by Joe Hu
After the original plan to hike the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail was foiled by incompetent rangers, Option B we decided, was going to be the famous Lost Coast Trail in Humbolt County. While researching the trail description, it seemed that this hike was exactly what we were looking for. A perfect 3-day backpack trip through a seldom experienced California coastline. There were rumors about this hike too; that it was a torturous 25+ mile deep sand hike; that its 3 sections that are impassable at high tide could swoop in unexpectedly and wash us out to sea; that its many varieties of opportunistic scavenger species, such as bears and raccoons would come down to the camps and make nightly raids, that the weather could blow horizontal rain on us all night long, all weekend long. I worried about the 6-hour drive each way and the thru-hike car transfer that would take 4 hours. But after a very short Instant Messenger discussion, we decided. This is going to be the one. No reservations required, dogs allowed, perfect length, ... plus, none of us had ever been that far up the coast. Perfect. It started out as: Me (Joe), Amy, Rauser, Sudeep, Lutz, Jeremy, Chad, Dana, Ferd, and the dogs. Rauser was out because he was a villain, and had to deal with the lawmen who were out to get him. Sudeep cancelled too, she had a family event that required her attendance. Unexpectedly, Lutz re-injured his back and reluctantly backed out at the last minute. Then, due to mounting schoolwork, and a pressing automotive problem, Jeremy backed out too. We were down to five people, and 1 dog. So the plan was this. Amy, Chad and I were to head out ASAP north after work. Ferd would get off of work at midnight and head up to Berkeley to pick-up Dana and they would make the late night 6 hour haul to Black Sands Beach where we would be waiting... sleeping like babies on the beach. From there, we'd let the all-nighters catch a couple Z's and then take on car up to Mattole, a 2-hour drive away. We got on the road at around 7:15pm. The drive seemed like an eternity. The weather went from gorgeous, down here in San Jose, and then turned to cold, San Francisco fog, then back to a gorgeous Sausalito sunset. We crossed through Petaluma, Santa Rosa, through wine country, and as the evening faded into the pure blackness of a moonless, starless night, we blasted up highway 101 and wound over the Russian River, the Eel River, and into the ancient redwood forests. We reached the Shelter Cove/Garberville at hour 4. One more windy hour to go. The road took us an hour west, and as we descended to the coast, the fog became ominous. So, John Farley, the NBC11 weatherman was right, we were in for a viewless weekend - Hopefully not. We arrived to the Black Sands Beach at Shelter Cove at just after 11:30pm. The parking lot was full. A couple carloads of people were setting up camp in the parking lot. In the misty darkness, they had been too lazy to look for the beach. "Suit yourselves," I thought to myself. We each grabbed a beer, and Odog and headed for the beach, which we found with little effort. The trailhead had some very intimidating signs. "Warning, you will die if you camp on the beach," it might as well have said. Actually, it warned about life-threatening undertow, but still-scary when we could see almost nothing from the trailhead. All we could hear was the thunderous crashes of waves somewhere in the distance. I went down to the beach to investigate. The beach looked damp, but when I touched it, it was bone dry. No tide had come up this far recently. Anyway, it looked nicer than camping in a parking lot. We retrieved our gear and set up camp, lit a duraflame, popped a couple brews and settled in for the evening. A little later, a carload of people pitched a tent near us and quickly crashed out. The mist got a bit heavier and very quickly everything was moist. Soon, we were in our tents, the fading light of the duraflame flickered us to sleep. Amy and I woke up as usual at the butt-crack of the morning. 6 ish? We wandered out of the tent about a half-hour later. Suddenly, as if he was there all along, Ferd appeared grinning ear to ear. We celebrated his arrival briefly. He explained that Dana had been 45 minutes late and that he was minutes away from calling the whole thing off for himself. But luckily, they had hooked up just before he made that decision. (Dana had to attend a graduation party that evening, so had to make her way from Belmont to blah blah blah blah blah.) The point is, they made it. WooHoo! Ferd finished our hellos with, "I'm feeling pretty goofy right now, I'd better go to sleep." And he disappeared back to the parking lot to sleep in his truck. Amy and I thought that to be a good idea, and slid back into the tent. We woke up around 