Thursday June 10, 2021
- Start Point: Hikers Camp on Tillamook Head
- End Point: Nehalem Bay State Park
- Daily Distance: 30.4 miles
- Cumulative OCT Distance: 54.9 miles
It ‘s only day 2 of the OCT, and I was already on a mission. I wanted to get around Humbug Point and Hug Point before the tide came in.
These two basalt headland points provided my first challenge with timing the tides on the OCT. Unfortunately, nature (and science) wasn’t working in my favor today. Low tide was supposed to be at 7:20 am this morning, and then it wouldn’t happen again until 7:00 pm tonight.
Because both of these basalt headlands protrude out into the ocean, OCT hikers are urged to wait until low tide to make their way around them. As the tide comes back in, they become more dangerous and less accessible. So if I didn’t get there by mid-tide (around 10:30 am today), I would be able to stay on the beach. I’d need to detour inland and up on to Highway 101 for two miles instead.
Unfortunately, these two headlands sat 10 miles down the coast from where I’d slept last night. Arriving there before mid-tide this morning would require getting up and hitting the trail by dawn!
Getting an early start had at least one benefit though. I’d leave Tillamook Head while all the 20-something year old kids were still fast asleep in their tents and perhaps put some distance between myself and Bear – the hiker/misfit/social media influencer who seemed to be keeping pace with me.
Indian Beach
The trail down Tillamook Head’s south side was nicely graded with switchbacks taking me back down toward the highway and the next trailhead. It was a much nicer route than the braided, root strewn trail I’d had to climb yesterday. And there wasn’t even a single blown down tree blocking my way!
Although it was bright out when I started my day, the morning was still very cool and overcast. I was glad I’d chosen to wear running tights to keep me warm on this thru-hike. Truthfully, it’s hard to believe the Coast is still dropping down into the 40s each evening, while the rest of the Oregon is experiencing weather into the 80s and low 90s each day!
After about a mile of pleasant downhill hiking, I heard a quick moving stream flowing running under a damp wooden bridge. Finally! A water source. My bottles were bone dry and I was so thirsty this morning.
I’m not quite sure how all those day hikers I met last night could have missed this robust stream when I asked them if there was any water near the trailhead. It’s so obvious. But, I guess if you only get your drinking water from a spigot or a store, you probably don’t pay much attention to the water streams. They just blend right into the scenery and become part of the pleasant soundtrack of nature.
After filtering two liters of cold water (and drinking a third one beside the stream), I was ready to continue toward the Indian Head Beach.
Most people my age have seen this stretch of the Oregon Coast dozens of times on the big screen. It’s known as the Oregon Film Trail and served as the backdrop for a number of popular movies in the 80s and 90s — like Goonies, Free Willy, and Kindergarten Cop – just to name a few.
Indian Beach, where I now stood, is especially familiar-looking because it doubled as for Bells Beach, Australia, in the finale of the movie Point Break. This was the spot where Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze have their final showdown as the waves from a 50-year storm are crashing down around them.
Trust me, the waves aren’t really that giant here. Yet there were still a handful of surfers down in the water trying to catch a set before 6:30 am. Beyond them, Tillamook Rock lighthouse stood in the background as the cool morning winds blew past me and light rain sprinkled in the air.
Just beyond the beach, the trail dove back into thick forest again and followed the edge of the rocky coastline. It was easy walking and the morning air had that briny smell. As I plodded along, I lost myself in my early morning thoughts, but was abruptly pulled back to reality I encountered a bridge crossing.
But there was one major problem…the bridge was gone!
Behind me, the OCT was two feet wide and well-trod. But ahead of me there was nothing. A landslide had clearly come through here and destroyed the trail and the bridge. All that remained was some weather-worn yellow caution tape strung across the abutment’s old concrete steps.
I glanced around to try to figure out where to go next and saw a small wisp of a trail heading up a muddy slope to my left. I tried to follow it, but it quickly petered out into a dead end. So I backtracked to the bridge and stood next to the concrete stairs pondering where to go next.
I could see another faint trail leading down into the gorge and back up again over to the opposite side where the bridge’s footing once sat.
Maybe that was the trail??
