Thursday June 17, 2021
- Start Point: Sand Lake / Fisherman’s Day Use Area
- End Point: Cascade Head / Rainforest Trail
- Daily Mileage: 27.3 miles
- Cumulative OCT miles: 115.5 mies
Last night was my first night stealth camping on the OCT. I’d found a good spot near Sand Lake, shielded from the wind and away from the snowy plover nesting area – but my soundtrack wasn’t the ocean waves quietly lapping at the beach like soothing noise machine.
Nope. The noise that I had to contend with was a nearby campground full of ATV riders. People gunning their engines on their way out to ride the dunes in the dark. This chaos went on well past normal ‘quiet hours’ with the roar of the small vehicles in the distance until I finally nodded off sometime around 11 pm.
I was awake far too early (5:30 am), only to discover beads and rivulets of condensation lining the inside my tent. In fact, my tent walls looked like it had been raining all night (but just inside my tent). I guess I should have expected this issue, being so close to the ocean and the high humidity on the coast.
After getting dressed, I moved all my damp gear over to the boat ramp at the Fisherman’s Day Use Area, hoping everything might dry out. But, I also wanted to avail myself of all the amenities set up there (a pit toilet, a picnic table, a water spigot with potable water, and even dumpster where I could dump my trash).
While cooking my breakfast atop a picnic table, I was formulating a plan. I was hoping to see some early morning fisherman launching their boats into Sand Lake – because that was my next obstacle on the OCT.
Sand Lake
When I arrived to Sand Lake last night, I knew I’d painted myself into a bit of a corner. I’d hiked nearly 25 miles yesterday, which was further than I’d expected or planned. If I’d taken it easy, and stayed at the hiker-biker camp at Cape Lookout State Park, I’d still have 10 miles before I got to Sand Lake.
Those 10 miles would have lined me up much better with today’s tides. Hikers can only cross Sand Lake at the outlet where it meets the ocean. This channel was only 1000 feet across, but it was deep and could make for a dicey crossing at the wrong time of day.
The only time to safely cross on without a boat was in the summer months during low tide. Even then, hikers have reported the water coming up to their waist or chest during their crossing.
Right now, it was just after high tide, and way too deep to ford Sand Lake safely on my own. But the low tide windows were (1) at midnight last night, and (2) again at noon today.
I’d briefly considered trying to cross at low tide last night, but I quickly discard that notion. The overnight air temperature was going to drop down to the upper 40s, and the water temperature was probably only 15 degrees warmer. That’s wicked cold if you’re submerging yourself to your waist (or possibly higher) in water.
Plus, there were at least three additional factors making it a midnight crossing a really bad idea. First off, it would be pitch black out, so I wouldn’t be able my route and could wander off course into deeper water. Second, I was hiking solo, so crossing a body of water alone at night was a downright dangerous proposition to even consider. And finally, the tide table showed that midnight wasn’t even a low, low tide. It was still 3.4 feet — as opposed to today’s noon low tide which was 0.2 feet.
So that left me on the north side of Sand Lake this morning with limited options. If a fisherman showed up with a boat or kayak while I was eating breakfast, maybe I could talk him into ferrying me to the opposite side. Otherwise, I’d be stuck walking the 6.8-mile paved detour all the way around the marshy estuary.
I sat there on the dew-covered concrete bench, slowly eating my breakfast and sipping a second cup of coffee over the next hour, just hoping a kind-hearted fisherman would show up at the boat ramp.
My patience wasn’t rewarded though. Several cars drove in, but the people were all just looking to take their respective dogs out on the beach to run and play. The longer I sat there, the colder I was getting too. And so, it was with great resignation that I gave up my wait after an hour’s time.
Heck, I could sit there for two more hours and still never encounter someone with a boat. I was better off just taking destiny into my own hands and walking all the way around the lake.
Let me assure you though, it really tanks your morale to start your day with a 7-mile roadwalk, especially when you can so clearly see your destination just 1000 feet away. It was like yesterday’s detour around Netart’s Bay all over again.
There was one upside though. It was still early enough in the morning that there was barely any traffic on the road. Plus there were some horses and other livestock grazing in the nearby farmland to capture my attention as I pounded the white line of the road shoulder yet again.
