Leaving The Reds

After setting up the tent, with a mildly obstructed view of the ocean, I decide that dinner on the beach is in order. I grab my gear and head down to the sand. I’d thought about using ocean water to cook with, give some salty tang. Then I thought about how much sandy tang that would likely add, not to mention that I’d be dancing around 6' plus waves, I decided against it. Luckily they had water spigots, so that was not an issues. What was the issue was me not knowing whether I was near high or low tide, and deciding to play it safe and set up fifty feet up from where the waves were. That gives me time to move if I notice the tide’s going up and not out.

Now, let me tell you about rogue waves. A rogue wave is an uncharacteristically large wave that comes in much further that other waves. This is not tsunami level, though some are very large. Indeed, unbeknownst to me, relatively small rogues happen regularly. And easily go, say sixty feet further than the tide.

Now, there I am, fat, dumb, and happy, setting up my cookstove on the beach, listening to the surf, getting ready to cook some Italian Minestrone with garlic summer sausage. I have all my food in my day pack, which is, of course, open. I have my cook gear set about me, pot on stove, water in pot. Suddenly, I and all my belongings, are in six inches of water. Really, really, sandy water.

Everything is soaked. Sand is everywhere. My lighter is doused. I have sand in a multi-tool, and if you’ve every had that problem you can sympathize. Mentally cursing, I grab everything and head up well beyond the tide- 200' or so. I figure anything that comes in that far’s gonna get me either way and at least this way the sand under my ass is dry. I then spend nearly half an hour blowing/wiping sand off/out of everything, as I was luckily able to reclaim it all. It’s another half hour or so before I manage to get the lighter to work again. Dinner cooks, I eat, then clean everything and head back to camp.

I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’m not tired. But the sun is setting, and I packed no entertainment, and was too wet and cold to feel "imaginative." I decide that after the driving an early night won’t hurt. I get into the tent, and into my bag, and within two minutes I know the ground’s too cold for me to sleep on. I had figured that in a bag rated to 15 degrees, I’d be good in 40-50 degree temps, but I was very wrong. And the brand new sleeping pad I’d purchased was six miles away in my car. Good spot for it. Luckily, there are picnic tables at the sites, and I figure that it can’t be any colder, and I at least have a chance of warming it up.

Of course, I hadn’t counted on how uncomfortable sleeping on a picnic table is. I lay down and endured one of the worst, most uncomfortable, coldest, painful nights of sleep I’ve ever had. The only thing keeping me in the bag was the knowledge that the only way it was going to get better was after six miles of hiking, and that was not happening in the dark.

Needless to say I was up with the dawn, and oh so excited that (and this was no big surprise, but it was disappointing) none of my sweat-soaked clothes were even marginally dry. Nothing like starting the morning by putting on wet, cold clothing. Either way, I begin the hike back.
This time, "bridge out" be damned. I’m taking the shorter route (now that I know where it is), and if I have to swim across an ice floe, so be it. It’s damned near at the visitor center anyway.

As it turns out, Mineral Ridge was breathtaking. And not just because I’m fat and it was uphill.

Whereas Fern Canyon was full of, well, ferns and such, Mineral Ridge was almost somber. The massive trunks weren’t interrupted by as much undergrowth, and as such seemed even more massive. I would have taken many more pictures here, but is seems that my camera was starting to fog. The trip was easier, too, with only one tree downed the entire way.

Load the gear, hit the toothbrush, etc., chat with the ranger about trail conditions, and ask the guy at the visitor center where a guy can find some good tidal pools. Turns out that low tide’s in an hour and a half, and there’s some good pools about half an hour south. Ondole!
Next up: Tidal pools, San Fran, Santa Cruz, and the Beach.