9am, packed up and headed back to our cars where we prepared to drive 2 hours to Mattole where this Lost Coast Trail begins. The parking lot was bustling with activity. Several groups were loading into a shuttle (at $60 a head, we decided to shuttle our damn selves,) other groups were beginning their trips from the south end here at Black Sands Beach. There were also car campers, and overnighters. Odog was interested in all of them, making sure to introduce himself to every person, place and thing. I strapped 4 fully loaded backpacks to the roof of the Pathfinder, and threw one in the back with Otis, and the 5 of us were off. We took Kings Ranch Road, a windy dirt road that looked like a short cut on the map. Several miles of dirt road ended at the Mattole Road where we turned left toward the coast. We drove for another hour and finally reached the dirt parking lot at the mouth of the Mattole River. We unloaded the car, and were introduced to Mattole by a very friendly ranger who checked that we all had bear canisters, wrote us a fire permit, and wished us good luck. Finally, at the trail head kiosk, we stopped a passer-by who took a group shot for us (our 'before' photo.) The hike starts out in soft dunes. Ahhh, sand-in-the-boots. "I'd better get used to this," I thought to myself. We had planned on hiking through most of the "impassable" sections today, which was at least 8 miles away. One particularly thin section of beach is 4 miles long, and the ranger wasn't so confident that we'd make it in time for the tide to come in. We were confident that we would. We began the hike strong, making great time. I was feeling excellent, and started off at a fast pace. A dirt trail ran parallel to the beach for some parts of the hike. The hard dirt was a real treat compared to deep sand and rocks. Ferd was in exceptional spirits considering he had only gotten about 2 hours of sleep the night before. Each time I looked back at him, perma-grin - Dana looked as if she was fading. Her pack was crooked and swaying, she hadn't had her coffee. Amy was hiking strong like always. Chad (Chestnut) was mellow... nothing unusual there. The trail climbed a bit to the left after passing what appeared to be an old cabin. We approached the abandoned lighthouse at mile 3 and stopped briefly to grab a snack. Chestnut took off his pack to explore the lighthouse. All this time the weather had been the same: Cool with a light misty fog that hovered just above the beach. Walking along the beach, dodging the tide as it continually chased us away, among a hazy fog that blanketed the entire coast - It was an eerie feeling. We continued along the "impassable" section of coast, passing a river mouth that lead into the deep forest. We passed several hikers who were perched on the trail overlooking Sea Lion Gulch. A rock just beyond the river mouth was the hangout for dozens of sea lions. The moans and barks of the sea lions were audible from hundreds of yards away. It was exciting to see them there minding their own business, apparently disinterested in us, seemingly going about their lives unaffected by human disturbance. I wondered if it really was unaffected.
Along the beach I found a bone along the way. It was a big bone. It was the first sign of death we had seen. Chestnut hypothesized that it was a cow bone. Cow bone? What the hell is a cow bone doing here on the Lost Coast? Who cares? Soon after I tossed the bone into the sea, we came across another indication of death: the carcass of a young sea mammal, perhaps a porpoise or dolphin. Its stomach and its eyeballs were ripped out. Chad poked at it with a stick. I took photos. We kept hiking. I was feeling the hard belt pads of the new Gregory backpack I'd just bought. My hips were in agony. Amy tried convincing me that the belts needed a "break-in period". I thought it was trying to break ME in! Soon we reached mile 8, where we crossed Randell Creek. It marked the end of the "impassable" section of coast. We could safely camp anywhere beyond this point without fear of the high tide that would come and wash us out to sea. The camps near the river mouth were taken. The camps on the bluff above the river were taken. We took a rest here, took off our packs and Amy and I went to explore camping options further up the trail. We spotted some potential spots ahead at Spanish Flat. Spanish Flat is a vast flat section of beach that is raised 10-12 feet from sea level. We ran back and grabbed the rest of the group and headed forward. We passed several other groups camping on this section. I was somewhat envious of their nice spots near the trail. But we wondered where their water source was. I guessed that they needed to go back roughly a quarter mile to get water. I hoped there was going to be water further up the beach. Ahead we spotted