The ocean holds our itinerary. We can’t out hike her tides, and along this northern California coast, that means long hours of leisure between miles of no-go zones. Some of these zones stretch a 4 rocky miles, miles that are under water all but 5 or 6 hours a day. So we wait. We snack and nap and watch the sea lions and elephant seals play king of the mountain.

Speaking of elephant seals, I was walking the trail by the Punta Gorda Lighthouse when I had to stop and decide if the large lump ahead of me on the trail was a log, rock, or 4,000 pound elephant seal. When I realized it was a seal, Lace and I tiptoed onto the beach to avoid its slumber (they can be agressive…but we aren’t quite sure what that could look like) only to find more lumps of seal lazing about on the sand. We threaded the needle, tiptoeing between them, and passed by without incident. It was pretty cool.

But I haven’t told you how we got here… this morning, we woke up in the Shelter Cove campground, a bit bleary-eyed from the constant bouey echos just off shore, then packed up and drove to Black Sands Trailhead to meet our shuttle bus. Eight other hikers materialized with packs and poles, and at 7am sharp, we gathered for the safety talk, which included warnings about tides, pinch points, poison oak, and elephant seals. Then, to the bus for two hours of gut flipping mountain roads. We climbed and descended ridges and peaks, and I marveled at the houses we passed, perched on the steep sides. Our driver was full of interesting info…like the fact that this part of Humbolt County made a name for the California weed industry. It was so remote that folks could grow here back in the day, and law enforcement usually wouldn’t bother with them. Now that the drug is legal, the ease with which others can grow in the valley compared to the effort it takes to run a grow operation up here has cut into their hold on the market, so the plant has to lean on its brand of “original Humboldt County weed.”

We finally arrived at our northern terminous, Mattole Trailhead, without anyone puking, and gratefully piled out. Packs on, we took our start photos and headed into the dunes. The first few miles, we walked in deep sand amid grasses clinging to the slopes, and we all put on layers to manage the cool California fog.

We decided that you can add “California” in front of most items to get the accurate nomenclature out here. Like California poppy, California pelican, and California sparrow. Lace is quite the interptive ranger and regales us with bird IDs using the Merlin app. Flowers carpet the slopes above the sand; most of the beautiful yellow splashes of color are courtesy of bountiful dandelions. California dandelions? We decide these flowers have gotten a bad rap from the roundup folks… Have they been demonized as yard weeds simply so this conglomerate can sell us poison? Dandelions are a food source! How can something beneficial be a weed?

Back to the walking. The walking was a bit arduous in the deep sand, but walking above on the grassy slopes was hard too…the poison oak is sneaky in the area, it carpets the ground and also uses the surrounding vegetation as a ladder and can get quite tall. It’s practly everywhere, so I choose to walk the beach more often than not.

The sand, though. I dump it out of my socks and shoes and lament that I didn’t bring gaiters to keep the grains out. Lace’s technique involves a bandana tied around each ankle, but success is mixed.

After only 4.9 miles, we make it to the next tidal zone, and it’s too late in the day to scoot ourselves through the four-mile beach. It’s almost covered in water, and will be until 5am tomorrow. So we make camp on a tilted perch 200 feet above the ocean and next to a little shady oasis of a creek. Thank goodness for the creek because there is no shade to be found at camp, and we pass long afternoon hours by the water and Lace even busts out a gormet happy hour spread with six kinds of cheeses. Cindy and I provided the wine, and we feasted like queens amid the poison oak.

Numerous groups hiked up and past and are all crowded into a few camp spots around the corner from us. We were a bubble of hikers that would most likely be leapfrogging each other the rest of the way as we timed our walk to the sea.

Most impressive was a family of five with three young ladies. I love to see it.

When the sun finally went down, we retreated to our tents for the night, lulled to sleep by the groans and honks of the seals.