beach hiking – backpacking over the hill

Penultimate Day

August 26, 2018. Stealth camp before cedar Creek to stealth camp before Yellow Bank.

I got up early because low tide was around 7:30. The first part of my morning was easy hiking on firm sand. It was overcast with de minimis drizzle.

After the easy hiking, I rounded one headland and fortunately hit another lengthy sand beach leading up to the Norwegian Memorial and the adjacent campsite. The Prince Arthur of Norway crashed on the rocks nearby in 1903 and a monument was erected in honor. There were some appropriate mementos at the base of the memorial (flags for the US and Norway) and inappropriate (a shoe insert).

I could’ve stayed at this campsite, but it was still morning and high tide would not happen until after 1:00. However, designated campsites after Norwegian required a reservation. I opted to get close to the first restricted site (Yellow Banks), leaving just six miles of beach before reaching the trail’s end at Cape Alava tomorrow.

Based on this decision, I had to do some rock scrambling. Along the way I found an amazing variety and volume of waste on the beach. Fishing nets, flotation devices, cable protectors, rusty barrels. The most depressing was the sheer volume of plastic water bottles. Worse, so many of them were half full. Terrible.

I was shocked by the large amount of netting that had washed up.

Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with an explanation.

OK. So just once in college I did experiment with Happy Time Assortment.

This headless skeleton appeared to from a sea lion.

I found a cove that seemed very remote based on the amount of material washed up. It had little beach and a lot of driftwood. Since high tide would be in soon, I opted to get up high and wait for the tide to recede. I found a good spot and even managed a short nap.

Moving again, I soon approached Yellow Banks. Before it, there was a well-used campsite that I grabbed. I had a late dinner and watched the horizon, hoping for a repeat of last night’s show. Unfortunately, the sky remained gray. As this was my last night, I reflected a bit but did not get sentimental. It was time to finish.

This decoration marked the entrance to my camping spot.

Looking up the cove, I could barely see the Yellow Banks.

A Little Goes a Long Way

August 25, 2018. From Forks to a stealth camp between the Chilean Memorial and Cedar Creek campsites.

I enjoyed my last shower and went to the transit station. I was going to take a local bus over a 6 mile stretch of highway with non-existent shoulders. It would drop me off at a corner gas station from which I would walk five plus miles to ONP and Rialto Beach.

The skies were gray and damp, promising rain. The bus stop at the corner station served breakfast. I couldn’t refuse. The only choice was a breakfast burrito. I grabbed my coffee and sat down to wait while they cooked it.

While checking my maps and tide tables, a backpacker came in and asked if I was doing the PNT. He was doing a short coast hike, but recognized the PNT maps from a few years back. His trail name was Tiger Lily.

The breakfast burrito was simply a frozen one they microwaved. Alas, beggars can’t be choosers, so I ate with gusto. And a hell of a lot of salsa.

I refilled my coffee and wandered out to begin hiking down Mora Road. Almost immediately it started drizzling. I got out my umbrella. I must’ve looked like a sissy backpacker with my umbrella in one hand and my coffee in the other.

Not caring what I looked like, I made steady progress west. At times there was no shoulder. Almost always cars gave me ample room. If I could hear a car approaching from behind and see one coming I just stepped off into the bushes. When I reached the ONP boundary, the speed limit mercifully dropped to 25 mph.

I arrived at Rialto Beach. Despite the drizzle and cold, the parking lot was full. I used the faucet to fill up on fresh water. Like most tourist locations, about 70% of the people stayed within 500 feet of their car, so very quickly I was on uncrowded beach.

This beach was mostly sand with driftwood stacked up past the high tide line. The tide was coming in, so I found a sheltered spot, got out rain gear, and with my umbrella made a dry spot where I tried to nap with limited success.

