Jun 8, 2025 10 min read Oregon Coast Trail

Hiking The Oregon Coast Trail, Day 8 Part 1: Neahkahnie Mountain & The Wrong Turn

The trail always wants to pull you forward into the undiscovered. But what I saw today on the OCT was so staggeringly beautiful that I never wanted to walk away. And then a wrong turn holds a deeply valuable lesson.

If I can pull it off, today will be my longest hike at an estimated 19 miles. Not just my longest hike on the Oregon Coast Trail, but the longest since starting this wonderful hiking obsession in 2016. The plan is to reach the summit of Neahkahnie Mountain, then descend back to sea level to enjoy miles and miles of flat, sandy shores along Manzanita, Nehalem Bay State Park, and Rockaway Beach. The last two miles – unfortunately a highway walk – will take me to the port of Garibaldi.

As soon as my feet hit the dirt, that familiar cocktail of physical invigoration, a peaceful mind, and overwhelming beauty washes over me. There may be 150 miles of actual beach walking on the Oregon Coast Trail, but these forested headlands are the most enchanting sections.

The trail climbs steadily through dense coastal forest. Thick, exposed tree roots frequently cross the path. Waist-high ferns crowd in on both sides, and a thick canopy of Sitka Spruce and Douglas Firs provides shade and cools the air.

Further along, the trail winds through a section where multiple trees have fallen. Most of them have been sawed clean through to clear the way, their cut ends contrasting brightly against the forest floor.

Yep, those trees in the background ARE growing sideways.

It's yet another reminder of how vigilant (and probably under-appreciated) the Oregon Trail Keepers are. There's so much rugged terrain out here that sees months and months of heavy, destructive storms. Maintaining the dozens of trail segments that make up the OCT, not to mention the thousands of trails across Oregon, certainly takes serious dedication and hard work.

The road noise starts to melt away and all thats left is the cheerful birdsong of Pacific Wrens and White-Crowned Sparrows, and the rhythmic crunch of my footsteps. Beyond that, an impenetrable stillness.

It’s just magical out here. It never stops being magical out here.

How Do I Walk Away From This?

Less than 3 miles in, without any warning or signage-based fanfare, the trail suddenly opens up and reveals a viewpoint that takes my breath away. It's as if the trees knowingly parted here, allowing a small break in the thick forest wall to let hikers appreciate this flawless scene.

View through coastal trees of a long sandy beach stretching into the distance, with waves breaking along the Oregon coast under a clear blue sky. — The intoxicating view from the Neahkahnie Mountain summit.

From 1600 feet up, I see the curve of the coastline stretching out below me, a single-frame preview of the next several days of hiking. Waves are breaking as far as I can see, creating long parallel bands of foam that seem to stretch into the atmosphere. The surf is only briefly broken up by the Nehalem River slicing into the ocean. Behind that, rugged coastal headlands, probably not unlike the densely forested one I'm currently hiking, jut into the Pacific. More coastline, more tan and slate-colored sand, more surf, more headlands, until the horizon gently obscures it all.

Once again, the Oregon Coast Trail has driven me to tears.

There's so much contrast, so much raw untouched beauty in my immediate field of vision. It isn't possible to process it all in a single, extended gaze. I am spellbound. I am dumbfounded. I am gobsmacked. Rapt. Riveted. Pick as many adjectives as you want. It won't be enough.

The trail always wants to pull you forward into new discoveries and untraveled paths. But moments like this make it so immensely challenging to keep going. Once I walk away from this, the magical landscape consuming my view will become a memory that fades and dulls with time. It will lose some of its power, some of its vibrancy.

I linger here for what I wish could stretch into eternity, but in reality is only about 20 minutes. As always, I'm racing against the daylight, desperately wanting to slow down and soak in every inch of beauty, but being propelled to the day's endpoint by things out of my control: the passage of time and the limits of my endurance.

I have to start slowing down, because the Oregon Coast Trail deserves the attention.

Back To Church

After I grudgingly peel myself away, the trail begins meandering back down to the world below with a gentle grade. I'm powering down it, but can't prevent myself from constantly shooting photos and videos. Then I come upon a straight stretch of trail which once again stops me in my tracks.

