Into the Rainforest: Oswald West State Park

This trail leading into the
park used to be the access
path for the campground,
closed since 2008. 

A small beach town...

          Manzanita, Oregon: a quiet beach-side community on the northern Oregon Coast along US Route 101. It's a pretty typical beach community with cedar-shingled houses, gift shops and coffee joints. For those who prefer the outdoors, Nehalem Bay State Park, and Oswald West State Park are also close by.

          Beyond the town, forested headlands form an imposing backdrop: blue-green unspoiled forest ending in sheer cliffs over the frigid waters of the Pacific Ocean. Rich and unspoiled, these headlands spark the imagination of any eager traveler. The forests are taller and darker than the surrounding areas, logged many times over. To this day, this stretch of forest is still protected, and easily accessible to those willing to go in search of them. A few miles north on US Route 101, a traveler will enter Oswald West State Park.

          Founded in 1931, the park gradually expanded to its current size of 2,484 acres, and was renamed in 1958 in honor of Oregon Governor Oswald West who opened the Oregon coastline for public use. I was surprised to learn this, having suspected the park was one of two units. Thus ends the search for the mythical "Oswald East." But I digress: the park was founded to preserve a stretch of old-growth spruce which still stands to this day, and features a day-use beach, hikes through the  old-growth spruce, and the remains of a unique campground.

A Rather Unique Campground...

Looking over Short Sand Creek down 
the beach of the same name to the
water fall and tide-pools

          Since the campground has been closed for ten years, only the most well-researched traveler will know about. The campground was built among the spruces only fifty feet or so above sea level, making it inaccessible by car. To reach their campsites, campers parked their vehicles off US 101, and trucked their goods down to the campground by hand using a fleet of wheelbarrows, provided by the park. This practice continued until 2008. Ultimately, the same spruces that the park was founded to preserve proved a liability when an 11-foot wide specimen fell across a number of thankfully vacant campsites forcing the state's hand: the campground was closed indefinitely. The wheelbarrows disappeared, and the campsites are overgrown. A sign for the former walk-in campground still stands over 101, but the word “Campground” is blanked out. I vaguely remember these wheelbarrows, but the details are lost to time. Those who never camped there might not know that was ever an option.

We parked in the same lot campers once used, you walk down the trail once plied by wheelbarrows full of camping gear s'mores makings and children with backpacks. Yet while the campground has been converted to day use, what drew them to this park is still very much alive. Water covers everything: raindrops and dew coat trees, leaves and moss, flowing in creeks and brooks. Plants seem to grow in layers: ground cover like false lily of the valley and twayblade underneath huckleberry bushes salal and ferns. These in turn are shaded by smaller trees which in turn are shaded by the spruces.

And a forest of Giants

          The spruces stand like the feet of giants from fairytales: many are a modest 3-5 feet in diameter but some have more to brag about: ten feet in diameter and upwards of a hundred feet high. Despite their size, even these giants manage to blend into the forest, somehow remaining hidden amongst the greenery until they are right in front of you. Some of these monsters are alive, but others have died: nothing but snags. Yet even while still standing the dead spruces become homes for new life: decaying matter makes homes for ferns, huckleberry bushes, moss-- even a hemlock sapling occasionally settles into the penthouse of this living city. It's full of life, and the scene makes it clear why these are called temperate rainforests. In spring the whole forest is permeated by birdsong and the running water from the creek nearby. Shy of the beach , the trail splits. Take the suspension bridge to your right over the rushing creek, or head straight to Short Sand Beach. The bridge can get you to the beach as well, if you are ok wading back across the creek through knee deep, swift moving water. I learned this part the hard way.

Down by the waters

The waterfall at the far
end of Short Sand Beach,
near a collection of
tide-pools

          For the smart beachgoers who take the easy route the trail ultimately leaves the forest and emerges at Short Sand Beach on Smuggler's Cove. It's a typical Oregon Coast beach: the forest ends at a field of basalt cobbles which give way to sand, all traversed by tiny creeks. The beach even has a field of tidepools with a waterfall and even a small cave.

Returning back from the beach, you walk through an area with a locked restroom building (something about a water main) and a number of familiar clearings lining a wide path, just wide enough for a wheelbarrow. The campsites are full of debris, shrubs and even a few Douglas Fir saplings sprout where tents were once pitched. But if you close your eyes, you can imagine a family packing up their gear into a wheelbarrow, ready to head home. And so, our visit concludes, as we follow our ghost campers as they haul their gear  back up the hill to the parking area where they, like their campsites, have been lost to time. But the park is still there for those who want to visit, and like much of the Oregon Coast, it is the perfect pit stop year round, for a quick stroll or a day at the beach. 