It didn’t look very defined, but the OCT isn’t a high-traffic trail. Day hikers tend to select the easier and more scenic sections while avoiding the more challenging stuff. Plus, it was still early in the season, I told myself. Maybe there simply hadn’t been enough thru-hikers to make it the bypass more apparent as they trod over it.
And so I went exploring, hoping I’d pick up the trail again once I got to the other side.
Getting lost
When I reached the far side of the ravine where the missing bridge would have connected, I expected to find a nice wide trail just like the one I’d left. But there wasn’t one. It was just a lot of overgrown foliage.
The trail’s absence should have been a giant red flag for me. And perhaps, if I’d been more awake, I would have realized the OCT had been re-routed when the mudslide happened. I’d simply missed the turn off while lost in my thoughts.
But instead of turning back to look for the new alternate behind me, I persevered. I pressed my way forward through the foliage until I found a small game trail that seemed to be going in the same direction I’d been originally headed.
This must be the OCT, I thought to myself. After about a half-mile though, the narrow path began heading down into a draw. It was going downhill toward the ocean.
Ok, that was clearly NOT the direction I wanted to go. If I continued following this trail, I’d be cliffed out by the steep rock walls.
I pulled my phone out to check my GPS location. Sure enough, the OCT was inland here. It had been re-routed before the mudslide area, and it now curved its way around the top of the ravine like a giant horseshoe. I was somewhere in the open gap between the two legs of the horseshoe, well off the intended trail.
As I looked at the terrain around me, I realized I had two options. I could backtrack the way I’d come (aka – the smart option); or (2) I could just bushwhack the same distance straight across the remainder of this wooded ravine and re-merge with the trail on the opposite side (aka – the stupid option).
As you might have guessed, I took the second option, which was huge error in judgment. It would cost me about an hour’s time, a heck of lot of frustration, and leave me with a gaping hole in the knee of my tights.
I’d try to follow a game trail through the gully for 20 feet only to have a fallen tree blocking my way. Then after scrambling up and over the massive tree, I’d discover no clear path on the other side. No matter which direction I chose, I ran into a dead end. I was hopelessly mired in the dense terrain.
I couldn’t seemed to maintain consistent contact with any of the game trails before another obstacle blocked my way. It was nothing but thick undergrowth, chest high foliage, rotting nurse trees, and no discernible path out.
After a full hour of struggling through this quagmire, I finally made my way up to the top of the horseshoe and discovered the two-foot wide trail of the OCT once again. It was covered in roots and looked like a complete tripping hazard, but at least it was an actual trail! I could have kissed the ground!
So yes, I totally should have backtracked when I had the chance instead of delving into this Chinese finger trap of a forest. I saved absolutely zero time, and I tore the left knee of my tights by trying to bushwhack across that god-forsaken ravine. In my gut I knew this “shortcut” wasn’t going to work out.
And after wasting an hour going nowhere, I could kiss my changes of making it to Humbug Point or Hug Point goodbye. I wasn’t going to make it there in time. Sigh.
Cannon Beach
The remainder of the trail into the town of Cannon Beach seemed like a cakewalk after the morass of a morning. By the time I walked down the paved road toward Les Shirley Park, I felt like I’d been hiking for much farther than just 5 miles. Bushwhacking definitely zapped my energy!
When I walked into the seaside town of Cannon Beach, the streets were like a ghost town. It was quiet for 8 am in the morning. Perhaps it was just the fog shrouding the area giving it that eerie appearance. Or maybe it was the fact that it none of the normal weekend tourists seemed to be around. Whatever the case, the place appeared totally deserted.
That is, until I heard the booming beat of… hip-hop music?!?
As I walked deeper into town, the music grew louder. Then, I reached the public tennis courts where I spotted six aging babyboomers trying to keep up with some sort of Zumba-like activity. Lord have mercy! It was so dang amusing, I wish I’d recorded the whole thing.
After watching their efforts for a several minutes, my spirits lifted and I decided on a perspective shift. Instead of fretting about the tides, I was going to just accept I had to do some roadwalking today. So why not just enjoy what trail provided at each stage of the journey?
