boardman Scenic Corridor
- Daily Miles: 22 miles
- Cumulative OCT miles: 381 miles
Last night, I camped with Keith and Finn at the Turtle Rock RV Resort and Campground near the southern end of Gold Beach. I’d originally read about this campground in a memoir written by Jon Penfold about his own OCT thru-hike, and I was excited to discover a campground just steps from the OCT.
There are very few places to camp in or near Gold Beach if you’re in a tent. However, I’m not sure this particular place lived up to my expectations of a camping ‘resort’ as it name would seem to imply. The bath house was more outdated than some of the sketchy hostels I stayed at while I hiking the Appalachian Trail back in 2019.
Our campsite left a bit to be desired too. It appeared as if the campground was reconfiguring its layout and trying to adding more RV sites. Giant piles of gravel, railroad ties, and building materials were scattered around the area designated for tent camping, making it feel as if we were camping on a construction project.
But the real issue with Turtle Rock wasn’t with the campground itself. It was the wind. I knew Gold Beach had a reputation for being windy, but last night was ridiculous. Even with every extra guy lines out, the wind gusts were bending the tent and forcing it to nearly collapse!
Finn refused to sleep in the tent (lest he get suffocated if it collapsed on us all in the middle of the night) and he spent the night sleeping in the back go Keith’s Honda Pilot SUV instead. Smart kid.
As I got up this morning, the throbbing in my knee was still there. Originally, I’d planned to spend one more night stealth camping on the OCT. But this knee pain was forcing me consider a change of plans. I was going to slackpack today.
My new plan was to hike south into the Sam Boardman Scenic Corridor and have Keith pick me up this evening. Then I’d spend my last night on the OCT in this mediocre campground/construction site to give my knee a bit of a rest from carrying the full weight of my pack.
I established a rendezvous time and location with Keith, then walked out to the beach near Turtle Rock at 8:30 am, and turned left to walk south to Cape Sebastian.
CAPE SEBASTIAN – PART I
Despite my relatively late start, there were just a handful of people out walking the beach. After 2.5 miles of walking the sand, I’d come to the end of Gold Beach. I’d need to make my way up and over Cape Sebastian through the tall grasses that lie above me.
The trail here was not well-maintained, but I could see the faint outline of a footpath heading upward. I’d been forewarned by my guidebook that very few people venture up the northern side of Cape Sebastian, and I should expect some confusing route finding over the upcoming few miles.
Once in the forested headland and into the shade of the tall trees, the trail was definitely overgrown, but still fairly easy to follow. I passed a gate and several trail junctions, yet small hand-painted signs directed hikers to where to go with words like: Cape, Overlook, Falls, and Beach.
Ahead a brown picket with an OCT sticker on it confirmed I was still on the correct path. The wasn’t nearly as difficult as I expected. But, perhaps I’d spoken too soon.
As I started down an easy flat stretch, something started flapping its wings on the trail. At first, I assumed I’d just startled some birds. But this guy was much bigger than a raven or songbird. It was a wild turkey!
The turkey initially flew just a few feet up the trail, before landing and making a u-turn to face me. It wasn’t fleeing my approach. Instead, it was coming right back toward me.
I stopped in my tracks and waved my trekking poles, trying to make myself look bigger and scare the bird off, but that did little to deter it. I picked up some small sticks and threw them in the turkey’s direction, and that distraction was enough that it flew off into the green brush to the left side of the trail.
Figuring the risk was over, I started back down the path, but only got a handful of steps further before the damn turkey came flying out of the bushes toward me once again. What the heck? I know turkeys are rumored to be among the stupidest of birds, but was going on here? Did it not remember I was out here?
The turkey came walking toward me once again, puffing out its tail feathers, and I started to wonder if I’d met my match. Was I going to meet my end here on Cape Sebastain because of a territorial turkey? Did it intend to peck me to death?
I tried to wave it off again, but it just locked me into a death stare and dared me to come closer. I was done with this turkey! I found a few rocks to throw at it, and I got ready. As soon as I threw them, I’d used the bird’s temporary retreat back into the woodline as my chance to make a run for it.
I threw my rocks at the bird, but nothing happened. So I threw some bigger rocks. I wasn’t trying to hit the turkey, but I needed to scare it off the trail because there was no way for me to go around him. The sides of this trail were so overgrown that they were boxing me in.
