The West is the Best - Shipwreck Coast III

… We rolled out of our tents on day three and were greeted by another cloudy day. I knew it had been raining off and on because I was occasionally woken by the pattering of rain drops against my tent in the night. For now it was dry, and after the tide receded some, we were off.

Like the day before I was worried about Stevie. What was left of his plastic red parka he had wrapped around his head and wore like a turban. I found my gaze constantly drawn toward the sea as I scanned the horizon for a clue to the incoming weather. I could see so far west that I spotted all the rain clouds before they reached us. Rain clouds over the ocean are quite a bit different then ones you see in town. They are so dark and ominous, and with nothing blocking your vision of the all encompassing sky they almost seem like massive black bombers soaring high above the sea searching for landfall so they could dump their deadly payloads. We could see them coming from miles out, and when we could, we sheltered under giant deadfalls or behind huge boulders to escape the rain.

This day would be opposite of the one before. It didn’t rain nearly as much, and most of the route we had beautiful sand beaches to walk on. It was like a walk-in-the-park compared to what we had already gone through. I had my camera out the whole way and was taking pictures like crazy. I took over 600 in all.

We found some Halloween vampire fangs just sitting on the beach. “How the hell could these have got here?” I wondered. Think about it for a second. We were basically in the middle of nowhere. The closest town or road was 10 miles or more as the crow flies. It is highly unlikely that someone brought them backpacking and dropped them. The only possible explanation is that they washed up on the beach, but from where? Somewhere south on the Pacific coast perhaps? One of the Pacific islands maybe? I guess it’s possible that someone went swimming shitfaced on Halloween dressed as a vampire and lost their fake teeth, which floated across the Pacific and wound up on the Olympic coast, which happens to be where the most famous vampire movie ever made is based. Either that or someone lost them from a boat, but then you have to ask yourself, “Why would someone be wearing fake vampire teeth on a boat?”

I was really looking forward to a place called "Wedding Rocks" where I knew some centuries old petroglyph's existed. I had heard they were hard to find, but I didn't realize how hard. I searched for about 15 minutes and found a couple drawings etched into some rocks, one of which looked like it might be fake. I guess I'll need an expert to inspect my photos and tell me.

We ended the days trek at a place called Cape Alava, the western most point in the contiguous United States. It was beautiful, and crawling with the other backpackers, enough to play a game of beach baseball. I have never seen so many backpackers in one place before. Usually when we go backpacking we see maybe one or two other small groups, but on this beach there were twenty or thirty people.
As the sun crept closer to the western horizon the scene from our camp became picturesque. So I yanked out my camera and fired away. I got by-far the best shots I’ve ever taken. When I got home and uploaded them to my laptop I was in shock that I actually took them.

After the sun went down and we sat around the fire eating freeze-dried dinners and reminiscing about the adventures of the last couple days, I spotted movement in the trees near our camp. I flicked on my head-lamp and after scanning the woods for a minute saw a huge raccoon sitting anxiously on a tree branch totally scoping our camp and watching us eat. These little pirates are what the park service is so worried about, and why all backpackers are forced to carry large, obtrusive bear canisters, so I was a bit worried that he was going to slip into camp and ransack are stuff in the night. I was hopeful though that since we ran a tight ship in camp the raccoons would bother some of the other backpackers on the beach, who, no doubt, had much worse camp discipline then we. Either way, when morning came our camp was untouched.

The last 3.5 miles to the Ozette Lake Ranger Station was actually overland and through woods. I was grateful to be hiking through more familiar territory with trees and shrubs and streams and everything green. The woods on the coast are thick and wet, so thick in fact that the park service had actually built a boardwalk the entire 3 or so miles from Ozette Lake to Cape Alava. We marveled at the time it must have taken, and the sheer difficulty of the job.



