Oswald West and Vicinity

This post is brought to you by the generosity of my siblings, who felt an upcoming personal milestone of mine deserved some celebration. Thank you to Kathy, Patty, Brian, Colleen, and Beth. You're swell.

I reserved a hotel room for two nights on the northern Oregon coast, too far from Corvallis for useful day trips. I have been trying to relax my parsimonious ways and this seemed pretty extravagant but standards are escalating rapidly - I guess $100 is the new $39.99 - and I fell well short of utilizing my endowment. Those who wish refunds should speak up. Otherwise your gift will confer another couple of nights when I'm once more ready to venture out into the world.

My first stop was the Rockaway Beach Old Growth Cedar Preserve, a 46-acre patch of forest filled with large Sitka spruce and western red cedar, including one ancient behemoth. It also featured the hugest and healthiest skunk cabbage leaves I’ve ever seen. Just two blocks from the beach, in the middle of a residential and commercial neighborhood, it's a stunning revelation of what this entire coast once looked like.

Big Cedar

Skunk Cabbage

The Cedar Preserve was a fitting warmup for my main destination, Oswald West State Park, the site of a rare remaining stand of coastal old growth rainforest. The park is loaded with trails but I opted for a half-mile walk down a forest path past contorted Sitka spruce to Short Sand Beach, a wild beach hemmed in by coastal cliffs. Half the hikers on the trail were toting surf boards, though I didn't see many waves. Many of the surfers also had dogs which they left on the beach to guard their belongings while they were in the water. This made for unusually territorial and aggressive dog behavior, the worst I've ever seen on a beach. I was glad I didn't have Emmy with me.

Short Sand Beach

But I quibble.

I needed a more accessible beach to while away the evening and I found one in nearby Manzanita, a local beach with no facilities and barely any parking. Most of the people came by foot from the neighborhood to join me for a fine sunset in the shadow of Neahkahnie Mountain, rising 1680 feet above the beach.

Manzanita Beach

The next morning I hiked - up Neahkahnie Mountain! An early start and a lovely hike through Sitka spruce decidedly less mangled than those on the beach trail. I had been advised that there was a short scramble to get to the top but I was surprised to find myself grasping at roots and rocks while seeking to maintain a foothold beneath me. This isn’t scrambling, I thought, this is climbing, which I'd promised myself I wouldn't do anymore. Too late now, I was halfway up, all I could do was bear down to avoid a cruelly ironic backward plunge a mere month before the celebrated event. Happily I got to the top and immediately spotted the trail I should have scrambled up, saving me what would have been a precarious descent.

View From Neakahnie Mountain - Mouth of Nehalem River and beyond

Just noon now and I got to my next destination, Hug Point State Recreation Site, where low tide had opened up the beach to extensive cliff exploration. Sea caves, a waterfall, thick walls of mussels, and the delightful patterns the water forms in the sand as the tide begins its return.

Hug Point

I love the mussel visuals but wouldn't dream of plucking a few off the wall to enjoy for lunch. Apparently some do, as that very day the State of Oregon closed the entire Oregon coast to mussel harvesting after at least 20 people became sick after eating mussels from two beaches, one of which was Hug Point. They were experiencing symptoms of paralytic shellfish poisoning, which include "numbness of the mouth and lips, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, weakness and in severe cases shortness of breath or irregular heartbeat." An unknown number were hospitalized, but the state health department said there were no reported deaths.

My northernmost destination was Ecola State Park, where I thought to spend the rest of the day at the renowned Indian Beach. Regrettably this entailed driving through Cannon Beach, a famously artsy beach town of narrow streets and pedestrian multitudes seeking to cross them. The whole place gives me a headache and I would forever avoid it except it is the only way to get to Ecola State Park and I wanted to give that one last try.

On my last visit I had driven to its famous ocean view, a great view for sure but then you pretty much turn around and drive out. This time I drove to its other vaunted destination, Indian Beach, like the viewpoint a narrow winding road through lovely forest but again no place to stop along the way. Before I put down my $5 parking fee I wanted to make sure it would be a good place to while away the rest of the day. It was not: crowded, lines for the bathroom, picnic tables practically in traffic, a long walk down to the beach. Signs pointed out the spots where scenes from various movies and TV shows were shot. I drove back out the lovely road and made my way back through Cannon Beach, very likely for the last time.

