As devoted readers may know, just about annually since 2016 or so, some combination of my dad, my sister, my brother and I take a backpacking trip together (and some good stuff, too: Glacier National Park, Iceland which I will write about someday, Quebec, Hawai’i, the Grand Canyon). In 2020, that was derailed for the obvious reasons and also my sister being pregnant, so we went car camping in New Mexico; in 2021, Marisa still had to skip it so we met in California and wildfire smoke turned a plan to car camp in the Eastern Sierra into a road trip along the coast.
In 2022, we decided to again look at California where Steve and I live now. I had wanted to hike the iconic Lost Coast Trail for a long time, and figured it was (knock wood) unlikely to be too smoky or hot to hike in summer there.
The Lost Coast is the longest stretch of undeveloped coastline in California, with no major roads and not many people. If you’ve ever driven Highway 1, it’s west of where you cut inland for a while into the redwoods and attendant tourist traps. Technically we only did the northern portion of the full, 57-mile Lost Coast Trail, but the southern segment sounds much more mountainous and poison oak-y and generally less fun, so.
A nice time at the Lost Coast is not a casual affair. The permits are highly sought after, and there are chunks of time when the ocean covers the trail making it impassable during daylight. So in late September the year before, I squinted at tide charts, reviewed shuttle schedules, calculated sunrise and sunset times, ran the numbers on Gaia, and I set my alarm for like 6:50 a.m. to grab our permits. Then I booked a shuttle and hotel rooms for the night before the start. We then had to wait 8 months for the adventure to begin!
A lot of things happened, obviously, and our final headcount was six: Dad, his girlfriend Rachel, Steve, Jordan, Nathan and me. I was terrified for a second when I got Jordan’s brother’s July wedding save-the-date until I checked the calendar — we’d just have to hike for three days, drive five hours home, and fly to Missouri the next day. Whew.
Saturday: Shelter Cove
Jordan and I were in decent hiking shape still after our adventure in Utah, and Dad and Rachel had practiced sand hiking on Ohio beaches (they exist! Ask me about the Great Black Swamp!). June arrived at last and the Ohioans flew in. Steve took Dad and Rachel rock climbing and to a raw vegan restaurant after their cross-country flight, then I took them to a backyard birthday BBQ for hot dogs. They were tired.
The next morning, Jordan and I picked up Nathan, and Steve drove Dad and Rachel. After a quick stop for lunch at a strip mall and an inadvertently synchronized pit stop at a spooky rest stop in Willits, our two cars finally made it to the end of the trail at Shelter Cove. We checked into our hotel rooms, packed and unpacked our backpacks to make sure everything we needed was present and nothing we did not need was present.
The front-desk guy had to replace our screen door which had rusted away in the sea breeze. He said that happened all the time. He also was one of the shuttle drivers and had hiked the Lost Coast a few times and recommended the mileages and camp sites that were basically what I’d planned (which made me so so happy to hear).
We reconvened a while before sunset and took a ramble along the rocky beach outside our hotel. On this walk I thought about how important knowing the tides would be for the next few days. The stuff you walk on disappears when the waves cover it! Not true of most land one walks on.
We had dinner at the most vegan-accommodating of the three restaurants in Shelter Cove and with a few more hours to kill before dusk, we played cornhole and had a few beers. There was a stupid wonderful golden hour as the sun set over the ocean which got me very excited to live outside for a few days. Jordan dominated my dad and brother at ping-pong.
We had to be up well before dawn early for the shuttle to the trailhead. I named a morning “meet at the car” time with no room for error (a mistake!) and we split up for the night.
Sunday: Black Sands Beach to Cooskie Creek (6.5 miles)
Well, we were a bit late getting to the meetup spot and the other people in the van seemed annoyed, but it’s OK I guess. (We had to stop and get a bear canister for them, so). On the hour-long ride from the end of the trail to the start of the trail the driver chatted about all sorts of things, gave us the rundown on tides and his favorite camp sites and so on. He said he could tell by our gear we knew what we were doing and gave us a truncated version of the Leave No Trace talk the rest of the people had gotten waiting for us.
After hours on “steep and winding roads in various states of existence,” we made it to the northern trail head a bit before 10 a.m., we made it to the start. We said goodbye to our driver and set up on a picnic table at Mattole Beach to start with a brunch of cheesy potatoes (a now-beloved Skurka recipe) and coffee to fuel us for the morning.
By 10:20 we hit the trail — which was, immediately, sand. Oof!
