It was a quiet night in the RV lot yet I still was up early. It was 53F and my feet were cold! I quickly got the dogs ready and we resumed our northbound drive along the coast. By 6:30am I had entered Oregon. Redwoods lined both sides of the highway, keeping the sun out and the fog in. This is how I remember sun rises in Monterey years ago. While northern California has its beauty, making it to Oregon to me being closer to Washington state. This was the part of Oregon I by-passed two years ago on my Oregon road trip. I had no destination in mind today; I was going to stop, explore and hike the lesser-used trails.
There are many coastal access trails from Highway 101 down to the coast. The coastline here is rocky, shrouded in trees and a steep embankment to the coastline. I took one such trail. It was just past 7am and no one was around. The sun was trying hard to shine through the trees as I walked along this well-maintained access trail north of Brookings. The dogs were loving the coolness of this fern-lined trail. We did 35 minutes and 1.4 miles. I never did find a trail leading to the beach, but the day was young and there was so much to explore. I didn't want to be stuck on a rocky beach with no easy access back out for the dogs.
My goal for the morning was to get to Gold Beach early enough to enjoy the town. Kevin said he heard it was worth seeing, from some of our bar buddies who had vacationed here. The town is spread out along the shore with an inlet on the south and north end of town. An 1850s whaling ship lies moss-covered near the Patterson bridge. Mail boats are docked in the harbor. The volunteers at the visitors center were very helpful and recommended I see the state's oldest myrtle tree nearby: the trail is only a quarter-mile long and ten miles away. I figured why not? I wanted a more substantial hike, but I've learned that it's easy to add on mileage just by exploring. I had to drive ten miles east from town, first along the southern bank of the Rogue River on Jerry Flats Road, then off Forest Service Road 3533, a wide and well-graded dirt road that I learned would take me all the way to the town of Agness 12 miles away. The trail head was well-marked, no one was around (yay!) and again we walked the short out-and-back trail that ended at the state's largest myrtle tree. This was such a dense forest that I could feel the cooler temperature. Moss lined most of these trees trunks, and large ferns covered the forest floor. I expected fairies and gnomes to pop out at any time.
Oregon's tallest myrtle tree is 88' tall, has a 70' canopy, but most impressive to me was its large trunk. A natural opening allowed both dogs to go inside the trunk, which they did, but then quickly exited. Myrtle trees can survive fires, and many trees here did show old burn marks, but the trees continue to grow and spread their canopies. It was a short hike worth doing just to be reminded of how small we humans are in relation to the rest of the world around us.
The trail head parking area was still quiet as we got back 45 minutes later. I could hear the Rogue river nearby and took the dogs on a well-trodden trail that I thought would take me to the river. Instead, I walked right into a squatter camp of a man and two women who were just finishing a sausage breakfast. They all looked like they have been at this spot for a while: covered in warm clothes and wearing hats to hide the oily hair, they didn't seem to be too bothered by my short presence. I wanted to give them their privacy, but the trail soon ended and I had to turn around, right through their campsite again. Sadie lunged for a sausage link still in the frying pan, which the two women found "cute" but I did not. To their credit the three people did not harass me for food or money. It's quite a haul to the closest town for any provisions, so how do these campers survive?
I like river walks and was determined to get to a trail head that would take us to the Rogue. The dirt road, also known as Silver Creek Road (FR3533) was well graded and I drove as far as I could. I eventually settled on what ended up being another short loop hike. I had no maps or literature for this area, and chastised myself for not doing my homework. The forest here is old growth and healthy, and despite the smaller roads coming off FR3533, sparsely visited. If I had gotten stranded here, I probably would not have been found right away. I parked at a noticeable trail head at a small meadow. The trail was marked here, and took us downhill through the thick forest.
The trail, however, did NOT take us to the river. I came to an intersection and took a left turn, as the right turn took us to Agness but that was too far away. My cell phone's GPS was running well and was able to form a circular loop that brought me back to the van on a parallel trail. This was another short hike for the dogs, and they were enjoying their adventure. Both stayed by my side the entire time.
I had the feeling I was going to spend the entire day here along the Rogue. This is my kind of wilderness: easy to get to and yet remote. But having a good map is definitely a requirement, as one can easily get lost here. History has proven that, as I kept thinking of the unfortunate California family, James and Kati Kim, who had driven to Seattle to visit friends and who were on their return drive to San Francisco. They thought taking a "short cut" through the Siskiyou National Forest in 2007 over Thanksgivings would get them to their destination, but they were going west when they should have been going south. They wanted to avoid the snow, but instead drove into it on a little-used logging road off Bear Camp Road. Instead, they were caught in a snow storm, got stranded, and the husband ended up dying from hypothermia trying to find help. The wife stayed in the van with her two children, keeping warm by burning the van tires and nursing her children. She and the children were rescued after three days, but the husband was found dead just a half-mile from the van. Such stories always strike me hard, as I know I can sometimes take the wrong turn at the wrong time. I don't even want to find myself in a situation as the Kims found themselves that fateful day. Bear Camp Road is on the other side of the forest, east of where I was, and my location gave me a good idea of what the Kims most likely faced: a well-graded wide road that then turned off but that wasn't well-marked and they ended up on a logging road. What a haunting memory that must be for Kati Kim now.