Right now I was in Cannon Beach. I might as well stop here at Insomnia Coffee Company, rest my feet, and order myself a nice large steaming hot latte and a white chocolate raspberry scone for ‘second breakfast.’
So I spend the next 40 minutes of recharging my energy and people watching, before deciding it was time to hit the trail again. It was all beach walking from here to Silver Point. Let’s see what the OCT had in store ahead.
Once I got back out onto the beach, I could see the iconic Haystack Rock in the distance with footprints in the sand leading the way. So THIS was where all the people were! I could see upwards of 40 or 50 of them standing out on the cold, foggy beach as I approached.
The massive rocks looming over Cannon Beach might be the main appeal to this beach, but a when the tide goes out, a football field’s worth of hidden tide pools emerge in front of them. Volunteers placed white signs out to warn beachgoers from walking too close and killing the fragile marine life.
Although I’ve been to Haystack Rock many times, I’ve never experienced it at low tide. It was actually quite interesting to see the purplish-black mussels clinging to the rocks. Shallow puddles of sea water pooled in the rocks framed by green mosses and algae.
Strong headwinds were starting to pick up as I made my way past Haystack Rock, and they seemed to be blowing me backward on the beach.
I was under the assumption that the winds would predominantly come from the north, providing a tailwind most of this hike. Well, I guess that wasn’t a sure thing. It was only day two of this hike and I already needed to lean into the wind to make any forward progress.
At the end of Tolvana Beach, I saw some concrete stairs leading away from the sand and toward a parking lot, so I hoped there’d also be some trashcans where I could deposit my now empty coffee cup.
Once I made my way up to the raised viewing platform, a young woman named Miranda stopped me and asked me if I was hiking the Oregon Coast Trail. When I affirmed I was, she broke out in a wide smile and told me she just heard about it on a podcast and she really wanted to hike it too.
She started peppering me with questions about my experience thus far. Was it difficult? How many miles was I averaging a day? How heavy was my pack? Were there enough water sources?
I was only 30 miles into this journey, so didn’t feel very qualified to answer all her questions. But we chatted for a few minutes about the OCT nonetheless. Then I strongly encouraged her to just go for it. If I could do it at 47 years old, then anyone could. Plus, this trail definitely needs all the good publicity it can get.
Roadwalking
Just north of Silver Point, I reached the inevitable point I’d been hyper-focused on all morning. It was time to detour up on to Highway 101. I’d need to walk along the shoulder of the road until I bypassed the areas of beach that were now impassible because of the incoming tide.
As much as I’d been dreading it, the two miles of roadwalking on the highway really weren’t all that bad. I rode this same stretch of the highway on my bike last October while cycling on the Oregon Coast Bike Route (OCBR) last October, so I at least had some familiarity with what to expect.
I didn’t enjoy sharing the road with fast moving logging trucks, giant pickup trucks pulling fishing boats, or the seemingly endless number of RVs driving down the coast. But at least I had a three-foot wide shoulder to walk on.
The traffic and road noise I could deal with. My bigger worry right now was my shoes. After just a few miles, I was coming to realize that my trail shoes weren’t the greatest option for extended stints on an asphalt road shoulder. They just didn’t have enough cushioning for the balls of my feet. Hot spots were forming and I longed to be back on the soft beach or trail once again.
Less than an hour later, I made it to the Hug Point Recreation Site, where a small road led down to a parking lot and the beach access point #18. It was now after 11 am, and the parking lot was packed. It seemed like all the folks admiring Haystack Rock had migrated south and were now here.
As I looked north up the beach, I could see Hug Point resting in front of me. A cave was recessed into the rock, and the small headland actually seemed passible. Perhaps I’d been too cautious in taking the highway above instead of sticking to the beach. It might have been just fine…
As I looked south though, I could see another set of rocks protruding into the water. I watched as the tide came in and completely cut the rocks off, before receding again and leaving them exposed.
The tops of these rocks remained mostly dry, but the moss and algae covering them made them slick and uneven. I’d need to watch the tides carefully to find the best way through this puzzle. So, I shed my trail shoes in favor or my sandals and got ready to get my feet and legs wet.
In the end, I still had to wade into knee deep water through the backside of this rock formation. There were moments when the tide went out and the water dropped to a manageable level, so I went for it. My crossing was a success, but it left a powerful impression on me.