Our goal for the day was to get past the first and second impassable zones at Windy Point and beyond Sea Lion Gulch, hopefully a far as Randall Creek before the tide came in at 2:45 p.m. That’s 8 miles of hiking and quickly I realized we wouldn’t make it that far after the mashed potato stop. There are many camps along the way where watercourses join the sea and so I figured we’d get as far as we could anyway and make up the mileage over the next two days.
Most people have probably walk on sand and found it enervating to get from the parking lot to the beach. This was that but for miles at a time and for days. I was mentally prepared for that, sort of.
However!
… I was not really prepared emotionally for the boulders. You had to look where to put your foot every step along the way, maintain your balance and keep an eye over your shoulder for waves coming in, regular and the more gut-wrenching possibility of sneakers. Trekking poles helped a lot here sometimes, and other times got stuck in the rocks as I propelled myself forward and the pole stayed stuck. But if you’re reading this ahead of a Lost Coast journey yourself absolutely bring poles, no question, 10000%.
Anyway, there were hours of this along the way — but let me tell you about the sea lions! There were many of them hauled up on a beachy terrace just below the hiking trail just under the 4-mile mark at Punta Gorda Lighthouse. We kept a respectful distance and watched them grunting and hauling themselves around on the sand and playing and sunning themselves on rocks revealed by the low tide.
We stopped for snacks there and peeked into the lighthouse, then pressed on. Typically I can hike about 2.5 miles an hour with a 20-lb pack on (depending on many variables but you know). In the end, it took us 14 hours of hiking to go 26 miles over three days — 1.8 miles per hour in perfect weather. That includes lots of “terrace” hiking on more-familiar packed dirt trail to bring the average down.
At a point after Sea Lion Gulch, the official map says “Trail is Impassable at All Tide Levels,” which: unambiguous! It said to take an inland route which we did without much comment or drama. The spot where I’d have put that label was ahead of us yet, not that we knew it then.
By 2 p.m. we had made it to Cooskie Creek in an impassable zone and had to call it a day. Even as we neared the creek, the tide was coming closer and closer to getting our feet wet, though we weren’t yet pinned against the high rock wall. We just knew we wouldn’t make it to the next campsite in the next hour. That meant we were the last to roll into that camp — and that we had lots of time to kill until the tide went out enough at 7 a.m. the next day.
We set up our tents along the creek, which was crowded in backcountry terms because others probably had the same time crunch we did and the available spots were narrow. Then we read books, napped, splashed around in the cool creek, and watched the tide come in and the pink-and-purple clouds race by above us.
I was probably upset about something but writing about it here in February 2023 I don’t remember what. Every time I hike I get better about not being a brat during the hike, I promise. The breeze off the ocean was fresh and cool so we bundled up a bit and watched the sunset together after dinner (which was peanut noodles).
The light left the sky around 10 p.m. and I put myself to bed after getting a glimpse of the bazillions of stars that are part of what makes all the suffering worthwhile.
Monday: Cooskie Creek to Big Flat (10 miles)
On Monday we were up with the sun and the tides. We had our fruit porridge (I call all trail food “slop” which Jordan hates) and were walking by 7:30 a.m. Did I mention our nearly perfect weather? It never rained a drop on us, and the temperatures were perfect for light, long-sleeved sun shirts. At most breaks we sunned ourselves like lizards and only at a few did we cower from the harsh sun in the shade of a cliff. At times a soft mist shrouded the scene and made the otherworldly green algae pop against the steep sedimentary cliffs with their feathery little waterfalls.
We had a lot of options for camp and just one night left on trail, each setting us up for a different kind of Tuesday. At first I lobbied for us to take our time, even if it meant a long hike on Tuesday and getting a hotel rather than driving all five hours back after it. I felt we’d come all this way and may as well be outside as much as we could. Others leaned toward getting out around lunchtime if we could, either to get home that night or to be that much closer to a cheeseburger.
We decided to aim for Big Flat about 10 miles away and just before the last impassable zone. Now, normally a 7:30 start would put us at camp by lunchtime, but as I’ve said, this isn’t normal terrain. We’d be using all our daylight to make it there.
Apparently there was a rock slide years ago and there is no signage at all to send you up the bluff at the proper moment. Consulting Gaia and the terrain persuaded me that we’d reached it at a certain bend in the coast, but Dad decided to keep going before I could call him back.
Steve and Rachel followed him (I guess so Dad wouldn’t die alone? because I don’t think Steve could have saved him), but Rachel saw us and turned back. The rest of us cut up into the stream bed to try to scramble onto dry land, which was hard enough (a true, dusty scramble, and tougher than it should have been). Despite the crumbly, dry terrain here I figured that exposure was almost nil: thinking about the consequences of a fall has always been very helpful and here they were pretty low if you fell right. Which Rachel did a few times. But we made it up and met Steve and Dad at the top — Steve was appropriately upset by the route they’d taken and my dad seemed exhilarated. Ask one of them for their side of the story sometime.