a section that was relatively empty. We were the only people who had hiked this far today. Suddenly we felt pretty bad ass. We reached the trail marker for Spanish Ridge Trail that rose up several hundred feet to our left. So, we went right... to the beach. There was a huge supply of driftwood all along the beach. Bonfire tonight! We dropped our packs and set up our gear. 50 lbs. off the back, aahhhh. Amy checked her pedometer, 10 miles today. Not bad. I pressed my tender hips, oooooooo, I winced. We toasted to our victory, cocktails all around. I cooked up some rice, with turkey sausage, and ground turkey turds that I had whipped up the night before leaving. Ferd and Chestnut fixed up some dehydrated Mountain High Natural House backpacking food. Amy ate a chunk o' tofu. Dana ate pasta out of a plastic bag. Odog ate dog food. As the grey sky turned black, a cold fog rolled in and soon we were enveloped in the familiar moist mist again. Cocktails and a blazing fire warmed us up. We sat around the fire talking about our day. We wished Butz was with us. Somehow we all missed his brand of tactless humor. Even Amy and Dana talked about it longingly. Ferd managed to summon his spirit. Chad and I also channeled his spirit several times blurting out groin, crotch, and sex comments without censoring ourselves. Having had enough of the noisy drunken banter, and feeling her eyelids snap shut, Dana crashed trying to catch up on sleep lost. Amy followed soon after. Not long after, we all crawled into our respective tents and drifted off with the sound of the crashing waves. Day Two It had rained during the early morning. I had taken precautions and stored the gear under the tent vestibule, so for the most part, it was dry. I peak out of the tent. I'm dreading the damp discomfort of packing up when its really wet out. It's definitely overcast. Is it misty out? Not too bad. But still too chilly for me. I zip it back shut and crawl back into the sleeping bag. By 8 am, we are all roused from sleep except Ferd. Albeit deserved, Ferd took his sweet time getting up. By 11am we were finally packed up and ready to go. I strapped the pack on and cinched the belt. A familiar pain. Not as bad today. I hope the hype is for real. There's been so many false promises regarding this pack. "Most comfortable MY ASS!" I thought to myself, thinking about a Backpacker magazine article touting Gregory packs as highly rated in comfort. I heard someone say, "We should just hike the rest of the way today." I thought about that. It'd be cool to tell people, "We did the Lost Coast Trail hike in 2 days." Really, its not a bad accomplishment for us novices. Til this point, the only 10+ miles we've ever done, have only been day hikes. I was doubtful that we'd still be up for it by mile 8. Everyone else was up for the challenge. "Let's play it by ear." We left with high expectations. We hiked on the double track trail amongst a field of yellow poppies. They were surprisingly vibrant despite the neutral sky. Odog galloped through the bushes of thistle, grass and driftwood. He looked so happy. So youthful for an old guy. So happy, ... gathering ticks. Gathering ticks, and prancing on sharp rocks. There are probably fleas in there too, and dust mites, ... "ODOG! Get yo' ass out of there!" I ordered him. To my surprise he obeys! "GOOOOOD BOOOOOY!" He trots up the trail happily. We cross several small river crossings, some of them over logs, some with leaping splashes. Gore-Tex boots! The trail ascends a rockslide covered in poppies. Up ahead, a view opens up over a large flat meadow. A large group of 12 backpackers hike single file ahead of us on the trail. Ahead of them several groups of 2, 3 and four. "There are SO many people out here," someone says. I agree. It is Memorial Day weekend after all. What did we expect? The trail passes a residence on a long, flat trail lined with yellow grasses, and more poppies, then banked sharply right to Big Flat. Big Flat is a large, and yes, flat stretch. It is covered with an incredible collection of driftwood. Some of the large pieces had been stacked atop each other is makeshift structures, or wind barriers. As I approached one particular structure, with clothes and wetsuits hanging about, 2 surfboards leaning against the outside wall and I peeked inside with awe. "Hey do you guys mind if I get a picture?" "No, not at all!" One of the 4 guys inside said. They said they had been there 5 days, leaving tomorrow. I snapped 2 shots. Ferd asked one of them how far to Black Sands Beach. 8 miles or so. We had hiked 6 or 7 miles already, 8 more would be a doozy. We agree to hike to Gritchel Creek and then decide what to do next. With so many people having passed us early this morning, we were sure to expect some heavy crowds at Gritchel, an obvious campground.