As we walked out through the lush coastal rainforest it felt so different from the past few days; it was quiet, calm, and peaceful, and it gave me time to reflect on how lucky I was. As we pulled out of the parking lot, my thoughts were on Memorial Day weekend and Upper Priest Lake.

PS – It’s funny how writing works for me. The first two chapters of this story were virtually written in my mind before I even touched the keyboard. This last part however, was so hard I had to force my way through, and the result I feel is a lesser quality of writing.

Gear Review: The North Face Orion 20

I was looking for a sleeping bag comparable to the weight and compressibility of down, but with the ability to retain insulation when wet. Living in the Pacific Northwest (or NorthWet as some call it) I was worried about buying an expensive down bag and getting it wet, so I felt like synthetic would be a better choice for a climate known for rain. I found this sleeping bag on Backpacker.com, which was the bag of choice in their March 2008 Perfect System: Northwest, and I purchased it from REI soon after.

In action at Cabin Lake, MT

The North Face Orion is a 20 degree mummy bag with Climashield Neo insulation. I had never heard of Climashield before I found this bag and it's actually some really impressive stuff, at least according to Climashield and the U.S. military. I learned that Climashield, like Primaloft, was developed for the military for an alternative to down, which wasn't preforming well in the field. In fact Climashield is still the insulation of choice for the U.S military according to this article here. Now I can't confirm any claims about it being the "most compressible, warmest, softest, most durable, water resistant and hypoallergenic insulation", but I can say that it works pretty darn well.

This bag has it all. It's light and packs down really small. As a matter of fact it compresses smaller then my hiking partners Big Agnes Lost Ranger 15 down bag. It actually leaves enough space in my backpack's sleeping-bag compartment, that I can put other items in with it. At 2 pounds 5 ounces it's not the lightest sleeping bag on the market. There are plenty of lighter 20 degree down bags, but some of them are outrageously expensive compared to $179.0 of the Orion.

The bag is very warm. I would say it's close to the EN rating of 23 degrees. Lately my girlfriend has been using it, and she sleeps warm in it as well. But I have to admit that I have had several chilly nights in this bag. It is rated at 20 degrees, and I have used it down to that temperature, but I was chilly. Not cold mind you, just chilly. Now when I know the temps will be particularly cold, I bring a Sea to Summit silk sleeping bag liner.

The bag is a pretty snug fit for my wide frame, but I've gotten used to it over the years and sleep pretty comfortably. The zipper sometimes snags. Mostly at night when I'm fiddling with it in the dark half-asleep. As long as I'm being careful, I usually don't have a problem.

For the price, this bag is perfect. It's light and compacts very small, and will keep you warm during the vast majority of your 3-season nights. The best part about it is that if you always hike in the rain, like I do, you can rest assured that the insulating qualities wont be ruined if it gets wet.

Airing out in the morning.

(legalese)

Gear Review: Asolo Fugitive GTX

Iv'e spent a crazy amount of money on backpacking gear, and after 6 months of regular use I have to say that these boots have been one of my best investments so far. I tried on several pairs of various brands in the store and these Asolo Fugitives were by far the most comfortable.

Since then I have used the boots on a weekly, sometimes daily basis and I love them. They fit great and are comfortable on my feet, especially after I discovered the perfect "sock system" to wear with them, which is simply mid-weight Lorpin merinos with Smartwool liners.

One of the reasons I bought this style of boot was that I wanted something lighter and more breathable. Last summer I wore full-grain leather Vasques and my feet were hot and sweaty all the time. With the Fugitives, my feet feel good. My socks aren't wet when I take the boots off. The sweat factor on my feet are reduced. I don't think I'll ever go back to a full-grain upper again.

Case in point: I recently returned from a 4 day trek on the Olympic coast. My hiking partners who all wore full-grain leather boots were rotating out socks on lunch breaks. I wore the same socks the entire trip. They weren't even damp at the end of the day, which tells me that the boots are letting my feet breath.