The trail head, however, is in a nice location. I would come back here and explore more, but only after doing some research.
I drove back out the same way I drove in, but this time I found a road that led to the Rogue river, a more narrow road that was still good enough for the van until I hit a muddy section. I parked off the road here, at another intersection, and walked on down, coming across another lone man camping with his little Maltipoo, who then barked at my dogs. I grabbed both dogs before they could ran after the dog, falling myself near the mud. The man was understanding, though, as he also wasn't expecting anyone here. While the three dogs calmed down and sniffed each other, I just wanted to give the man his privacy. The shaded road meandered down to the river 1/4 mile. There was one red car parked to the left off the trail. I chose the right again, staying on the river.
The Rogue river here is like the Eel river further south: shallow for the most part, wide but swift. The banks are filled with heavy volcanic rock, making laying here nearly impossible. But I took advantage of the water and washed my hair and washed up, hoping a log cabin I spotted across the river and high in the hills would not have a gawking home owner inside. In the moment here, it was just me, the two dogs and the rushing sounds of the river. I was in heaven and would have been happy ending my day here, but I knew I'd get hungry later and I had little food in the van (to discourage any bears breaking into the vehicle).
Minnie enjoyed fetching sticks and floating with the current, but I made sure I never threw the sticks so far into the rushing water that she would be carried away. A tour boat (!!!) unexpectedly roared by with a group of tourists who waved at me, then as the boat passed me, engulfed the dogs in a high wave that drenched both dogs.
I had now spent the morning and mid afternoon in the Siskouye national forest. It was a nice (albeit scary at times) introduction to this part of Oregon. I've marked it as an area I'd want to come back and explore more, especially around Brookings and the area where a Japanese bomb had landed during WWII and killed a picnicking mother and her children. I even considered getting off US101 here and driving 60 miles through the forest to explore Grant's Pass and Medford, but decided to stick to my original plan. Grant's Pass will have to wait until my next road trip.
I continued north on US101 which now hugged the coast line. Traffic was steady, with lots of RVs moving in both directions. Redwoods were now replaced with even taller Sitka spruce trees. Town after small fishing town passed me by and not once did I feel like I was in a tourist trap. The towns were nicely laid out, with plenty of family diners (and a few casinos). I had no plans for the night but did make it to Coos Bay, a quaint inlet dotted with trees and a small marina. I got caught in a short but instense downpour as I got to the inlet, photographed a scene and then headed back into town.
I liked Coos Bay. Nestled on a hill surrounded by water, this place had character! US101 enters the town from a neighborhood called Bunker Hill, as the highway descends into town as it hugs the western shore of the inlet and commercial businesses reappear. I gassed up, or better yet, had a hulky loggerman-looking young man gas up my van since Oregon is now the only state that forbids gassing up one's own car. The price now was $2.54 with an additional ten cents more per gallon for using my credit card.
I wanted to stay in Coos Bay for the night, find a brew pub and relax. I never did locate a brew pub (7 Devils Brewing Company) but I did find a cozy beer bar, Walt's Pourhouse, that was just as nice for my needs. It had ample parking and was off a side street, one block west of US101. The dogs were resting in the van, there was a cool ocean breeze, and the day was ending. Walt's Pourhouse looked like a biker bar, and perhaps it can be, but when I walked inside I was accosted with dark wooden walls, wooden tables, and a loud, boisterous crowd that looked more like casino gowers than bikers. I sat at the bar, ordered a large burger and fries, and tried two local beers. Both the food and beer were excellent. The crowd never waned, another indication that this was a popular place.
When I pulled away from the parking lot, though, I drove right into the back left side of my van, denting the fender. ARGH! I will never be able to drive a vehicle without dented fenders! The light pole was in my blind spot, and I didn't bother to look at the rear camera when I pulled out. Now my van has a memory from this town.
I couldn't find an RV site nearby and drove up to the next town, Reedsport, where after cruising the main road a few times, opted to park right outside an RV park, in a autoshop parking lot. All was quiet here, I was near trees, and I would be up and gone before the business would open. Even the RV park was quiet.
http://www.nbcnews.com/id/16699185/ns/us_news-life/t/family-lost-oregon-tried-avoid-snow/
More later
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