          And when I return, after my hike, I might just stay in the area a few more hours. I still haven't given up on finding "Oswald East State Park." -KP

Sources:
Oregon State Parks Website: Oswald West State Park "Park Info" and "FAQs" sections:

• https://oregonstateparks.org/index.cfm?do=parkPage.dsp_parkPage&parkId=139
• https://oregonstateparks.org/index.cfm?do=parkPage.dsp_parkHistory&parkId=139

Journey to the Pool of the Winds

Beacon Rock State Park, Washington

Rodney Falls and the Pool
of the Winds on the 
Hamilton Mountain Trail.

-S. Kramer, Photo

Most people who have visited the Columbia Gorge are familiar with Beacon Rock. Many have hiked to the top of this eroded volcano, and many return to their cars and drive off without giving its surroundings a second though. But few of these people know about the falls on Hardy Creek, or the breathtaking "Pool of the Winds." Beacon Rock is just the centerpiece in Beacon Rock State Park, a large forested natural area. And it is in this expanse of forest, far above the rock itself, that the falls are hidden.

To climb Beacon Rock, you pull off SR-14 to the right, but to reach the falls, turn left at the Rock, down the road that disappears into the woods. This road passes a picnic area, and playground, which doubles as a trailhead for an extensive network of trails leading to Hamilton Mountain. Unless you research the area, or read guidebooks, these falls seem to be a well-kept secret: a waypoint on a much larger network of dirt paths.

The Trail to Hamilton Mountain

The CCC-built picnic shelter near
the Hamilton Mountain Trailhead

-S. Kramer, Photo

The hike departs from an old stone masonry picnic shelter built by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression. Upon setting out on the hike, the forest gets thicker, and the air, colder. The wind in the canopy, along with the bubbling song of a Swainson's Thrush, and creaking trees form a mellow background track along with the distant rushing of cars on State Route 14. For those who merely pass through the gorge, and see a wide blue river lined with grass and cottonwoods, and beyond that, a sea of coniferous forest blanketing the basalt walls of an ancient canyon. But beneath this canopy lies an understory full of diverse wildflowers, creeks, waterfalls and wildlife: out of sight to those on the highways. Entering this understory, the trees obstruct your view of this larger scene, and you are left inside this forest, experiencing it in person, acre by acre. And for one with an appreciation of nature, it is very easy to enjoy.  In late may, bleeding hearts are finishing and going to seed, anemones and thimbleberries are in full bloom, and in various places, the orange buds of tiger lilies hint at their upcoming majesty.

Like A Waterfall Collection

M. Kramer on a rock ledge
on the edge of the trail.
-S. Kramer, Photo

The trail climbs through the ancient landslides and hills of the Gorge, passing from thick coniferous forests, into an open area beneath a Powerline with shrubs, wild strawberry and vine maple, and back into the woods, though they are thinner now, and warmer. after a little over a mile, the trail comes to a junction at the Hardy Falls Overlook.

Unlike most notable waterfalls, the first "falls" it isn't a single waterfall at all, but a collection of lesser waterfalls. A series of cascades tumbles down a basalt Rick pile forming hundreds of tiny waterfalls in the process. Left of this, beside the lookout, a small creek tumbles down a sheer wall. Both meet at the bottom, and continue in a large horsetail-like falls, out of sight from the lookout, and nearly impossible to see from any angle. It’s reminiscent of some sort of surreal "waterfall collection" like some wizard gathered waterfalls on his travels and brought them to this mountain for display. I can't speak for other travelers, but having grown up visiting the likes of Multnomah Falls, I had been hoping for something a bit more, and I mistakenly believed we had reached the main attraction. I had been promised waterfalls after all, and I had found falls, and had I been alone, I may have turned around, but thankfully I wasn't, and our party continued onward half a mile uphill, downhill, around a bend, then downhill to an ancient, yet sturdy bridge lashed together with logs and primitive planks, passing over a stretch of white water. And unlike the previous waterfall collection, the bridge went right over Rodney Falls: it's impressive, and impossible to miss. I smiled at Rodney Falls, then I looked uphill and…

My Jaw Dropped.