Finally, one of the rocks got close enough that the turkey went flying back into the brush off to my left. I didn’t wait to see how far he’d flown or if he was coming back. I just ran as fast as I could down the trail, sprinting for at least a full minute to get past the danger. Stupid turkey.
CAPE SEBASTIAN – PART II
As the adrenaline flowed out of me, I refocused on the trail and moving forward. There was a lot of undergrowth around here, and poison oak was everywhere. The foliage on the trail was just too thick to reasonably avoid it, and I regretted not putting my gaiters on this morning to minimize my chances of a rash.
Up ahead, I saw another trail junction, and a brown picket with an OCT marker pointed straight me straight ahead. The trail dove under to low hanging tree branches and across an open grass area to an overlook where I could see the ocean crashing on the rocks below.
After taking it in the views, I continued down the path, which was momentarily defined and clear. But the further I walked down the trail, the more it was closing around me. It went from a nice path to an overgrown trap.
Then I hit a wall of thickets, and it was completely impassible. I couldn’t push my way through it, and I couldn’t go around it. The terrain off to my left dropped down into a deep ravine, while a wall of steep rocks bordered my right side.
I was sure this was where I was supposed to go. At least that’s what the last sign indicated. Yet it was a complete dead end.
After probing the dense wall of thickets for a few more minutes, I couldn’t see any way around it. If this was just one season of growth in front of me, you’d think I’d be able to push my way through it. But, I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I was boxed in.
Ok, this was ridiculous. First I had to fight my way past a turkey, and now I was at a complete dead end. What was I supposed to do?
I scouted back down the trail so see if maybe I’d missed some sort of bypass or way around this obstacle, but there was nothing. The trail definitely didn’t go through this way.
So I wandered all the way back to the last trail junction to puzzle it out. As I looked at the signpost, I had four options:
- The trail behind me went back to the turkey, and I wasn’t backtracking past him.
- The trail to my right went to the overlook and a 80-foot cliff to the ocean below.
- The trail straight ahead (where the arrow pointed) was the one that dead-ended.
With no other choice, I’d have to take the trail to my left and hope for the best. I figured it wasn’t really a hug gamble. I had no clue where this trail actually led, but it was heading inland. Worst case scenario, it would connect me to Highway 101 and I’d have to roadwalk up to the next beach access point, right?
After about a quarter-mile following on the wide overgrown trail, I suddenly came across a tall 4×4 post stuck in the middle of the trail. It had the words ‘Coast Trail’ engraved on its side.
Huh. This was the OCT?!? That didn’t make sense. The picket back at the trail junction told me to go straight, not turn left. Was this an older OCT route that had been abandoned to the forest?
As I continued to bushwhack through foliage that alternated between ankle deep and waist deep, I tried to work it out. Perhaps one of the trail maintainers put the sticker on that brown picket incorrectly and no one had a second arrow sticker to fix the mistake.
Or maybe the trail crew was hoping to re-route the trail in that direction last season, but Covid pushed the project to the back burner.
Whatever the reason, I was following some sort of path around the ravine that seemed to be making forward progress to the south. It was just super slow because the trail was completely unmaintained, but at least it wasn’t a wall of thickets.
After about 20 minutes of bushwhacking, I transitioned to an an extremely well-maintained trail and there was a brand new sign that read “Oregon Coast Trail” directly in front of me. Score! I made it.
My celebration was short-lived though, because this new trail took me straight up hill! I was huffing and puffing, and felt like I was climbing Mt. Whitney again. Sweat poured down my face. But at least there were some steps built into the tread to give my legs a little rest here and there.
Once I got to the top, I found myself deposited in a wide forested area where the trail seemed to peter out again. In its place was a network of faint trails weaving through the tall trees. None of the trails was more defined than the others, but I had to pick one to follow.
In the end, I picked the trail marked with handful pink pin flags in the ground. That seemed like something a trail maintainer would do. The pink flags had to lead somewhere. Nobody comes out into a forest and randomly puts pin flags along a trail for kicks, right?
My gamble was rewarded. The pink flags eventually led me to a parking area for the Diamond Anniversary Park with views of the ocean. I made it to the top of Cape Sebastian. But not without a lot of effort.
As I looked down at my watch, I was demoralized to see all the time I’d wasted working my way up the north side of the cape. It was already 10:45 am, and I was only a little more than 5 miles from where I’d begun the day. The trail over Cape Sebastian might be better than inhaling the exhaust of the semi trucks on Highway 101, but it definitely wasn’t shorter or easier! That’s for sure.