There’s more than meets the eye with some of these rocky outcroppings and low headlands. Even when one side is manageable, the other side around the bend still had the potential to be treacherous. And the waves crashing onto the rocks were no joke. They could knock you right off your feet if you weren’t careful.
TRAIL CLOSURE – Part I
Once I made it to the opposite side of this rock obstacle, it was open beach until Arch Cape. However, this new beach transitioned from sand to lots of cobbles causing me to once again curse my trail shoes. They might had good grip, but they sure didn’t have much cushioning in the soles! I’m starting to regret bringing them on this trail and I’m only on the second day!
As I neared the end of the beach and Arch Cape, it was time to turn inland again and head back onto the paved roads between beach houses. I needed to find the small lane that crossed under the highway and the thundering semi trucks above.
The next stretch of the OCT would take me past bright, expensive beach homes, but then transitioned to rural homes tucked back into the shade of the forest. As I walked down the quiet road, I was glad I was carrying a small bottle of pepper spray up on my shoulder strap. It’s rural roads like these when I usually encounter country dogs running toward me at full speed barking and snarling.
As a solo hiker, I truly fear getting bitten by one of these loose canines, and I have no compunction about using my trekking poles to keep them at arm’s length. The pepper spray is just an added layer of protection, should it become necessary to extricate myself.
Luckily, my fears didn’t materialize – but disappointment soon did. As I found the trailhead that was supposed to take me up into forests of Oswald West State Park, I saw a giant sign hanging across the suspension bridge. The next section of the trail was closed!
Strong storms in 2020 took down a number of big trees and significantly damaged the trail. The next 1.5 miles of the OCT were impassible. Today just wasn’t working out as planned, was it?
I backtracked to the highway again, and set off on my second roadwalking bypass of the day. However, this time it wasn’t just a simple walk on the shoulder of the road. I’d also need to walk through the Arch Cape tunnel.
As cyclists and pedestrians approach this quarter-mile long tunnel, there’s a crosswalk-style button to push, which sets off flashing yellow lights to warn drivers that there’s a bike (or pedestrian) entering the tunnel. Theoretically, the vehicle traffic is supposed to slow down to 30 mph while the lights are flashing, but in my experience, they don’t actually do so.
I can tell you, there’s no sound quite as scary as the rumbling of a semi-truck bearing down on you at 55 mph while you’re in a tunnel with nowhere to escape. I nearly crapped my pants when I rode though this tunnel on my bike last autumn!
But, I also knew from my prior experience that a sidewalk runs the length of the tunnel. There’s a second tunnel further down the coast (near Heceta Head) where that isn’t the case. So as long as I hugged the concrete barriers along the walls and stayed on the narrow sidewalk, the biggest risk I’d probably encounter in this tunnel was lungs full of diesel truck exhaust.
Oswald West
After a half hour of roadwalking, the OCT crossed the highway and I was back in business. I could get back on the trail again. I was 16 miles into my day, and finally heading into Oswald West State Park.
Oswald West was the 14th governor of Oregon, and during his tenure, he convinced the Oregon state legislature to pass a law protecting the public’s access to the entire Oregon coastline by declaring it a state highway. If it weren’t for his progressive policies more than 100 years ago, the OCT might not even exist today.
In honor of his legacy, Oregon named one its coastal state parks after Governor West, and that’s where I was now headed. This forested park stretched the next 10 miles, going up and over one of the more prominent headlands on the northern Oregon coast before heading inland to Neahkahnie Mountain – the highest point on the entire OCT.
As I worked my way up the steep switchbacks, overgrown trails, and mud for the next five miles toward Cape Falcon, I did a bit of teeth gnashing about my options for the night.
There’s no camping permitted inside Oswald West State Park, even for people hiking the OCT. So where the heck was I going to sleep tonight?
The views from atop the cape were awfully spectacular, and I could see how some hikers might see this as a potential place to stealth camp. The park rangers would have to hike in several miles on foot to catch anyone up here, which makes it a fairly risk-free prospect.