It began warming a bit. The sun started peaking out from behind the clouds, brightening the haze. We were hiking on black sands now. Black sands and deep soft pebbles. It was the worse of sand and the worst of rocks, deep and uneven. Ahead, the trail disappears around an outcropping that was getting a little wet form the tide. Amy was nervous about the tides and urged us to hurry before the tides got too crazy. We scrambled around the outcropping barely keeping dry as the wave crashed a little too close for comfort. We stopped at a creek mouth where some other groups had stopped to lunch. We had lunch too, and a snack, and some more snacks. I finally got a chance to relax, spreading my pad out on a log. It was nice out. The sun had made a warm appearance. I even managed to doze off for a couple minutes. Dana lay down on the ground and rested, Chad followed. Meanwhile, what seemed like hordes of people passed us. 30 minutes passed and I jumped up feeling rejuvenated. Ferd took his time to eat two Natural High Pasta Primaveras, and pumped some water. I strapped my pack on feeling the sharp daggers that were supposed to be hipbelts. The pain jolted me awake. The girls decided it would be best for them to start off ahead. Chad and I waited while Ferd finished his massive lunch, pumped some water, and slowly packed up. By the time we started off, the girls were at least 300 yards ahead of us. I stepped forward feeling my tender hips with each step. Suddenly for the first time all weekend, I heard the 2-way radio. "Joe, you on?" Amy's voice said. I had just watched them approach a rock outcropping. They had faded behind a haze in the distance. "I'm here" I replied. "Get your camera ready, I'm like 4 feet away from a baby sea lion. It looks like it's dying." I hurried over there armed with my camera. From where I was I could see a rock in the water several hundred feet from shore with many sea lions barking and wrestling. As I got closer to Dana and Amy, I saw what they were talking about. A lone sea lion pup lay on a rock on the beach. Its coat was battered. Its eyes glazed and miserable. As we passed, and I snapped some pictures, it made a feeble attempt to defend itself, rearing its head. Exhausted, it dropped its head back down on the rock hopelessly. It was dying. I pained me to see a young baby dying. It was so close to its family. So many people had passed it. But, it was doomed. It reminded me of the tragedies around the world of dying babies who are so helpless and alone. It was a very sad sight. Gitchel Creek was as we anticipated, crowded. There were campers every 20-30 feet along the beach on either side of the creek mouth. Solitude would be impossible here. Where would people shit? I became determined to camp as far from this point as possible. An obvious option was to keep moving until we found A) a good water source, and B) safety from high tide, which was scheduled to arrive at around 9:54pm. Everyone seemed to agree, and we continued moving. Chad reluctantly agreed, and although I didn't know it at the time, he had hyper-extended his knee a mile back and was in a considerable amount of pain. Being the type of guy that he is, Chad complained little and kept moving as best as he could. We approached a rocky embankment from which a little creek flowed. There was a water source. Like most of the Lost Coast, dry driftwood was plentiful. The problem was, the tide was awfully close. Ferd did a little test by digging shallow holes in the sand. "Last night's tide would have only come up this high." Ferd said marking a line on the sand. I agreed with the reasoning. Dana was less optimistic. She had serious doubts. Chad had his pack off, shoes off, nearly had his tent pitched by the time Dana and I were done discussing the issue. We decided to stay. Pumping, pitching, boiling, mixing and camp was set. Cocktails were in order. When all was done, we had hiked 12 miles. More than any of us had anticipated. Furthermore, we were all alone, not another soul in sight. The night was perfect. Unlike the previous nights, tonight was not misty whatsoever. The only other concern was the tide. And by the time we thought about it, it had come up nearly to the line Ferd had drawn. 9:55pm. High tide was pretty much over. The tide prediction had been exceptionally accurate. Nice. Day Three. Morning came quickly. Soon after the first of us woke, most of the camp was up. I lingered in the doorway of the tent as long as I could before the calls to pack up began. We ate and broke camp as quick as ever and were on the sand, tromping through the relentless sand. This portion of the hike was purely sand. The mist was thick today and visibility was down to a couple hundred feet. Ferd had disappeared into the fog already, and Dana and Amy were barely shadowy figures in the distance. Chad hobbled forward using one of my trekking poles. I stayed with him for a couple hundred feet and decided to go ahead to the front. My reasoning being: Ferd and I were the only ones who need to get there quickly in order to make a speedy car transfer. So I blazed off leaving Chestnut a Mojo bar and to fend for himself. I hiked alone for a while. The mist felt eerie and hollow. I felt as if I existed in an alternate dimension without time or distance; that I was hiking into oblivion. Ahead a rock moved. Not a rock. Odog. Odog was sitting ahead of me on the beach, by himself waiting. He sat motionless, except some gentle panting and an occasional turn of the head, waiting patiently for me to catch up. "What a smart little bastard," I thought to myself. He knows that by running back to me he'd be wasting energy. But he waited for me. I nearly broke into tears. Instead I gave him a headlock and patted him on the head. "Good boy!" (I love that damn dog - *sob*) >>>
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