Yet, once I made it past the parking lot and over to the trail leading down the south side of Cape Sebastian, I was money. It was like night and day.
The trail on north side had been completely overgrown, filled with poison oak, and mismarked signs. Meanwhile, the trail south side was beautifully groomed and even paved in places! The views of the ocean were gorgeous. And it was super easy walking!
Surely, this must mean the hardest park of the OCT is now behind me. I only have 35 miles to the California border!
PISTOL RIVER
As I cruised down the lovely trail from Cape Sebastian, I only came to a single challenge. At the very end of the cape, the trail leading down to the beach went over a serious drop-off. Yet, someone had thoughtfully strung a rope between some posts for hikers to hang on to while navigating down the steep slope down to Hunters Cove.
The beach at Hunters Cove sparkled up at me. The sand was flecked with gold and I wondered if it was an illusion or real gold flakes. After all, miners discovered gold up near the mouth of the Rogue River in 1852, and that’s how Gold Beach got its name. Maybe there was something similar on the beach here too. Or maybe it’s was just pyrite (fool’s gold).
Up ahead, boulders and seas stacks rose from water. It was low tide now, which meant easy walking on the hard packed sand near the water’s edge.
As the beach curved around like a horseshoe, the views ahead were dominated by Hunters Island, which looked like an aircraft carrier resting out in the waters off the Oregon Coast. Meanwhile, in my immediate vicinity, I had to watch my step as tide pools filled with water and sea anemones dominated the landscape.
Up ahead, I spotted Black Rock, and Cave Rock, and about a hundred other unnamed rocks. One of these giant rocks looked like a the silhouette of a giant seal dwarfing the people walking below it. But then again, maybe my imagination was running away a bit after so many days on the coast.
The next hour was beach walking as I worked my way toward Pistol River. This was the last river outlet I’d have to ford along the beach. The only other major rivers left between here and California would come during my upcoming road walks.
After an hour of walking, I was keeping my eyes peeled for the river outlet. It was still close enough to low tide that it shouldn’t be too difficult to get across.
I kept walking and waiting for the Pistol River to emerge. Eventually, I saw what looked like a long narrow lagoon pooling between the highway and the beach. But I still didn’t find the river’s outlet. I could see a bridge up on the highway clearly went over a wide river. But as I reached the beach access sign just south of the bridge, I still hadn’t crossed the river.
This was perplexing. Surely the river outlet was somewhere around here. The Pistol wasn’t a small river. There bridge on Highway 101 that went over it had to be 500-600 feet. But, I never even crossed a trickle of water on the sand.
Maybe this was like my experience with the New River up near Bandon. Maybe the Pistol River found a new outlet somewhere else. It was all a bit anti-climatic. I’d been mentally geared up for my last water crossing – and it was a bust.
I followed the beach access signs up through the tall dunes to a small parking area where I hoped there would be some picnic tables to sit on and enjoy my lunch. But there weren’t. So I just sat on the ground and took in the Pistol River from there.
HIGHWAY 101
After lunch on the ground of a parking lot, which left me feeling super hikertrashy, it was time to roadwalk my way down to the Samuel H. Boardman State Scenic Corridor.
This 12-mile scenic corridor flanks both sides of Highway 101, with lots of car pull-outs to showcase the ocean bluffs, off-shore rock formations, and a handful of secluded pocket beaches in Southern Oregon.
But to get there I’d need to roadwalk at least 3.5 miles on Highway 101 first. As I made my way south, with the large trucks and cars whizzing by me, I began to focus on my running shoes.
It feels like there’s very little support or cushioning left in them now. Every step seems to set off the searing plantar fasciitis pain in the arch of my right foot. That’s usually a sure fire sign that my shoes are shot. Oh well. I just need to make it through today and tomorrow and then these shoes are destined for the trash can.
As I continued walking on the road shoulder, the highway worked its way inland to get around Crook Point and the elevation climbed several hundred feet. It was warm now, and I was keeping my eyes peeled for mile post 343.
My guidebook claims that just beyond that green mile marker, there should be a connector trail that will take me down to Arch Rock Picnic area and the trail again.
