The Lost Coast Trail

By Keith Alan Robinson

Sometimes you just have to go!  When the opportunity to backpack into a rugged and isolated black-sand coastline comes along – the call of the wild is, for some, too hard to resist.  This was definitely the case for our group of six adventurers back in June of this year. RMV’s Cynthia Tessin, Sam Couch, Paul Johnson and Jim Valentine, along with friends Keith and Tim, planned and executed a four-day, three-night sleep-on-the-beach excursion which has been placed on a world list as “one of the fifty places you must hike before you die.”

This dramatic 68,000-acre conservation area, 200 miles north of San Francisco, is part of California’s ‘Lost Coast’.  This 35-mile stretch, where land and sea converge, is a spectacular blend of primeval mountains and unspoiled seashore – almost untouched by civilization.  Known for its diverse geography and ecosystems, this breathtaking coastline is one of the longest stretches of pristine beach anywhere along the Pacific. 

The trail is mostly not a trail at all, but is in fact, more of a trek along the water’s edge in wet sand, rocks, and boulders.  However, a significant portion does divert into forest, grassland, and meadow above the rocky cliffs.                               

Day 1

The first day begins at the village of Shelter Cove.  The six of us load into a hired van with a very experienced local who takes us on a two-hour drive through the King Range of coastal mountains.  The destination is Mattole Beach.  We wave goodbye to the shuttle driver, heft our loaded packs onto our backs and set off into the windy morning.  None of us would see another car or truck for nearly four days. At Mattole Beach, a sign at the trailhead reads: “Allow at least three days to backpack the wilderness coastline. Hardy hikers are rewarded with solitude and ever-changing vistas.”  This sign is more than true, as the views are always changing and fellow hikers are encountered very rarely.

After negotiating a series of dunes, we are greeted by sun bathing sea lions and an endless blue-green water.  We are stunned by the grand expanse of wild beach, the Hawaii-like black sand, and the realization for some of us that this once-in-a-lifetime hike is finally underway.  Later, in the noon-day sun, we navigate along the trail as it winds its way high above the sea.  We skirt poison oak, skip over small streams and climb up cliffs, where we can finally see the 100-year-old Punta Gorda Lighthouse – our perfectly timed break for lunch.  The building has stopped being lit up to warn ships many decades ago, but it still serves as a beacon for Lost Coast hikers.  Relieved from our heavy packs and with our weary backs propped against the white walls of the tower, we eat and watch the seals play in the surf below.

Our original plan for day one is to hike about five miles to the start of the first impassable zone. However, it is still early afternoon and high tide is more than an hour away, so we start out. There are several parts of the trail that go underwater at high tide, so a tide chart is essential to traverse through these zones. Our permit instructions include a warning that people have died after getting caught in the rocks and surf. So, we hustle along as we are not sure about the conditions.   As we near our newly projected campsite, some 2.5 miles into the impassable zone, the tide is beginning to reach the cliff side and our hustling soon becomes a series of desperately timed dashes over rocky terrain and the surges of high tide.

We settle in a remote canyon along Cooskie Creek and pitch our tents a few hundred feet from the ocean.  We have the camp to ourselves – except for a few deer. As soon becomes the norm, every evening we gravitate to the water’s edge and watch the sunset before heading back to the campfire. On this first night, we learn that Cynthia and Keith have packed in a special surprise to celebrate Sam’s birthday – two bottles of wine and the ingredients to make s’mores! What a treat!  Later, sleeping is not difficult as the rumbling waves and the din of a babbling brook soothes our slumber.

Day 2

Low tide this week is during the mid to late mornings. Since we are already half-way through the first impassable zone, we only have two more miles until we are in the clear for the day.  After coffee, breakfast and a morning campfire we set out for what will be our longest day. We alternate between travelling as a group or in pairs.  Jim always wants to get a little head start in the morning as this is his first backpacking trip.  He claims to be slow, but actually hikes like a champ.  He is so methodical that he earns the trail name ‘Metronome’.    By 10 am we are at the end of the first impassable zone. We all take a break, enjoy a drink out of Randall Creek, refill our water bottles, and take in the scenery.   Only 10 more miles to go to get to our next camp at Big Flat.

Our second day changes with each mile and we experience a variety of conditions. The morning starts out calm and cool. After our first break, the cold blast of wind picks up considerably and although it is at our backs, at times it pushes us along whether we like it or not.  It is tricky crossing creeks, balancing yourself on a log bridge only to have the wind catch your backpack and almost toss you in the creek. Footing conditions change quite a bite on this stretch too – from sand, to sand and rocks, to bouldering, and to hard pack trails. In the late morning we have discovered a stash of huge whale bones, the only remnant of a beached giant on this lonely coast.  Each of its vertebrae are larger than basketballs and we can only imagine the scale of the entire animal.  By afternoon, we have an unending, strong, cold wind coming in from the sea and our only relief is found in a creek canyon or very large rock.

