Lost Coast Trail
13-15 September 2017
What if I told you there is a place beside the sea where no man has travelled for over a thousand years? You might (correctly) surmise that such a place does not exist in our age of post exploration, when and where there is nothing that hasn’t been seen, scoped, and ultimately conquered. And certainly not in Coastal California, home to those persistent pesky real-estate “developers”. Surely the wildness of the coast where the mountains crash into the sea was erased by the Gold Rush and glimpsed only by the fortunate likes of Richard Henry Dana, Jr. and company. Their wonder has long come and gone. However there is a place where such a feeling of wonderment and puritanical ecological harmony still exists…thrives even…and it can be found on the Lost Coast Trail.
As can be expected, it was my dear old friend John who suggested the trip and even made me aware of the existence of such a trail — it should be called the Lost Coast Walk, for there are long stretches of trail-less country and even the word trail: suggests a certain degree of development.
We began our walk on a Wednesday afternoon. Immediately our senses were inundated by the sea, its frothy salt spray soaking our skin and its waves crashing on the rocks, rhythmically serenading our ear canals. It was surely nicer than I sorrily describe it here.
In due time we came upon an old lighthouse and to our surprise a tranquil colony of elephant seals. They nuzzled and flopped about in the sand, completely at peace under the setting sun. We kept our distance so as not to disturb their company.
Sunrise came soon enough and we continued ambling up the trail. Above a cove were many campers — this was one of the tidal juncture points. The tides had already been going out for some time, and we made our way down to and across the rocks easily enough. A few of the campers seemed to be surprised we made it and soon a convoy of hikers was moving down the coast.
We chatted with the hikers, lunching at one of the numerous freshwater creeks which spill directly from the mountains into the sea. These little pools were teeming with life — ‘that’s where life begins’ in the words of Hollis Mulwray. No doubt the most refreshing part of this walk was the diversity of wildlife encountered and their serene ambivalence to our presence. The region is a triumph of conservation as administered by the Bureau of Land Management under title of the King Range National Conservation Area.
We walked a good long way today and decided to set up camp at another creek cove just beyond a wide open field of golden grass. You can’t miss it:
Like always, John fell asleep shortly after arriving at camp, taking the time only to cook his dinner before shoving off. I meanwhile dipped my feet in the stony, cold waters of the Pacific to watch the sun dip below the horizon. A deer walked by as if to say goodnight and to see what all the snoring was about. We had seen all manner of birds, crabs, mussels, sea otters, dead fish, jellyfish, starfish in the tide pools which seemed to convey even the earliest forms of life in their transient shallow depths, seals and sea lions, a jackrabbit, lizards, kelp forests with their bulbs bobbing in the waves, a pelican soaring across the fiery sun sky, yes and even titanic bear paw tracks. Be sure to bring your bear canisters for this one!
Upon seeing the sun gracefully fall toward the horizon, I became completely unstuck in time. It may as well have been centuries ago in a galaxy far, far away … a sense of longing to know the wider world and the good of all living things in it pervaded every aspect of my consciousness …
The last day of our long walk came too soon. We met a few intrepid hikers moving against the wind, or to phrase it in nautical terms, to windward — typically south to north on the California Coast. I picked up a few scraps of garbage as I went and John became ever more incredulous as my seriousness in carrying it all the way to our car became more apparent as the day progressed.
One especially egregious episode came when I stumbled over some rocks constituting one of the creek crossings. Normally sure of foot, I couldn’t believe I had completely soaked myself, running shoe, sock and all. To prove my fleetness, and to gain revenge against the rogue rock, after swapping on a dry sock I once again moved to make the creek crossing — back and forth again. However, on the forth again crossing I once again fell into the water! John could not stop laughing and soon neither could I. What is one to do under such an embarrassing circumstance? In this matter I tossed the rotten socks back into my pack, tied the shoes to some garbage on the back of my pack, and completed the remaining miles of coastline walking blissfully barefoot on that intertidal stretch of beach where the waves crash only scarcely, but just enough to percolate through the sand and give it a firmness. It felt good underfoot and only at the very end of our walk did my feet begin to protest.
Although I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the water I would generally advise caution against this practice. The sea bottom drops off so precipitously along this stretch of coast that rogue style waves are quite common. It would be very easy to get washed out to sea here as happened to poor Pip in Melville’s all-time American classic, Moby Dick.
I couldn’t believe it when we saw the Black Sands Beach. Our walk had come to an end after just two and a half days. It had felt like a short lifetime so unique was it among all my lucky wanderings through the woods. This walk felt different and it reminded me the importance of preserving our wild spaces for many generations to come.