The comfortability factor is high as well. Again on the same previously mentioned trip, my hiking partners complained of foot soreness. My feet felt good the entire time, and while my hiking partners chalked it up to "good feet", I am inclined to think that it was my lighter boots.

I can also attest to the waterproofness. I have hiked through swamps, marsh, tide-pools, and small streams, and have not had water penetrate the boot interior yet. As a matter of fact, one trip in early Spring left our boots all covered in mud. At the house afterwards we attached a pressurized nozzle to a garden hose and blasted our boots to get the caked mud off. My boots did not leak at all, even after spraying with high pressure from a foot away.

The only drawback I would say, is the tread. It doesn't seam to grip that great. Other then that, these boots rock, and are well worth the dough I payed for them.

*** UPDATE*** 1/13/12

After having these boots for a couple years now I regret to say that my feelings have changed regarding these boots. Both boots leak (albeit very little) and the tread on the soles are getting worse. Slipping is still a constant problem. The only other big change in my review would be that after I upped my daily mileage closer to 10, I suffer extreme foot pain with these boots. In fact, I quit wearing them backpacking because of this reason. They just aren't comfortable enough for longer miles. In fact I quit wearing boots all together and have moved to shoes, though I still wear these for day hikes in the winter time, which I think they are best suited for.

This shot doesn't do this drop off justice. These boots are best suited for shorter hikes in winter-like conditions.

Testing... 123

Did I tell you guys I landed a really sweet gig as a Gear Tester for Cocona Fabrics a few weeks ago?

So I ran across an add in Backpacker Magazine from a fabrics company called Cocona, who make fabric using the fiber of a coconut. They were looking for backpackers, skiers, mountain bikers, and the like to test their new line of functional outdoor clothing. So I figured "what the hell" and applied... This was probably in February.

A couple weeks ago I get a letter from Cocona saying I got the job! Well, it's not really a job... What happens is they send me gear that I have to test when I'm in the outdoors. I have to fill out a "test form" for each test I perform with the "test-garment" and keep a blog (which they have created for me on their website) detailing the adventures I am having with their gear and how it's holding up. All I get in return, is the gear, which is all mine to keep... Which is also pretty cool IMO.

So today I got my first package from them, and I am just so darn excited! Anyways, here is their website if anyone wants to check them out.

http://coconafabrics.com/

The Shipwreck Coast II - The Harder They Fall

Spirits were high Friday morning as we awoke to the songs of sea birds and the ever present breathing of the mighty Pacific. We set out expecting an easier road, one devoid of ankle-spraining rocks and sock-soaking tide pools, but it was not to be. The terrain only worsened. As we continued north the already narrow strip of beach was replaced by vertical cliffs and huge boulders that forced us further out the rocky sea bed, now exposed because of the low tide.

A half-hour into our walk the gray overcast sky above opened up and started to rain. We were prepared of course. The winter months spent with weekly visits to REI produced a wealth of rain gear for me, Luke, and Uncle Steve. Stevie on the other hand wasn’t as well prepared. His rain gear consisted of a cheap plastic red poncho, and a black garbage bag for his pack cover. I was worried about his rain gear leading up to the trip. Any time I brought it up however, brought a confident “I’m not worried about the rain” reply. Now, as the rain pelted us from above I was worried about Stevie. “I should have brought an extra rain jacket just in case,” I told myself. Stevie though is from a hardy breed. Mixed Cherokee and Irish, he is one of the toughest men I’ve ever known, and true to form he never even flinched at the downpour, or showed the slightest bit of concern for himself.






The rain didn’t let up, and an hour later the rocks we had to walk across were slicker then a freshly waxed gym floor. We had to move carefully or risk spraining an ankle, or falling and breaking a bone. Despite our caution we all fell down periodically. It was amazing that none of us were hurt. We walked for hours this way; plodding along, eyes darting left and right searching for the best place to step, gingerly testing each surface with our toes before committing our full weight. Our heads were down most of the day as sightseeing gave way to path finding.