About three-quarters of my way around Sand Lake, I made it to the bridge down to Whalen Island, a a unique piece of land that sits in the middle of the estuary. The island isn’t a sand bar. It’s a mix of coastal forest, grasslands, mudflats, sand dunes, and wetlands.
That state of Oregon used lottery funds to purchase it from a small family farm nearby, and now it’s designated as a state natural area, where people can hike, birdwatch, or just enjoy nature.
A small campground sat at the opposite side of the long bridge, so I briefly made my over to the island to avail myself of their bathroom now that my bladder was bursting from all the extra coffee I’d consumed this morning.
A mile further down the road I came to a second nature preserve called Sitka Sedge. At first it looked like just a small rest area for cars. But as I looked more closely at the maps on the kiosk in the parking lot, I could see there was an alternate OCT route running over a dike at the edge of the Sand Lake estuary.
I could take this little shortcut through the mudflats and be back out to the beach a mile sooner than I’d expected! Yessss! I’d only have to do six miles of roadwalking this morning instead of seven.
The trail running through this nature preserve was mostly quiet at this early hour, but I saw several birdwatchers out with their binoculars on one of the trails. As such, I tried hike quietly and not to disturb the wildlife on my way over the dike and back out to the beach once again.
CAPE KIWANDA
The next 3.5 miles down the beach were flat and easy. I could see the prominant Haystack Rock (yes, another rock formation named Haystack Rock) sitting off the edge of Cape Kiwanda to my south. The towering rocks seemed so close, but I knew from experience that it would be another hour or more before I actually made it there.
I’ve learned that hiking on the beach makes it difficult hard to accurately estimate distances. On days like today, when the skies are clear and there isn’t any fog, you can see uninterrupted for miles. It’s a lot like hiking in the desert, where everything is always so much further away than it appears.
As I got closer to Cape Kiwanda, I could see a giant dune rising up from the beach, and several paragliders were trying to catch the ever-present winds blowing in from the north. Their parachutes were fully aloft, but it was taking a few running starts down the dunes to get the amount of lift required to keep them in the air.
One of the paragliders was more successful than the others, and seemed to catch an updraft and some thermals that kept him in the air for a good 20 minutes as I approached. It was quite the aerial show.
When I eventually reached the massive dune saddle on Cape Kiwanda though, I wanted to cry. It had been getting taller and taller as I neared, and now that I was finally at the base of this sand feature, it stood like an 8-story building towering over me. It was was nothing but soft beach sand up to the top, and it was undoubtedly going to be a beast to climb.
I was more than 10 miles into the day, so I figured I deserved a rest break to muster the energy required to make it over the dune. I dropped my pack to the ground and broke out a snack while coming up with my game plan.
There didn’t seem to be any good way to scale this sandy beast. There weren’t any side trails or detours around it. The spot where the paragliders had been earlier was a saddle as the top of the dune. The areas inland and toward the ocean were both higher and steeper than the middle.
I’d just have to gather my fortitude and go for it. If the paragliders had been able to hike up there with their chutes packed on their backs, then I could do it with my gear on mine. I’d just have to take it slow and easy.
With each step up the massive sand dune, it seemed like I slid a half-step backward. Yet I persisted. If I let myself stop to rest or consider my insanely slow progress, I’d just want to quit. The only thing to do was to focus on the footprints ahead of me and keep putting one foot in front of the next. I’d get to the top eventually.
After what seemed like an eternity, I crested the dune. I could finally see the sandstone of Cape Kiwanda that most people are familiar with.
This side of the cape, which faced Pacific City, was golden-colored from the exposed sandstone. A guardrail and path were available to a make the journey easier. Tourists could climb just a few dozen feet up and slide back down on plastic trays like they sledding were on a snow bank. It was definitely a different journey than what I’d just endured.
At the sand’s edge ahead of me, I could see the northern outskirts of Pacific City beckoning me toward it. Pelican Brewing had another brewpub located there, and I was debating whether to wait for it to open for lunch to celebrate making it over the dune.
But as tempting as that sounded, it was still early. And I was actually craving something sweet. So I popped over to the Stimulus Coffee and Bakery shop instead, and ordered a latte and muffin to go. Then I sat out on a beach in the warm sunshine, with my leggings pulled above my knees, and dumped the massive amounts of sand out of my shoes.