In addition to the wind, we are struggling to walk mile after mile hauling heavy packs in sand.  Our feet sink and slide with each stride. Sometimes we can walk in each other’s footprints to make it a bit easier. Other times we seek out rocks that are flat and provide some traction. When we are on a hard trail, we feel like superman!

By late afternoon we find ourselves on a grassy plateau. This turns out to be the beginning of Big Flat, an area which is the drainage from Kings Peak, a mountain Cynthia, Sam, Keith and Tim hiked earlier in the week, and the highest point in Humboldt County at 4,088 feet.  We find a flat and windless place to set up camp along the creek.  After dinner, we stand on the beach again and look west as the sun sets below the horizon.  After about a 11 ½-mile day, we are beat and ready to sleep.  Before climbing into our tents however, we enjoy the last of the fire as it dies down and we look in the direction of the trail, where we see the distant shimmering lights of Shelter Cove – our goal in two days.

Day 3

We wake to another gorgeous sunrise.  The air is cool and the sky is misty, but we are warm around our campfire as we laugh together and share stories from the trail over coffee and breakfast. By now, the routine of breaking down camp and repacking our gear is streamlined.  Paul and Jim get away quickly.  Keith and Cynthia are close behind and Sam and Tim are not rushed.  Many of us regard this day’s hike to be the most scenic part of the trail.  The sand is cleaner, darker, the mountains greener, and steeper.  A graveyard of gigantic bleached-out redwood trees washed out to sea in flash floods, have been returned to the beach as barge-like driftwood during high tide or big surf, and now remain in place as a memorial to their greatness. The fog this morning floats in and among the hills and beach in a mystical, other worldly setting.  Last evening’s high tide has smoothed out the beach from the water’s edge to the base of the mountains.  There is not a footprint in the sand for miles.  We feel like we are alone in the world. 

After a mile or so, Keith and Cynthia turn up the heat and power-hike to secure the next campsite by lunchtime.  They eat, go for a swim, fly their yellow kite and get sunbaked in the now clear and torrid blue sky.  Sam is a loyal friend and slows his pace keeping company with Tim as he struggles with an injured knee.  Parts of the trail, over the last 20 miles, have been very challenging and we are grateful there have not been more injuries.  At this camp we pitch our tents about 100 feet from the rolling surf and then spend the afternoon relaxing on the sand and wading in the water.  This beach has no parking lots, no lifeguards, no rules, no signs, no trash, no people.  In fact, this beach is ours.  Our time here is spent like we have travelled to a different time.  A time and place unchanged for millennia.

Our campfire, dinner time, and evening comradery is felt more deeply as we know this is our last night in this land of the Lost Coast.  There is a bond which forms in the sharing of struggle, the primacy of privation, and the enjoinment of joy.  The six of us feel this bond tonight, the way we all feel the soreness in our muscles, the need for a shower, and the longing for a cold beer.  We sleep like babies.

Day 4

Morning brings the awareness that everything is wet. The night’s coastal humidity and dense fog have soaked everything completely.  As the sun rises over the King Range the towering pine trees split the sun’s rays into streaks of focused light the way a spot shines down upon the actor on a stage.  The black sand is lit up by these streaks of light and we move out tents, sleeping bags and wet clothes to these areas to dry.   Soon a thick, smoke-like steam rises from our gear as though it will combust at any moment.  As it dries, we eat our final meal on the trail.  Our bear canisters are now empty of food and we stuff whatever we can in them to create room in our packs.  The bear proof containers are a requirement and a necessity as the beaches can be visited by the local omnivores in search of an easy hiker-provided meal.  We did not see any bears or bear tracks.  To some of us, this is a good thing.  To others of us, it is a missed opportunity.

Our final miles are difficult.  We are tired and the rest of the route is nothing but soft, hot, black sand.  We trudge along as our ending in Shelter Cove grows nearer.  We spread out over the last few miles, but cheer each other on as each of us goes up the steep incline and crosses the finish line into the parking lot.  At trails end we celebrate and begin conversation about lunch in town.

The beauty of this rare expedition is one that should be enjoyed by anyone who loves adventure and solitude.  For the six hikers on this trip who do enjoy those things, we have a new story to tell, a new voyage to expand our experiences, and a big wilderness check mark to clear our bucket-list. When it comes to The Lost Coast Trail… Sometimes you just have to go.