Unfortunately, when I got to the trail’s location, I discovered it was a complete nightmare. I made it close to one-third of a mile before turning back and opting for more roadwalking.
The connector trail was completely overgrown with a mix of blackberry brambles and chest high plants. I didn’t need another bushwhacking experience today. Especially with all the poison oak around here. I already earned one spot on the front of my left ankle that was itchy and red during my encounter with the wild turkey.
When I got to the Arch Rock wayside, the parking lot was surprisingly crowded with tourists. I skirted the grass, trying to maintain 6 feet from everyone, and worked my way over to the bathrooms.
When I got there, I saw a family of four crowded near the trashcans. I assumed they were waiting in line for the two pit toilets to free up, but it turns out they were actually perplexed by the trash cans. That’s when the father turned to me with hands full of garbage and asked me, “Do you know how to open these things?”
The cans were the standard brown critter-proof trash cans you see in most national parks. The kind where you have to squeeze a lever to lift the lid. Yet, I suppose if you don’t spend much time outdoors, they might befuddle you just as much as they confuse the bears and the raccoons.
With that mystery resolved, the man then asked me if I knew where the Samuel Boardman Scenic Corridor was at. Doh. They were in it! I didn’t want to be rude though, so I pulled out my phone and map and showed them where they were located (Arch Rock) was the northern end of the corridor.
If they wanted to see more, just hop in the car and drive south on Highway 101. There’d be lots of little waysides like this one where they could get out and take photos. He and his wife thanked me profusely for the help and gathered their two young kids up while I finally got my chance to use the restroom.
SAM BOARDMAN SCENIC CORRIDOR
The next four miles between Arch Rock and my end point for the day (the Indian Sands Trailhead) were some of the most unusual, beautiful, and frustrating miles of the OCT.
I’d been expecting this section of the OCT to be a dirt trail along the coastline and bluffs overlooking some of the most beautiful rock formations of the trail. And sure, there was a good bit of that.
But the trails through Boardman weren’t very fun. They were a series of short trails that wove back and forth, knitted together with repeated road walks. It was a tremendously frustrating experience.
I understand why the trail is this way. But to me it felt like Highway 101 was a steady ribbon, while the trail tried to see how many extra miles of arduous terrain it could make me walk up and down. First out to Arch Rock. Then out to Deer point. Then out above Secret Beach. Then the viewing platform for Natural Bridges.
Somewhere along the way, I passed a medium-sized boulder at one of the small waysides. It had a small plaque mounted on it with was a memorial to Sam Dicken, the founder of the Oregon Trail. It was at the edge of the trail and was so inconspicuous that I nearly missed it entirely! Kind of the like the OCT itself.
As I made my way on the endless trails out to little headlands, my pace slowed considerably. I eventually realized I was never going to make my 4 pm rendezvous with Keith at the Indian Sands trailhead. But what could I do about it? Nothing. The trail was the trail.
I tried to pick up my pace to a jog when I got to Thomas Bridge, the highest bridge in the state of Oregon. Then the trail dove back into the wood line again with more steep ups and downs instead of the most direct path possible. Oh lord. When would this insanity end?
Around 4:45 pm, I made to the trailhead where Keith and Finn were waiting to pick me up. I was finally done with this blasted day, and I was nearly an hour late too. I’d been slackpacking the entire 22 miles, but my body felt wrecked from the last few miles of PUDs (pointless ups and downs).
I cracked open the bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper waiting for me in the front seat, and we set off back to our campsite in Gold Beach for my last night on the trail. And then, I spent the entire drive north regaling everyone with stories of getting lost on Cape Sebastian and fighting with a wild turkey! What a crazy day!
Highlights
- The trail down the south side of Cape Sebastian was a delightful reprieve after the frustrating hike up. The views were insanely pretty and the trail tread was ideal.
- The views of the craggy rocks and small coves in the Samuel Boardman Corridor were pretty spectacular. It really showcases the unique geology of the Oregon Coast.
- I got to walk over Thomas Creek Bridge – the highest bridge in Oregon. Woohoo!
Challenges
- My showdown with a territorial turkey on Cape Sebastian was the #1 challenge of the day.
- Encountering overgrown trail, a mismarked trail junction, and the missing outlet for the Pistol River definitely made me question my navigation skills (and my sanity) today!
- The trails in the Samuel Boardman corridor began to remind me of the PUDs of the Appalachian Trail. It’s a really love-hate relationship.