It’s said that an average hiker walks 2 miles per hour over flat ground. We were probably doing half that speed or less. As morning became afternoon we searched for a place to get out of the rain, take our packs off for a while, and have some lunch. Our only respite a small cave near a headland covered in rocks and tide pools. Only three of us would fit in the cave at a time, so we rotated.






I wanted to move. I was worried about Stevie. Under his poncho his clothes were already wet, and I could see spots of moisture on his sleeping bag. Hypothermia is the biggest killer of humans in the wild, and even though we were far from that point, I couldn’t help but feel like we needed urgently to get Stevie out of the rain before his gear was soaked, and the only way to do that was to find our camp, set up our tents, and build a fire.

After a short snack we were back at it, now however, I was on a mission. The map said our camp was close. On a large beach a couple miles ahead at a place called “Yellow Banks”, after the yellow colored cliffs on the beach head. Luke and I, rounding a small cape, came in sight of our beach, and one of the most glorious sights of our trip. The beach, to me, looked like it was straight out of King Kong or The Lost World. It was sand, mostly, with the usual piles of large deadfalls scattered about. What made this beach different were two things. First the waves were much higher than we had previously seen. They came roaring into the small bay creating tunnels like the ones you see in the surfer movies, and then exploded like a bomb when they hit the beach. The second thing was this beach had high cliffs surrounded by thick jungle. The coastal forest of the Olympic peninsula is a rainforest after all, and at the Yellow Banks is where it really lived up to that billing. The word that best comes to mind to describe the scene is “savage.”







While Luke hung back to wait for the two Steve’s, I scouted on ahead to try and locate our camp. Immediately I noticed the sky was filled with huge birds, five or six at a time flying and circling overhead. The Bald Eagle was the easy one to pick out, but there were others, at least one, and perhaps two. I am not a bird guy so it was hard to tell the species, but I think now there were the Peregrine Falcon, and maybe the Osprey or some type of hawk. Anyways, they were magnificent, and much of the time spent at Yellow Banks I watched and took pictures.



Eventually after much recon, and almost stumbling over a large seal carcass with exposed ribs, rotted flesh and bulging eyes, I discovered a nearly vertical mud trail ascending a 15 foot embankment with a rope hanging down. I grabbed the rope and hauled myself up and found a camp. It was far from ideal, but we made it work. Uncle Steve had a fire going in no time despite the utter lack of anything dry. Not long after the rain stopped, and we proceeded with the business of pitching our tents and trying to find a water source, which we found in a beautiful saddle tucked away between two steep hills…

Later that night, just before dark, Stevie decided to try his luck at Army Ranger. Grabbing the rope that led to camp he tried to repel down the embankment… Now Stevie has taken some classic tumbles in his day. I have personally witnessed Stevie take some falls that would maim and injure a normal man, and pop right up. This has to take the cake. Steve jumps backwards with rope in his hands, and the steak that the rope is tied to comes out of the ground. Head over heels backwards down the hill he goes. When he hits the bottom he rolls over rocks and deadfalls, and then jumps right up as if nothing happened. He is so lucky he wasn’t hurt. Of course, once I realized he wasn’t hurt, I laughed my ass off.

to be continued...

The Shipwreck Coast

Part I – The End of the World

I don’t know how to write such a long trip report as the one I am currently filing. I figure it would be best to break it up into parts so that the reader isn’t intimidated or bored by its length. As I post each “part” of the story I will also upload the corresponding pictures into my photo album…

The Olympic coast is called the “Shipwreck Coast” for good reason; over 180 wrecks have been documented there. With such a powerful tide, and the numerous offshore rocks and islands, it’s easy to see why. The tide seems at a never-ending war with the rocks, and the sea stacks, and the islands, and the cliffs, which are battered by the relentless waves day and night. But they stubbornly hold their ground. Despite the constant barrage, they endure, and though it may seem like a stalemate, we know that the waves are slowly winning, and over time the rocks will fall and the cliffs will crumble... It is the sound of this endless war that dominates the coast.