Rather than driving back on Highway 101 I left town on the coast road and soon stumbled into Tolovana Beach, and it had everything I wanted. Loads of parking, properly located picnic tables, a rest room and easy access to the beach. I arrived at about three and stayed until sunset six hours later. It also featured a seafood restaurant and I figured what the hell: think of all I'm saving on my $100 room. I ate my cod sandwich and a side of coleslaw out at the park picnic table, $18 and I was still peckish. That doesn't happen with a buy-one-get-the-second-for-a-dollar McChicken. Just saying.

The beach extended all the way to Cannon Beach and after a refreshing nap (OK, I was a little cranky), I enjoyed a long slow stroll on a beautiful evening up to Haystack Rock, the coast's dominant landmark. The beach was surprisingly quiet until just before sunset when people poured out of their hotel rooms to record their vacation memories, all devices pointed to Haystack Rock. (Perhaps they stayed inside all day because they hadn't heard that the apparently very busy Oregon health department had just removed its warning of high fecal bacteria levels at Tolovana.)

Tolovana Beach

Haystack Rock

I had hoped to spend the third day exploring a few of the many small rivers draining the coast range into the ocean, but as is becoming increasingly common my itinerary exceeded my capacity for itinering. I did poke around at a couple of them and then headed home, satiated.

Nehalem River

Wilson River

Thanks again everyone

Love, Terry

Social Distancing at the Seashore

Fogarty Beach State Park

Yaquina Bay State Recreation Area

Yaquina Bay

Wind picking up

Cape Perpetua Scenic Area (USFS)

Limited towel space

Spouting Horn

Siltcoos River Recreation Area (USFS)

Siltcoos River Estuary

Siltcoos River cutting through the beach...

You almost don't want to imagine what might be wrapped up in this

South Beach State Park

Natural driftwood sculpture

High tide markings

 

Yaquina Head Outstanding Natural Area (BLM)

Enticing Surf

Too small, I'll catch the next one

Cape Kiwanda State Natural Area

Tide sneaking in on me

Yaquina Bay State Recreation Area (Part II)

Curtis Ridge - Mount Rainier National Park August 25-27, 2014

 Curtis Ridge was once a long hard day hike out of Ipsut Creek Campground, and the permanent closure of the Carbon River Road to motor vehicles put it decisively out of my one day reach. Since the prospect of lugging a backpack up the 4000' or so feet elevation gain had little appeal, I assumed I'd never make it back there. Then one day I was standing on Burroughs Mountain studying the landscape and it occurred to me that a backpack in from Sunrise would be relatively modest. So I put it on my list of potential hikes, and this year the opportunity presented itself: a forecast for three straight beautiful days (and nights) in late August. I went for my wilderness permit as a walk-in and took what I could get - no chance for Mystic Lake, so I booked one night at Granite Creek, five miles or so out of Sunrise, and then an alpine zone permit for the following night on Curtis Ridge.

I spent a sweet, quiet afternoon at White River Campground. I seem able to relax more at White River than at other campgrounds. There’s the ambient noise of White River. There's rangers around; I like rangers. Plus people don’t typically come to Mount Rainier to “go camping”. They camp there in order to see the park, and don't sit around the fire drinking beer all day.

The fine forecast did not include this first night. As predicted, the sky darkened and soon we were getting pummeled by a hail storm. I rode it out in my car, wondering whether hail is effective in suppressing fire. It does seem to turn to water quickly enough. Then it was pouring and it kept pouring, very sustained for such a hard rain. My hope was that the lightning was not starting any new fires, and that the heavy rain that followed would suppress anything that ignited.

An alpine zone permit was new to me, and I didn't know quite what I was getting into by proposing to camp on Curtis Ridge. I suppose that’s the fun part. My two previous cross-country excursions on Mount Rainier had been to more out of the way places. Here I’d be near Mystic Lake with the back country ranger nearby, perhaps some serious climbers camping up on the ridge with me.  Any gaffes could prove embarrassing. Such are my dumb concerns.