Nestucca Bay
As I relaxed, I pulled out my map to check out what was up next. Just south of Pacific City, another water crossing lie ahead – Nestucca Bay.
The beach ahead continued another three miles along a sandy spit through Bob Straub State Park, but once I got to the edge of the Nestucca River, I wouldn’t have any way across to the other side of the bay. Not even at low tide. That news meant I could only walk another mile down Kiwanda Beach before I’d need to detour inland again and return to the pavement yet again.
Highway 101 was paralleling the OCT once again in Pacific City. And I’d read that many thru-hikers just opt to take the local bus from the outskirts of town to the southern end of Nestucca Bay. This would cut six miles of boring roadwalking off the route. But, I decided to follow the river on foot instead, while I listened to an audiobook and enjoyed the mid-day sunshine.
In hindsight, I now wish I would had taken the bus. My tender balls of my feet were killing me the entire way. There was a ton of insanely fast beach traffic whizzing by me. And then there was the headwind that I seemed to be constantly walking into as I walked southeast around the bay. I’m pretty sure I only got 10 minutes into my audiobook before the wind and road noise forced me to abandon my earbuds altogether.
In short, it was a less than a worthwhile use of my time and energy. And I was stoked when I finally made it to Winema Road almost two hours later and began the quiet downhill slope toward the beach once again.
Once I returned to Kiwanda Beach, I officially passed the 100-mile mark of my thru-hike. Of course there was nothing formal to mark this momentous spot. Every OCT thru-hike takes a slightly different path, so the milestone is like a moving target.
Nonetheless, I wanted to celebrate this moment. I drew the number 100 in the sand with the tip of my trekking pole and took a photo to commemorate the milestone. I was roughly a quarter of the way through the OCT! And that was definitely an achievement worth celebrating.
I was bone-tired now and ready to set up camp, but the next 3-mile stretch of beach didn’t have a single good place for me to stealth camp. The high tide water mark came all the way up to the top of the sand. And above the beach, stood 6-10 foot tall cliffs with condos and beach mansions atop them.
There was no way I was going to set up my tent on the open beach here, only to have the waves come crashing in on me in the middle of the night and trying to sweep me out to sea.
I was in a no-man’s land once again, and I quickly coming to the conclusion that I really should have planned my campsites out better on this adventure. The OCT wasn’t a like a backcountry trail where I could just stop and pop my tent up anywhere.
It was 5 pm by the time I arrived in the next town. I had close to 23 miles under my belt, but I still didn’t have anywhere to set up camp for the night. The last hiker-biker camp was back near Cape Kiwanda (10 miles ago) and the next one wasn’t until Devils Lake State Recreation Area near Lincoln City (in another 12+ miles). What was I going to do?
Cascade Head
As I walked into Neskowin, I determined it wasn’t much of a town. In reality, it was just a cluster of beach rentals next to a golf course. But at the southern edge of the development, stood the Neskowin Trading Co, a deli/mini-grocery/convenience store.
I purchased a snack and a giant can of beer, then asked the cashier if it was ok to charge my phone (using one of the outside outlets) on their wrap-around porch. He shrugged indifferently and told me go ahead. Clearly he wasn’t too concerned with a middle aged woman ‘hikertrashing’ the place up and scaring off his patrons.
As I lounged outside and let my phone charge, I grabbed a copy of the free local paper and began to read it to see what nuggets it contained. I was surprised to see a short article inside about the OCT. Specifically, it mentioned the big storm that hit the coast in September 2020, and how parts of the local trail system would be closed from the storm damage until 2023.
I knew those three sections of trail well: Cape Lookout’s north trail, the trail up Nekahnie Mountain, and the northernmost section of Oswald West State Park near Cape Arch. Yep. All three of the closures I had to detour around so far.
With the hazards of the OCT in the forefront of my mind, it was time refocus my attention to where I was going to camp tonight. The next segment of the OCT went up and over the giant headland to the south known as Cascade Head. This 10,000 acre preserve has gorgeous meadows and trails at the top of the climb, but visitors are limited to day-use only because it’s also a designated scenic research area.
The OCT bypasses most to of Cascade Head’s best sights, sticking to the ‘North Rainforest Trail’ and ‘South Rainforest Trail’ that parallel Highway 101 as they carve their way through the dense Siuslaw National Forest.