Sunlit coastal forest with moss-draped conifer branches hanging in layered, horizontal patterns.

The Sitka Spruce here have branches extending over the trail, with dappled sunlight brightening the muted yellow-green of the lace lichen that's draped over them. It feels borderline spiritual walking next to this particular row of trees. As if, once again, I've stepped into nature's church. It makes me question the definition of God. It makes me question my own existence and the priorities I've set for my life. It makes me feel minuscule and insignificant.

But it also conveys a sensation of protection and calm.

Eventually, the trail weaves its way through the lush Neahkahnie Headwaters Preserve, spends a couple miles parallel to Highway 101, and then terminates just south of Sunset Beach, near the northern boundary of Manzanita.

A Wrong Turn With The Right Message

Still high on gorgeous scenery and with hunger consuming my thoughts, I realize that at some point I've taken a wrong turn while walking through the quiet neighborhood streets. I decide not to backtrack; I know the beach is west of me and less than a mile away, so I take random turns in the right general direction. But I keep butting up against dead ends and I'm starting to get frustrated.

I'm not lost, but I feel slightly panicked. This tends to happen when that potent combination of weariness and hunger combine on the trail. I haven't rested enough, I haven't eaten enough, and I'm intimidated by the fact that I still have more than 10 miles to go today.

Then, I kid you not, I see these two signs stuck into the ground at opposite corners of the block:

They're obviously not meant for me. It's doubtful they're meant for anyone specific. But I intercept the intent and personalize it, and with a smile on my face I keep walking.

Five minutes and one turn later, while walking down a gravel road, I stumble across the "Doris Davis Trail" which appears to lead right to the beach. The dirt path is less than half a mile, but it delivers three cheerful, whimsical displays right next to each other.

There's a tree stump that has been transformed into some kind of altar for decorated rocks and seashells. Next to it is a brightly colored painting of a ladybug, with a handwritten message that says "Life Is Good."

And next to those, a wooden canvas with a simple painting that begs a closer look. It seems to depict a person standing on a cliff, high above the ocean, poised to dive in. There's a dashed trajectory suggesting they'll land in the ocean, but there's also a smaller rocky area much lower, rising just above the ocean, with a basin of water on top. It actually looks like a small inflatable pool.

In the skybox of the painting, there's a handwritten sentence in both English and French:

"A goal is sometimes the most difficult and vain thing. Not fighting is sometimes the most profound thing to do."

This gives me pause. What is the meaning? Is that lower pool of water their true destination? Is it suggesting some kind of refuge or isolation? Is the jump some act of surrender? There's a profound philosophical discussion waiting to be unearthed here, but I can't quite grasp it.

I snap a photo to study it later.

As I'm walking away, it strikes me that I shouldn't have seen any of this. Not the pair of motivational signs near the road. Not this Doris Davis trail. Not the altar of rocks and seashells. Not the simple painting hiding a profound lesson. Nope, after studying the course I should have taken, I would have skipped all that entirely. But the wrong turn led me here...

Then that handwritten message hits home. "Not fighting is sometimes the most profound thing to do." It reminds of a line from Pearl Jam's "Release," which goes "I'll ride the wave where it takes me."

The painting is like the perfect lyric: just vague enough that anyone can interpret it in a way that holds deeply personal meaning. Even if it was never written about them.

Just like those two signs near the road!

This accidental detour and quaint side-trail suddenly becomes a destination jam-packed with significance. Maybe I am off course, but maybe this is exactly where I need to be right now. I start thinking about serendipity. I start thinking about surrendering to the moment. I start thinking about the journey being vastly more important than the destination – even if that's distilled down to daily mileage and nightly endpoints.

As I step onto the warm sand for the second half of today's hike, the lesson continues to sink in with deafening clarity. It's time to embrace the detours. It's time to find the small adventures and the hidden value that comes with not doggedly pursuing the goal.

Hell, the Oregon Coast Trail itself was a detour! I originally intended for my first thru-hike to be the John Muir Trail.

It's time to slow down, throw out the guidebook, and hike my own hike. And you'd be absolutely right in assuming this lesson should extend way beyond the trail.

To Be Continued...