Lost Coast Trail, part 1

I don’t know how you begin a mileage taper, but mine often includes hiking or backpacking and beating myself up a little further.  During the taper, I get back to the things I love that get neglected when all I do is run run run.

The sun shone brightly by 7am.  We lazily ate our oatmeal as the river valley filled with morning light.  A steady north wind blew on our backs from that first step onto the beach and only intensified throughout the day.  We were glad to be south-bound and would repeat this very phrase for the next few days.  If I can offer one piece of advice for this trip, this is it:  Hike north to south.  By 8am, we encountered our first hiker.  “Slept in, did we?” he asked.  I never get up at 6:30 on a Sunday morning so it felt early to me!  It only made us wonder what time he got up.

Going was slow through the soft, black sand.  The grains were coarse and never firmed up, even while we walked just above the surf line.  I was thankful for the large pebble sand in the fact that it never got into my hiking boots.  

We reached Punta Gorda Lighthouse around 9am.  Standing in the shelter of the lighthouse, it easily felt 20F warmer out of the wind.  We paused briefly to climb the light tower and reapply sunscreen.  It was then we realized that Matt packed our almost empty tube rather than the new, full one.  Oops.  We’d all be slightly barbecued by Tuesday when we reached civilization again.

The swift wind made it difficult to chat while we hiked.  I both love and hate this type of backpacking.  I bring friends for company, but it is a little frustrating to walk in silence.  On the other hand, it really helped me absorb the surroundings.  I thought back to a decision Matt and I had made the week prior.  Matt was recently offered a promotion within his office.  It moved him one step closer to the job he hopes to one day hold (one that is free of shift work!!), gave him more leadership responsibilities, and more monies.  But it also meant possibly making it more difficult to move away and committing ourselves here for at least a few more years.  Thankfully, this opportunity came just as my allergy symptoms abated and we were able to accept.  We really do like it here when my head isn’t all foggy.  Walking along the beach in the sunshine, cerulean waves crashing against the beach, I couldn’t help but smile thinking about how we made the right decision.  There is so much of this area that we have yet to explore.  It isn’t our time to leave yet.

Before long, I was pulled from my daydreams.  An unusual yelping, but decidedly animal noise came from the water.  It only grew louder.  Then a few rocks offshore came into view.  Dozens of sea lions played and jockeyed for the prime spot on each rock.  They were enjoying the sunshine just as much as we were.  

Around each corner brought us a new isolated cove.  Mountains of the King Range dove swiftly into the ocean, waves crashing at their feet.  This coastal range is the most underdeveloped part of the California coastline.  Its rugged terrain is why Hwy 1 moves inland south of here; nobody wants to build a major road through this area.  Too bad, all the gorgeous views would be left to us hikers and the occasional private landowner.

This trip stretched our personal experience limits a bit further than before; we had to now consider the tide.  Nearly half of the miles we covered on the trip were impassible during high tide.  We had to plan our travels to ensure we didn’t get trapped between the waves and rocks.  By 1pm, three hours before high tide, we reached a tight spot.  Between waves, we had about 10 foot wide path of sand over which to travel.  Waves were about 5 seconds apart.  Matt counted out loud to himself, “3-2-1”, and then ran off around the rocky point.  Joel did the same and then disappeared.  Then it was my turn.  My heart raced.  I released the buckles on my backpack and took a deep breath.  People get swept out in less than knee deep water, I thought.  Then I went for it.  Relief washed over me as the foamy remains of surf splashed onto my boots.  Whew, made it.

About 20 minutes later, we approached another rocky point just like the previous one.  In between the waves, I dashed out to check what the beach was like around the corner.  It was large boulders.  We couldn’t make this sprint in that short amount of time like before.  We had to climb over it.  I hate climbing, especially with a backpack.  I am basically one armed when it comes to pulling myself up.  I can help balance with my left arm, but it has no flexibility and would likely break if required to hold my body weight.  I was the slowest climber as we moved from the large boulders to the muddy, washed out hillside.  I did catch a glimpse of a marmot on one of the rocks that looked at me curiously as if he were asking, “What’s the big deal lady?  Hurry up!”

This was Kim's first backpacking trip, I never would have guessed.

After those two hairy spots, we were thankful that the trail rose onto a bluff overlooking the beach.  We passed through large fields of California poppy flowers.  We climbed over beaches of boulders and driftwood.  We decided to set up camp up the Cooskie Creek drainage at about 3pm.  High tide was coming soon and we didn’t want any more close encounters along the very rocky beach ahead. 

That evening, we build a fire out of driftwood and enjoyed sampling each other’s Mountain House meals.  I’m usually against them, but I have to say I enjoyed the Macaroni and Cheese.  The campsite was beautiful, soft for sleeping and had a creek nearby.  Perfect.

What time do you get up in the morning when you are backpacking?  I usually let the sun wake me up, then snarl at the world for half an hour before leaving the tent.

Does the name Cooskie look like cookie to you too?  I swear it made me really hungry for cookies when I looked at that name on the map.