But, there wasn’t a whole lot of level ground to pitch a tent anywhere. And truthfully, I’m not much of rule breaker. Camping where it’s expressly prohibited isn’t really my thing. I have to assume the ban is in place to protect the wildlife or maybe even the trail itself.
As I made my way back down through massive red cedars and hemlock trees toward a sublime looking beach at Smugglers Cove, I started to do a bit of mental math. I’d have to hike an insanely long day to get to the next hiker/biker camp all the way down at Nehalem State Park.
Hiking to Nehalem would require me to pull a 30-mile day. That seemed like an impossible distance, especially since I didn’t have my hiker legs yet.
Even if I I’d been in ideal hiking shape (which I wasn’t), today wasn’t easy beach walking like so much of yesterday. This stretch through Oswald West was real trail again, and I wasn’t moving very fast.
The truth was I didn’t have a lot of options though. Once I got south of Hug Point, there was nowhere legal to camp. Everything was either within city limits, on the highway, or in a state park that didn’t permit camping.
Perhaps this lack of amenities is why so few people thru-hike the OCT each year. You either had to be willing hike massive distances, break some law or local ordinance, or get a hitch to somewhere camping was permitted. Those limited options didn’t exactly encourage most thru-hikers.
Big Girl Panties
As I hiked further south, I had to come up with a plan. I had two feasible options for where to camp without expressing violating the park’s camping ban.
The first option was to walk all the way to Nehalem State Park. This meant I’d have to suffer through the physical pain of hiking 30 miles today, and two massively long days back-to-back.
The second option was shorter, but more risky. I could hike the through the Oswald West State Park just beyond Neahkahnie Mountain, and then find a stealth spot right on the edge of the park’s boundary. This was a ‘gray area’ in terms of legality, and I still risked a park ranger telling me to I couldn’t set up camp there. But it was five miles shorter than my other option.
I’d just have to wait until I got to the park boundary to make my decision. And so, I returned my attention to the trail ahead and the remaining wonders of Oswald West State Park.
This next bit of the OCT took me over bouncy suspension bridges and through thick mud. Then through the roots of giant trees that had grown over the trail like a tunnel.
Beyond those sights, there was the wide expanse of Elk Flats with wildflowers blooming everywhere. Smaller trails criss-crossed the knee high grasses and I could see a crew of day hikers heading out to Devil Outlook on edge of the steep headlands.
This part of Oswald West State Park was scenic, but honestly, I was too tired to truly appreciate it. The narrow dirt path I was on seemed to be continuously climbing, and I was reaching the limits of my energy. As I plodded along, I had to resort to playing mental games with myself to distract myself from the pain building in my feet and back with every step.
“Why, oh why, didn’t this park allow camping?” I wondered.
As the trail slowly crept back up to Highway 101, and the noise from the road traffic grew louder, I tried to muster the mental energy for the climb I knew was still ahead. Neahkahnie Mountain — the highest point on the entire OCT — awaited me. It was 1,600 feet above the ocean, which sounded like an impossible climb in my fatigued state.
As I crossed the road, I could see something blocking the trail. There was a sign was strung across on a cable, announcing the next section of trail was closed due. The hazardous conditions ahead meant I wouldn’t be climbing Neahkahnie Mountain today.
Just like the stretch of trail at the northern end of Oswald West State Park, the southern end of the park was still closed from 2020 storm damage. I wasn’t going to get the chance to see the edge of the park’s boundary or even consider whether it was a feasible camping spot.
Whether I liked it or not, I would have no choice but to put on my big girl panties and roadwalk from here! I’d have to hike a 30-mile day and camp at Nehalem State Park tonight.
More ROADwalking
Although a trail closure normally would have left me frustrated or upset, it probably worked out in my favor. Not only would I avoid having to trudge up and over a mountain that I was probably too tired to enjoy, but the roadwalking would allow me to maintain a decent pace.
Every hiker knows you walk faster on pavement than on uneven trail. Even in my fatigued state, I should be able to walk around 3 miles per hour with far less effort that I’d normally require. If I had to hike several more miles this evening, I might as well make them as easy as possible, right?