The coastal cannonade echoed down the shore, over Rialto Beach, and into the parking lot where we lucky four, me, Luke, his dad Steve (henceforth called Uncle Steve) and Steve Keller (henceforth called Stevie) prepared for our journey. As I watched our shuttle driver John Nelson (brother of Willie Nelson) speed away, one of my long time best friends Stevie walked up after a peek at the beach and announced, “It looks like the end of the world out there boys.” We had to raise our voices to be heard over the thunderous waves. I walked up over the hill that separated the parking lot from the beach to see for myself. The first thing I noticed was the sea. Huge and mighty and limitless, the high tide crashed against the beach and against the islands just offshore. To my left was the regal James Island standing guard over the Quileute village of La Push, where werewolves supposedly live. The other thing I noticed immediately was the trees. Apparently the Olympic coast isn’t just a graveyard for ships, as deadfalls are stacked like cordwood by the hundreds along its beaches.

We started out on foot headed north from Rialto beach. Our plan for the first day was to go 8.8 miles to our first camp at Cedar Creek. Along the way we would negotiate five points that would be impassable at high tide. The tide turned out not to be too much of a problem for us. With a custom correct map and a tide chart we could accurately predict when the tide would be low enough, and any time limits we had for passing certain points along our route. The problem was that none of us brought any type of instrument to tell the time. But even telling time was relatively simple. Using the tide chart we knew what times corresponded with the changing levels of the tide. So by physically watching the tide change in conjunction with the chart, and backed by the position and movement of the sun through the sky, we could tell the time fairly accurately, and that is exactly how we did it the entire trip.

Rialto beach is covered in sand and gravel, and trees. The deadfalls were huge and we wondered where they all came from. Some of them looked like they were 10 or 20 feet in diameter. We speculated that they could be Sequoias carried north from California a long time ago. Now I think they were giant Western Red Cedars that have fallen down on the beach from years and years of erosion. Of course, I’m no expert, that is just my guess based off of what it looked like to me, because the trees that were still standing on the forest edge were huge too, and some looked on the verge of falling over.

We started passing large sea stacks at the water’s edge. The incredible thing about these sea stacks is that these giant rocks sometimes have trees growing out of them. I don’t know how the roots take hold, but they do. Eventually we made our way to Hole in the Wall, where we were introduced to the treacherous terrain that would make this trek really difficult at times. Miles and miles of rock, covered by slime and seaweed and who-knows what else, that slowed our progress at every turn.

Crossing over these rocks at low tide, we discovered dozens of tide pools, in which we found some interesting and colorful sea life, like green sea urchins and purple starfish. Crab was the most common. I don’t know what kind they were but we saw them almost the whole way. I was surprised to see the beach was also littered with all sorts of manmade objects that must have washed ashore. We saw tires, and gas cans, and shoes, and Styrofoam containers, and fishing nets, and water bottles, and probably hundreds of buoys, which someone had tied to the roots of deadfalls in some places. It was actually quite bizarre to see so many signs of humans in a place so removed from civilization.

That first day was long and hard, but beautiful. We had eyes on the sea the whole day. Only once did we have to take an overland route because of an impassible headland. By the time we got to Cedar Creek we were all in need of a meal and good night sleep. The camp, it turned out, was the sweetest camp this side of heaven. Nestled on a hill overlooking a beautiful sand beach, it was picturesque, and we all agreed as far as camping goes, it didn’t get much better. After we made camp and had dinner, we sat on some fallen trees on the beach and watched our first sunset. They would only get better.

We all dozed off in our tents to the rhythmic sound of the waves, and dreams of an easy tomorrow… But we were mistaken. Tomorrow had its own plans, and we weren’t consulted about them.