Since I was only hiking 4 or 5 miles the first day I delayed setting off as long as I could. No sense rushing to spend the afternoon in a camp in the woods. I was hoping for glorious late afternoon light out of Sunrise and didn't quite get it, though it was certainly pleasant. It was another one of those partly cloudy/partly sunny days. It was also nearly deserted, this on a fine August afternoon. Of hikers that is. Some three dozen mountain goats turned out to graze high above the trail to Skyscraper Pass.

At Skyscraper Pass I got my first unimpeded look at the mountain since the parking lot. The trail was about to drop into the woods and I had no desire for deep shade on such a pleasant evening so I climbed up to Skyscraper Peak and had my dinner, with just enough room to manipulate my cookery. The sky was still half and half except over Rainier where thick gray clouds prevailed, making for a tumultuous scene. Fremont Mountain was looking good in the sun. Even the scree wall of First Burroughs was looking good. I heard and finally spotted a helicopter running treetops above Grand Park. At first I took it for some scofflaw, but its persistence in flying low in and out of trees, then moving on to a close look at an the lower cliffs of Fremont Mountain led me to conclude it was probing for fires from the previous day's lightning.

tumult on Mount Rainier

Mount Fremont

Burroughs Mountain

West Fork White River

Grand Park

I had pretty much exhausted the possible photographic scenes and sat down to eat when a small sun break threw a picturesque patch of light and I grudgingly hauled myself up for one more shot. It turned out to be one of my favorite pictures ever.

Little Tahoma Peak

Dems the facts, by and large. The emotions, the insights, the observations? That's about it on them too. I was skipping coffee in hopes of early sleep, which might account for my lack of cerebral activity. I was feeling pretty good except this new dehydrated soup was taking my breath away, rather literally. Niles Soups did not do that but Niles Soups seems to have disappeared. I had begun an investigation.

Descending the other side of the pass I found the mountain goats had drifted to encompass the trail, and my approach seemed to mean nothing to them. I wasn't about to walk right through this horned mass, so I picked up a downed branch and slowly waved it back and forth as I came closer. Remarkably they reacted as if they had some genetic predisposition to being herded, collecting themselves a safe distance up slope from the trail.

mountain goats

Granite Creek backcountry camp has three sites, plus a group site. One party was already bedded down in site one, so I took site two. Site three was so far up slope I never even saw it. It would be isolated up there, though would  also require walking by the toilet. The night went decently, maybe decently minus as I never did feel like I slept, though the night passed quickly enough so I must have. Dragging myself from my sleeping bag was hard but once I did I felt well enough..

The ensuing descent was steeper and quicker than I anticipated, and soon I was rounding the enormous rocky snout of Winthrop Glacier. As I crossed a narrow log bridge over the muddy and roaring West Fork White River I was breaking new ground for myself. I had once day hiked to the snout of the Winthrop Glacier, but the next stretch to Mystic Lake was one of the small pieces of the  Wonderland Trail I'd yet to travel. Up several textbook morainal layers, back into old forest, then back down to a heavily morainal creek I didn’t know existed and which carried little water. An old river channel? Then up again steeper than I anticipated past the Mystic Lake camps and finally to Mystic Lake, on a bright blue day.

Winthrop Glacier

Winthrop Glacier under its rock insulation

Winthrop Glacier

Mystic Lake and Russell Glacier

I had to address a minor water dilemma common in cross-country travel. I figured there would be no water up on Curtis Ridge where I planned to spend the night, an assumption that proved accurate. So I needed to eat my lunch, get fully hydrated, then refill my bottles before heading up for the evening. Mystic Lake would be my last water source, but I wasn’t ready for lunch and I didn't much feel like sitting around for a couple of hours waiting for lunch. I’m not all that crazy about Mystic Lake. It’s nice, in a nice location, but is surrounded by foliage and lacks much real beach. It strikes me as more something to look at than experience. My only other option as far as I could see was to climb the steep bench above the lake and then drop down into Moraine Park for lunch and replenishment. While it would entail a lot of extra hiking that is what I decided to do. I always liked Moraine Park. I hadn’t been there in many years, and with the closing of the Carbon River Road I wouldn’t be getting another chance very soon.