As the tide turned, I packed up and went north towards Hole-in-the-wall. If you’ve never backpacked on a sandy beach, it primarily consists of trying to find the firmest sand. Soft sand saps energy. On rocks, the name of the game is not putting all your weight on the slippery rocks and plants. Plus, have trekking poles or a stick to help with balance. I didn’t want to break my expensive trekking poles on the last couple days so I just found a sturdy stick.

I cleared Hole-in-the-wall easily. I loosely joined three guys hiking north to their campsite, the Chilean Memorial so named for a monument honoring the sailors from a Chilean ship that wrecked off the coast in the 1900s. The guys were from the Seattle area and doing an out-and-back. We navigated some slippery rocks.

At Chilean Memorial there was a dense tent-city. I was glad I wasn’t camping there. Instead, I was aiming for a stream about three miles north.

Coincidentally, I ran in to Tiger Lilly. We talked for about an hour to let the tide drop further to ease hiking around Cape Johnson. He was a Park Ranger, off duty, and had extensive hiking experience.

I crossed one headland using the ropes, but most I went around. As the afternoon ground towards evening, the drizzle ended and the sun even poked out. This was especially nice to highlight the various islands near the shore.

Around 7:30 I found a great campsite. It was about 60 feet up a bluff, under a large pine. It even had a fire circle which would’ve been nice.

I enjoyed my next to last dinner watching the tide recede towards the setting sun. To my delight, the sun actually pierced the clouds on the horizon giving me a light show before bed.

I put my bear canister in the bushes a distance away. They say it is not bears so much as raccoons that necessitate the canister precautions. It turned out to be a great day.

A Forks on the Road

August 24, 2018. Bogachiel Camp to Forks.

As I unfolded myself from my cramped sleeping spot, I was psyched. Today was a town / resupply day. A shower. Food on a plate. Sitting on furniture. Hot water.

I woke up a small herd of cow elks when I started. I was unable to get a good photo as they crashed their way through the thick brush.

These large ferns dominated the forest floor

The closer I got to the road, the better the trail maintenance. The better the trail maintenance, the faster I went. My morning goal was to reach Bogachiel State Park where I might catch a 10:30 bus to Forks. If I missed that it would be hitching or a paved highway walk.

In short order I was off the trail and on to a gravel road. I kicked my speed up another gear. It was overcast and cool, so hiking fast felt good and easy.

If all road walks were like this they would be popular.

Then, I hit the Road Closed sign. I was supposed to take the curiously named Undi Road. It was closed and a new Undi Bypass was indicated. At first I was in denial and tried walking the closed road. However it was truly abandoned and I went back to the bypass. It did not show on any maps, so I had no idea how long it would take. Immediately, however, it was clear it was steep.

I abandoned hope of catching the bus. There were utility crews stringing power lines and the road felt very new. Only a few cars went by. One of them flew by and dusted me big time. It had Minnesota plates. So much for Minnesota nice.

The Bypass ended and I was on blacktop, resolved to hiking into town. Amazingly, a guy who had just come down the Bypass stopped and asked if I wanted a ride. You betcha.

He spent the six miles bitching about local government and the bypass. He was from Hibbing Minnesota. He was a pretty good guy and dropped me off at the wonderfully named Dew Drop Inn.

I couldn’t get in to my room for five hours. So while a shower was out, I managed to get a breakfast and hit the library. Fortunately, I ran in to One Direction just as they were heading out to finish their trip.

Forks is a fading town, losing lumber and holding on to waning tourism related to the Twilight series and sport fishing. I must say the food was bad at every place I ate. Since this was the last resupply town for me, I was disappointed.

I took my final resupply package and got ready for my final leg. It would walk to and then along the coastal portion of ONP, ending at the westernmost point of land for the 48 states. My permit was goofy, so I hatched a plan to spend two (instead of five) nights on the beach. I appreciated the symbolism of starting a hike at the crest of the continental divide and ending at the farthest west point possible. Equally, however, I know how annoying beach walking can get.

I tossed and turned most of the night, perhaps anxious about finishing the PNT.