Backpacking The Oregon Coast Trail, Day 1: High Hopes & Stinging Rain
“I’m leaving! I’m going that way! See you in California | Footage by K Morrison
I wake up feeling waves of anxiety and excitement and uncertainty. That’s because a day unlike any other day in my life is dawning. On this day, I’m taking my first steps on the 411-mile Oregon Coast Trail.
The anticipation that’s been building the last 48 hours won’t be relieved just yet, because there’s still a 2-hour drive from Lincoln City to the Northern Terminus of the trail at Fort Stevens State Park.
By the time we pull into the trailhead parking lot near the Clatsop Spit, the wind is blowing fiercely, and the rain, which was forecasted to stop by now, shows no sign of letting up.
And that’s OK. I’m going into this thru-hike with the expectation of wet weather, though I’m hoping for at least some sporadic sunny days on the coast.
I need to repack my backpack and get the rain cover on it, so I take advantage of the nearby bathroom. I prop the door open with my Crocs for some light, and start condensing and arranging things, eager to finally get started after all this buildup.
But I’m also slightly afraid of what’s out there. Of what’s in store.
This happens just before every backpacking trip, at this weird mental junction where the craving for adventure and solitude clashes with self-doubt and a nagging fear of the unknown.
Depending on my mood, it can be an intoxicating mix, or just a toxic one.
I linger for a while at the trailhead, give K a hug goodbye, and take some overtly confident strides out towards the sand dunes.
The wind is ferocious! It nearly knocks me over as I walk along the narrow, soft, and sandy trail that runs parallel to the spit and eventually meets the beach.
When I descend the dunes and step foot on the beach, reality literally whips me in the face. Strong southern winds are creating fast, wispy sand drifts that sting my uncovered legs. Walking on autopilot doesn’t work. Every step requires effort to push against the force of the wind.
Before I’ve even clocked the first mile of this 411-mile trek, I’m angry. Angry at the weather. Angry that the entire reason I’m walking southbound is to have the wind at my back, and on day freaking one I’m fighting against it. Then I’m angry at myself for feeling this way.
I trudge forward for another slow mile, and then I spot a sand dollar half buried in the sand. The first shell of any kind I’ve noticed. A perfect, large, beautiful sand dollar. Maybe I’m the only person in the world who will see it unbroken before the tides and debris and weather crush it.
It triggers a realization that washes over me and transforms my mindset. This is FUN! I’m playing in the rain on the beach. Sure, there’s a physical challenge to it. Yes, I’m cold and soaking wet. But it’s still fun! This is a dream no matter the weather, and I’m grateful to be out here!
I propel myself forward feeling energized by the rain, rather than hampered by it. Maybe I won’t feel like this on the third of fifth or ninth day walking in the rain, but in this moment I choose to embrace it.
The Peter Iredale left crashed near Fort Stevens in October 1906. It’s intended destination was Portland.
After about 4 miles, I reach the famous Peter Iredale shipwreck, and the rain is tapering off. The sun pierces through the clouds and starts warming me up. People are coming onto the beach from sand dunes up ahead, and I realize my first short hiking day is almost over.
The path to the Fort Stevens hiker/biker camp is just ahead. It’s a gentle, winding concrete path that leads to the various camping loops. It feels weird to end my first day of hiking along the Oregon Coast Trail in the same state park I started in only a few hours earlier, but the logistics of camping (mainly the sparse number of affordable public campsites during the first 100 miles or so) make this early stop a necessity.
Not that I’m complaining about the opportunity to dry off, chow down on some food, and sleep…
…Until I see multiple “Area Closed” signs at the entrance to the camp. Cursing under my breath, I backtrack to the nearby Visitors Center hoping I can still pay my $8 to pitch a tent somewhere. Anywhere will do!
The ranger welcomes me, and asks if I’m hiking the Oregon Coast Trail, even though he already seems to know that. Weirder still, he asks for my phone number and after punching it into his computer, asks if I’m Jason Evangelho.
“That’s me, but how did you know that?” I ask incredulously.
He laughs and says “if you’ve ever camped in an Oregon State Park we have your info.”
But I never have. And I’ve only had this phone number since returning to the States from Croatia, during which time I haven’t left California. And this is my first trip to Oregon. So that’s weird. I file that tiny mystery away for a less tired and waterlogged version of myself to solve.
After that, he shares incredible news: the loop that’s adjacent to the hiker/biker camp is closed, but not the small hiker/biker camp itself. He says I’m free to set up there, or camp in any of the spaces in the closed area!
Then he apologizes for the bathroom being closed, but invites me to use the one in the RV camping loops across the street, which also has free hot showers.
He even says I can help myself to one of the firewood bundles there for free.
I pay my fee, grab a tide chart, and graciously accept his intel for the upcoming miles. What an awesome human.
I really need to stop assuming the worst.
The rest of the evening races by as I set up my new NEMO tent (which I traded up at REI after “the snow incident” at Camp 4), hang some clothes out to dry (or at least get less stinky), and inhale a Knorr Rice side and some tuna wraps.
Before drifting off to sleep, I think about tomorrow’s schedule. The plan was to hike all the way from here to the Tillamook Head backpacker’s camp; a nearly 24-mile trek. Since I’m not superhuman, I decide that’s a ludicrous target for a 49-year-old with a 40 pound pack on the second day of his first thru-hike.
I’ll try to get to Seaside instead, which should be about 16 miles down the beach. There’s no rain in tomorrow’s forecast, which is a comforting thought as I drift off to what will hopefully be some wonderful, blissful sleep.
Previously, on the Oregon Coast Trail:
Jason Evangelho
Jason Evangelho
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