The sound of water flowing down the hillsides above Moraine Park was encouraging, but all I could see were muddy trickles. Moraine Park itself was discouragingly dry, the deep creeklets reduced to barely moving mud puddles. I forged on, increasingly anxious that I had miscalculated and would have to retreat to Mystic Lake for water. I knew a creek ran out of Moraine Park, at least I hoped I knew - I’d seen it; I have pictures! - but I was doubting myself. I’d been holding off on eating or drinking until I found new water, and that wasn't helping my clarity of thought. It was sunny and not too hot but midday and hot enough. Finally there it was, coming in from the east, a creeklet, not lush but sufficient. Lovely too. I found good rocks to sit on in the shade, surrounded by rich foliage and monkey flowers. A small victory.

Moraine Park lunch spot

Alas I was now sitting right on the Wonderland Trail, more conspicuous than I'd like, and while I hadn't seen another hiker in hours, three parties come through as I prepared and ate lunch. They were all backpackers heading up to Mystic Camp, except for one day hiker descending from Moraine Park. Day hikers are a diminishing species up here with the demise of the Carbon River Road and he had done it about the only way you can, riding his bike the five miles into Ipsut Camp. Still, it makes for a physically demanding day and so this area of the park, like the west side, is left mostly to backpackers. Most of them are hiking the Wonderland Trail, but I also came upon some Northern Loop hikers, a more common species than I would have guessed.

Fortified, I sallied back up to Moraine Park. Just as I was setting off I heard singing from down the trail and spotted two more hikers heading my way, one of them singing. They passed me by soon afterward and we exchanged brief pleasantries. But not much further along they were stopped dead in their tracks. They’d gotten to where Mount Rainier first appears to those heading into Moraine Park. It is one of the great appearances anywhere and they were practically melting. I vividly remember the first time I reached this spot, and it was kind of a kick to witness theirs.  I learned this was not simply their first take from this viewpoint. It was the first time they’d really seen Rainier.

I moved along while they lingered, figuring they’d catch me on the ascent to the saddle between Moraine Park and Mystic Lake. They didn’t catch me, so when I got to the saddle I sidled over to the famous tarn reflecting Rainier’s north face, comparatively sub-par this day as the tarn was partly dried out and the reflection was not so great. Still. Coming out I saw they’d arrived at the top and I coaxed them to come in and take a look. They seemed to appreciate it. We had a little chat. They were in from Minnesota, doing the Wonderland Trail in its entirety. This was only their second day out. I was excited for them and they intuited that I had once done it. No, I have hiked almost all of it but never at one time. That would be just too much for me. They were from far away they explained, and so had to “go big”.

Somehow I came to mention the snack bar at Sunrise, a mere nine miles away, where they could have a cheeseburger. I was leery of offending vegetarian sensibilities but the one I identified as the navigator responded as if I spoke of Oz. “Does such a place exist?” I was endeared. Yes, I said. It’s barely out of your way and has a great view you’d miss if you just stuck to the Wonderland Trail. I think I made a sale. I’d have hung with them all day but I’ve learned to take my leave, I wished them them well and headed off to Curtis Ridge, leaving them to descend to Mystic Camp.

Destination Curtis Ridge

I made my way up a social trail toward my destination for the night. I hadn't made this ascent in at least ten years and I was struck by how much further away it was, how much harder a climb, than I remembered. Either the mountain had laid down an additional ridge or two or I had slowed down quite a bit in 10-15 years. I reflected on what a strong hiker I once was, and ruefully regretted that when I had the strength I would never have dreamed of camping out alone on Curtis Ridge, while now that I had the gumption the climb was killing me. Anxious to get up there before the sun dropped behind Ptarmigan Ridge, I even tried to hurry a bit, resulting in a trip and fall on a marmot hole. Soft ground, no harm done. I made it to the top in time.