I’d heard through the grapevine that might be a small solo campsite about a half mile up the North Rainbow Trail, but I didn’t have any more information than that. There could already be someone camping there. But truthfully, it was my only option. I’d have to risk it, unless I wanted to drop $100+ to rent a pricey beach condo in Neskowin.
By 6 pm, my phone was 75% charged. My beer was gone. And I’d read the local paper cover to cover. it was time to hit the road and find this stealth campsite up ahead.
Unfortunately, I never found the campsite. More accurately, I never found the trailhead for the North Rainforest Trail. I was walking along Highway 101, and somehow I missed it entirely.
Maybe the trail marker was stolen by some hoodlums. Or maybe the trailhead was still completely overgrown this early into the hiking season. Or perhaps the slight buzz I was feeling from my beer caused me to walk right past the trailhead and marker without even noticing (it had been a double IPA with 9.0% ABV).
So instead of camping just a mile or so outside Neskowin like I’d expected, I was stuck roadwalking on Highway 101 for the next four miles. Up a steep incline. And on excutiatingly sore feet. Until I reached the next known access point for the OCT at Forest Road #1861.
Forest Road #1861 bisects the Rainforest Trail, with everything to the north designated as the ‘North Rainforest Trail,’ and everything to the south as the ‘South Rainforest Trail.’ And based on the small blue OCT marker posted at entrance of the forest road, I suspect this is why I actually missed the trailhead North Rainforest Trail.
It seemed as it the trail maintainers were currently routing the OCT up the forest service road instead for the North Rainforest Trail like I’d expected.
After another half-mile of hiking on the muddy dirt forest road (which continued to climb straight uphill, of course), I finally reached the junction with the two Rainforest Trails. I’d gone from sea level back in Neskowin up to 1,300 feet on Cascade Head. But this time, I was so spent that I ready to camp anywhere semi-flat.
It was getting dark now. Wind was coming off the Pacific Ocean was causing the tall sitka trees to sway overhead. Low clouds completely enveloped the headland and light rain was beginning to fall. Some sort of storm was clearly headed my way, and I needed to set up shelter fast.
I could see a large, level vehicle turn-around right beside the Rainforest Trial junction, and it was easily wide enough for a dozen tents.
Unfortunately, it also was covered in jagged rocks the size of apricots to keep the heavy trucks using the forest road from sinking into the mud when they turned around. This was definitely not a suitable campsite.
After a bit more scouting, I found a flat stealth spot at the entrance to the North Rainforest Trail. It was nestled beside a giant tree trunk and had clearly been used many times before. Was it legal to camp there? Who knows? I was honestly too exhausted to care at this point.
I set up camp as quickly as possible in the rain and wind, and dove inside my tent to warm myself back up. It had been another insanely long day of hiking — 27.3 miles, to be exact. Could someone please tell me why was I killing myself to hike such big miles each day?
I needed to begin to seriously consider adjusting my daily mileage to coincide with the hiker-biker camps at the state parks. If these past few days have taught me nothing, it’s that trying to stealth camp on this thru-hike is going to end in injury or catastrophe.
I needed to start hiking smarter, not harder.
Highlights
- Although I wasn’t excited about the long detour around Sand Lake this morning, hiking over the dike and through Sitka Sedge’s wetlands was actually a pleasant surprise.
- Watching the paragliders at Cape Kiwanda was an enjoyable diversion from the flat beach walk. I’d never been that close to them before.
- Passing the 100-mile milestone of my OCT thru-hike was definitely cause for celebration. I can’t wait to see what the next 300 miles have in store for me.
Challenges
- Today was filled with far too much roadwalking for my liking. First I had a 6-mile detour around Sand Lake because of the tides. Then I had a 7-mile detour around Nestucca Bay because there wasn’t a water crossing option. And finally, I had to end my day with 4 miles of roadwalking on Highway 101 because I didn’t find the North Rainforest Trail. 17 miles of roadwalking versus 10 miles of beach or trail — that ratio stinks!
- The sand dune over Cape Kiwanda was frustratingly difficult. Thank goodness Pacific City was on the opposite side so I could reward myself at the bakery for my efforts!
- Finding a decent campsite along the OCT is beginning to wear on me. I definitely need to re-think my approach with this trail.