And truthfully, the scenery wasn’t bad on this stretch of Highway 101. There were several large scenic viewpoints perched on the side of the highway for cars to pull out and take in the views. I could see all the way down the the town of Manzanita and the bluish-green Nehalem mountains beyond them.
The Pacific Ocean hugged the cliffs hundreds of feet below me. And up ahead, I spotted the massive stone retaining walls supporting the roadway as it clung to the side of the mountain, while giant nets covered the upper of slopes above the roadway to keep loose boulders from tumbling down onto cars.
As my roadwalk descended toward town, the shoulder of the road narrowed to the barely a few inches before dropping off into a drainage ditch. It was apparent that the Oregon Department of Transportation (ODT) hadn’t designed this road for pedestrians to walk it. I had a mere 4 inches of asphalt before I’d enter the lane oncoming traffic.
Meanwhile, the opposite side of the road looked completely welcoming. There was a solid three and six feet of road shoulder on the southbound traffic lane! What the heck?!?
After puzzling over this design disparity, I could only come up with one conclusion. The vast majority of cyclists who ride on Highway 101 head south. They almost always ride from Washington to California because of the coastal winds.
So rather than create two equally narrow road shoulders on Highway 101, the ODT engineers must have decided the safer option was to eliminate the northbound shoulder in favor of creating a wider berth for cyclists sharing the road going south.
This discovery forced me to begin rethinking my entire roadwalking strategy. Did it really make sense to continue to walk toward oncoming traffic in these conditions?
Sure, I could see the cars and trucks approaching me. But it was also much harder to avoid them with only inches to walk on the roadway. I had nowhere to even safely step off to the side of the road without falling into a drainage ditch.
Was I creating a bigger hazard walking against traffic than I would walking with it? This was a thought I would ponder over the next few days as the number of roadwalking miles increased.
Meanwhile, I was now walking into the small town of Manzanita that I’d spotted from way up on the roadside viewpoints above. On any other typical day, I would have stopped to check out the town or purchase something local to eat or drink.
Today, however, I was simply wiped out. I wasn’t interested in doing anything but getting to camp and taking off my shoes. So I trod back out to the beach to walk on the hard packed sand for the final mile and a half to Nehalem State Park.
It was after 7:30 pm when I finally trudged up to the parks’s main gate. I’d been on my feet for the better part of the past 13 hours with very few breaks, and I was genuinely pooped.
After registering with the park ranger and paying my $8 to stay in the hiker-biker camp, I made my way over to the raised tent pads to set up for the night. There was one other couple already camping there, but they were completely engrossed in holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other, so I left them to be and focused on the getting my tent out before the imminent rain rolled in.
The camp itself wasn’t bad for $8. Two towers of lockers stood at one end of the hiker-biker camp so patrons could secure their food overnight and keep it safe from the squirrels and other wildlife. There was a USB outlet inside each locker too, so you could even recharge you phone or other electronics. And just a short walk away stood a bthroom with flush toilets and showers!!
As I was began to make dinner, I finally had time to notice the gap between the bottom of my leggings and the top of my gaiters. The exposed skin on my shins and calves was sunburned. So were the tops of my hands and wrist. Plus, I had some blisters to tend to on my feet from the 55 miles I’d walked over the past two days. I was a mess!
Tomorrow would be an easier day, I assured myself. I was way ahead of schedule and I only had 11 miles to go before I hit Barview Jetty, where Keith and Finn were camping for the week and waiting to meet up with me!
Day 2 Summary
Highlights
- Although I hadn’t originally planned to stop and linger in Cannon Beach this morning, I truly enjoyed exploring of the tide pools near Haystack Rock
- Meeting Miranda (and several other nice folks) on my breaks who knew about the Oregon Coast Trail
- The views of the Pacific Ocean from atop the headlands were simply spectacular
Challenges
- Losing the trail this morning and wasting an hour trying to get myself free from the morass of fallen trees. You’d think I would have known better. I should have backtracked instead of wasting my time!
- Today’s terrain was filled with a lot of forest hiking and hills. This isn’t really what I expected from a hike on the coast, and I may have to adjust my expectations.
- The unexpected trail closures and super long mileage day meant I spent more than 10 miles walking on Highway 101 today! I sure hope this isn’t indicative of the rest of the OCT.