Training with Ticks: Coeur d'Alene National Recreation Trail

Luke

This was supposed to be a training hike for the Olympic coast. Test our gear, test our legs, no problem, in and out. The original plan was to take two vehicles, and leave one at the most northern trailhead of the Ceour D Alene National Recreation Trail, come in from the south and hike its entire 14 mile length, with an overnight in between at Jordan camp. This was not to be however, as a Forrest Ranger explained to me the day before we left, "All the trail heads are snowed in, 'cept one!"

Okay, new plan, no problem. We would do it the old fashion way, in and out. The place is beautiful, an hour away from Spokane, and deep in the Idaho panhandle. Wildlife viewing was plentiful right from the start. How lucky can we be? Two Bald Eagles perched on leafless trees less than 50 feet from the road. Five minutes later a couple of young bull elk fraternizing in the middle of the street. I exited the truck to take some shots with the Nikon, and as I crept in closer all I could think about were all the stupid tourists that get mauled by buffalo in Yellowstone every year and wind up on “When Animals Attack!” on TBS. I think I need a more powerful zoom lens because the 18-55 mm doesn’t cut the mustard for the wildlife shots.

Meandering

We hit the trail around 10am, and after a quarter-mile dropped down into a gorgeous river valley. Spring was still in its infancy at these headwaters and the colors were those of the cold, but I could imagine that when the flowers bloom, and the leaves of the sleeping trees awaken, and the sounds of birds and bugs join in the rushing rivers song, then it is an even more beautiful place. 

 Another quarter-mile on the valley floor and we began to climb, probably the steepest of the trip. Finally we reached a hilltop at the base of the mountain that provided our best view so far. The meandering Coeur d’ Alene swerved determinedly through a plane of dull yellow brush, and around towering dark-brown rock formations full of mysterious caves and crevices. The riverside was a sheer rock cliff, dropping down perhaps 150 feet to the river below, whose currents caused a never ending cycle of waves crashing against its base. It was a spectacular view.

We were spoiled by the views for the next 4 or 5 miles, as the trail wound around the mountain sides dipping into saddles and forcing us to make several stream crossings. These streams, I imagine, are nearing full strength as the snows melt from the mountain tops. With such a mild winter, I wonder how far into the summer they will last…?

Jordan camp came too soon. It turned out to be an actual campground, but this early in the season it was deserted. Well, it wasn't totally deserted. The April residents of Jordan camp are ticks. Steve found one first crawling on his neck. Luke found one on his pants heading for his crotch. All-in-all between Steve, Luke, Michael, and me, we found around 25 ticks on our bodies by trips end. Most were picked up on the trail, some in the camp. Only two were actually “attached”, one on my shoulder, and one in Luke’s belly button. Luckily I had my trusty first aid kit that my mom bought me for Christmas, and I promptly removed them with tweezers.

The act of tick removal, high up on a cliff overlooking the river, started the funniest moment of the trip. Please, picture this scene in your mind’s eye. We were all standing around, shirts off, pants down, inspecting our bodies for ticks. My Uncle Steve mentioned that he “loathed” ticks and described them as the most “vile” of all creatures. He then got the quote of the day after I pulled a squirming tick from his right butt cheek, “Death is too good for a tick,” he said. This launched the talk into a competition over who could think of the most creative way to torture a tick. Not surprisingly Steve won the contest with this delightful technique. “You pin the tick to a board and pull its legs off, then prick your finger and let a drop of blood fall just a quarter-inch away.” The creative names we gave the ticks were funnier still; hitchhiker, squatter, freeloader, socialist, etc.

When all was said-and-done it was a great “training” hike. Luke unfortunately though got sick. He came down with some type of flu, exhibiting a fever, chills, upset stomach, and aches and pains in his legs and feet. I tried to give him some drugs but he refused, citing his infamous philosophy, “embrace the pain." He busted his ass for seven long hard miles, in what he described as one of the hardest experiences of his life, never once complaining or asking for help. He soldiered on.