After that harrowing experience, and after miles of cobbles and sand, we got the sweet relief of the terrace of Spanish Flat — dry, hard-packed and mostly land. Which was, of course, home to rattlesnakes.
Jordan, with his observant mind and proper respect for these reptiles, took the lead and stopped the crew at least once to let a snake slither across trail. At many points we pushed through tall brush and reeds to stay on a rather theoretical trail. Despite these trials (the tide was low enough to safely hop down to hike in cobbles and sand), we maintained our loyalty to mother earth.
We had a short lunch in the shade of Kinsey Creek with some bold and curious rodents, then stretched and hit the trail again. About a mile and less than an hour later, I was ready to take a break again at Big Creek. Part of it was being pretty tired, sure, but part of it was hoping we took some time to enjoy the view since we were making decent time. Generally I am of the opinion that if you are making good time and the journey is at least as good as your destination for the night (almost never untrue), frequent little breaks are nicer than spending a lot of rattling around at time at camp. It was an especially broad and beautiful valley, with a broad creek running into the sea between tall pines fire-scarred and not.
My dad was jealous of my snacking Cheetos. My brother posed for dating app photos in front of the ocean and I did the very funny thing where I say I’m taking pictures but it’s actually a video. I should have been drinking water in this picture.
On we hiked, and hiked we did, arriving at Big Flat before sunset. I had hit a wall pretty hard and sat on a log while Dad and Jordan scouted for the best spot in this expansive area. They crossed the rather-wide creek a few times and found a nice, sandy but sheltered zone where we set up our tents. A nearby tree-shaded glade with conveniently placed rocks and logs served as our kitchen. I tried to house a lot of water and rest while still being helpful to the crew and I should have just rested and had more water throughout the day.
Dinner was the legendary fan favorite beans and rice, and then we sort of split up to do camp chores. Eventually we reconvened at the beach to watch surfers (!?) and the sunset together, largely in silence. It was nice even though I was suffering from dehydration. No sunset has ever been truly photographed but I tried.
My tummy hurt and I ended up puking up the rice and beans right outside the tent, which is far from my finest hour and definitely not Leave No Trace behavior. In a place where you’re supposed to even put your chapstick in a bear canister at night it felt stupid to leave partially digested food out but I felt really terrible and wasn’t sure what to do. I took some medicine, drank a lot more water, and slept fine (eventually). I felt better the next day but next time I’ll dig a quick beach cat hole for it if I can manage it. Backpacking glamor!
Tuesday: Big Flat to Black Sands Beach (8.4 miles)
The next and last day we were up early, taking guesses at how soon we could be out and back to where we’d left our cars 1,000 years before.
We had about four creek crossings to go, and at least one spot where the trail just stopped and we had to make our way down about 10 feet. Jordan and my dad went early, and the rest of us off-loaded our packs and poles and shuttled them down. We were a confident and well-oiled team here and I was very proud of us.
Having followed the contour of the coast westward for days, we began to round a bend and follow a straight shot south to Black Sands Beach and our cars. I saw more and more plastic pollution, buoys and crab traps washed high on shore: reminders of what we were headed back to and just how high the sea could come up against the cliffs to our left.
More and more day hikers appeared, sweet-smelling and unburdened, and a few gave us kudos for what we’d done. Of course, the final miles were walking on our old friend sand.
We made it to the cars by 3 p.m.
Steve rode home, while the rest of us stayed at a hotel in town. We had a middling Italian meal together and then McDonald’s ice cream by the pool with a very lively game of Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza. Rachel slapped my hand so hard at one point I think I dislocated my finger. It was fun!
Wednesday: The ride home
The next morning we stopped for breakfast and made up for the post-hike meal disappointment of the day before with a lavish spread at a Guy Fieri-approved diner. I still think about this meal sometimes.
The next day, we were on a flight to Missouri and Dad and Rachel were headed home.
Lighterpack: hers
Lessons learned: “To embrace the hiking poles technique, to take sneaker waves seriously, not to blow off the tide schedule, pack my own Cheetos.” – Dad
“When the route options are either very sketchy way or less sketchy way, don’t follow Hank and Steve. And when hiking though grasslands in rattlesnake country it is very important to watch each step.” -Jordan
“Stay on trail, please god, stay on trail.” -Steve
“Don’t be so busy hectoring your hiking companions to drink water and wear sunscreen that you forget to put on sunscreen and drink water.” – Miranda
bless this mess 