The scene from Curtis Ridge is something else entirely, the kind of place we simple hikers rarely experience: a front and almost center view of the north face of Mount Rainier. This is less a mountain slope than 4000 feet of seemingly vertical wall, two walls actually - Willis and Liberty - separated by a steep cleaver called Liberty Ridge, all enclosed in an enormous amphitheater by Curtis and Ptarmigan Ridges descending along either side of the wall from the mountain summit to some 8000' feet below. I was approximately 6500', a few hundred feet below the spot where mountain climbers start their journey. I had reached the end of mine.

At the base of this amphitheater is the head of the magnificent Carbon Glacier, Rainier's third largest glacier by area and it's longest and largest in ice volume. While Emmons and Winthrop, the two glaciers larger in area, sweep down conspicuously from the mountain's summit, Carbon is tucked away nearly out of sight and extends down valley far beyond site, nearly six miles, terminating at 3300 feet, the lowest altitude glacier in the lower 48 states. Its unique aspect makes it one of the more secure glaciers in Washington. It is the beneficiary both of a steady stream of avalanches falling from the summit and from the constant rockfall from Willis and Liberty walls, rockfall that provides an insulating blanket for the ice as it conveys the rocks downstream.

Carbon Glacier

Curtis Ridge

Mystic Lake

Downstream Carbon Glacier

The main reason I was so keen on spending the night on Curtis Ridge, and getting there while the sun was still on the mountain, was that although I'd been there three previous times, I had no decent pictures of this fantastic north face. Day hikers face an inherent handicap of arriving at the pinnacle destination in midday summer glare. This glare is exacerbated when the destination lies to the north -  in the northern hemisphere that is - as the midday sun shines nearly directly above the mountain. For my previous visit I had the bright idea of coming in late September thinking that the sun would be lower in the sky. Well it was, lower to the south, and by the time I arrived it had already dropped so far south the wall and much of the glacier was already in dark shadow. This was a useful illustration of why north slopes can be so snowy, but I got no kind of picture that day.

Adorning the ridge across from Curtis Ridge is Russell Glacier, a plateau glacier mostly gleaming white. One great waterfall and several lesser ones spilled from Russell down to Carbon. I had views back down over Mystic Lake and the route I’d hiked in from. I had a long view out over the rock- insulated Carbon Glacier to the portal peaks, turning shadowy in the lowering sun. Soon it would slip beneath Russell Glacier and I would spend the next hour or two looking at these views in gradually changing light. I’m not enough of a photographer to have done anything meaningful with them. I just juggled between landscape and portrait and took my chances.

Eventually I settled down and addressed the issue of where to camp. There were plenty of places available, the main question being whether to stay on top of the ridge or slip down into a meadow for better wind protection. I assumed the wind would pick up after sunset but in fact only a slight breeze arose and the temperature was quite pleasant. While pondering where to pitch my tent I had a bit of an epiphany: I didn’t really need to pitch my tent. I could just set down my sleeping bag. No chance of rain, little risk of animals, no people around. If the wind did pick up my tent would be more susceptible than I would be on the ground in the bag. So I laid down my stuff on a patch of sand, white bark krummholz at my back, rolled my tent into a pillow, propped my head up on my backpack and watched Willis Wall hold then lose the last rays of the sun, grow grayer and dim, and finally give it up to the stars, Milky Way included. Powerful. Glorious. I donned a headnet in the event of mosquitoes and the night went better than I’d imagined.

I was up at dawn, all by myself on Curtis Ridge. The sun long presaged its actual appearance, but finally there was red on the mountain, red on Russell Glacier, and gradually the glaciers again glowed white.

 

I had a 10 mile trek to my car, a long hike for me with a pack on, but I had all day to do it. I spotted a familiar meadow that pointed me back to the trail. The famous tarn was looking better in the morning light. I came upon a ranger on my descent to Mystic Lake and he dutifully inspected my permit. I expected Mystic Lake camp to be empty so late in the morning but one party remained, the two Minnesota hikers I’d met the day before. I filled a water bottle at the creek and had some breakfast and leapfrogged up the trail with them. Lunch at Granite Creek and up to my car at Sunrise for dinner in the dark and the drive back home.