The summit of Hamilton Mountain
seen from the clearing on the
Hamilton Mountain Trail.

-S. Kramer, Photo

From the trail approaching these upper falls, you see nothing but a shoot emerging from a hole in the rock. It's just enough information to grab your curiosity, and draw you in. Approaching it you feel a Sense of awe and apprehension. Then you scramble up the last few feet of rough basalt guarded by an iron fence, and look in on the Pool of the Winds.

For a place with such a name, you would expect a scene from a fantasy novel, something extraordinary: that is exactly what you get. Hardy Creek over time dug a slot canyon into the hillside, forming a waterfall, Rodney Falls, almost entirely walled in, draining into a shallow basalt room filled with water: the Pool of the Winds itself. This drains through a small keyhole just wide enough for the creek. There are some places where God puts his handiwork on display: you don’t want to leave the falls.

But you have to. Some continue on to Hamilton Mountain, while others make the return trip down to the parking lot. We all have lives to return to in the modern world, but we do so having pulled back the metaphorical curtain, and explored just a bit of the wonderland hidden beneath the forest canopy. -KP

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Sources:
Washignton State Parks Map of Beacon Rock State Park:

https://parks.state.wa.us/DocumentCenter/View/1840/Beacon-Rock-State-Park-PDF

ProTrails "Pool of the Winds" Gallery:

https://www.protrails.com/gallery/740/oregon/portland-columbia-river-gorge/pool-of-the-winds#image-8

A Beginner's Guide to Taking the Long Way Home

Best Laid Plans...

On paper, my outing was simple: Grab my bicycle, Perseverance, visit Garden Home, then head down the Fanno Creek Trail to Derry-Dell Creek, explore a bit, and head home. I never made it, and ended up, by my own will, or perhaps stubbornness, in the distant suburbs of Portland. As I left home southbound on the Fanno creek Trail, I was still sticking to my original plan. 

A northbound WES crosses SW North
Dakota St. in Tigard, OR

In many ways, a trip on this path always has company of some sort: other people, vehicles on the highways, or perhaps the trains. The trail and the Portland and western Railroad both follow the creek, so the train is a near-constant companion. During rush hour, TriMet runs its WES commuter train south along the trail: you hear the WES cruise through town, digital bell clanging obnoxiously, distinctive horn blaring.

About a mile shy of Tigard, I noticed that the rim of Perseverance's rear tire hit bottom when I jumped a curb: a flat. I hadn’t carried a pump since mine had been lost in the woods on a beach trip. I was stuck.

I had managed to reach Derry Dell Creek, so I decided to explore as much as I could before heading home. I followed a well-blazed trail into the woods towards the creek, but I had only travelled about a hundred feet before I passed hedge clippers, bags of leaves and at least three tents. Someone had blazed this trail deliberately, and probably didn't want to be disturbed. So much for exploring.

I returned to Perseverance. I could patch her tire in the park but I had no way to refill it. My best bet was walking to Tigard Transit Center and catching any combination of transit, including a tempting ride on TriMet's commuter train, WES. In fact, why not ride it AWAY from home to Wilsonville? I had plenty of time. I checked my wallet for cash and started off with my wounded steed in the direction of Tigard. 

A Table of Heads

Another WES was departing Tigard northbound as I arrived in town. I got off and walked the remainder of the way to the fair machine, bought fare, and waited. WES stations are pretty barren save for the Interactivator, a series of unlabeled brass heads riding rails inside a steel table. They have them at every stop: words carved into the steel name the characters but don’t tell you which is which, along with a "transporter." The idea, of course, is to pit the characters against each other and form stories about how they interact, but with the train sharing a track with the characters “The sleeper narrowly avoids getting hit by a train while the laugher looks on” is a tempting story to use. Thrice I encountered quicker routes home: a Line 78,  Line 42, the new Beaverton bus I never rode, and even a northbound WES. In all three cases, it was a willful decision to stay on the train platform and wait for the train to take me even further from home.

The "Interactivator" at the
Tigard WES station. The
Historic Mask head is in the
foreground in front of the
train, the upside down head
is to the right.

When the WES finally arrived, I tied up Perseverance in the wheelchair area, and took a seat. There were faces on the train, but none of the extreme examples from the steel game board—and thankfully, no one I know of narrowly avoided getting hit.

WES is a unique experience. 

The line southbound to Salem and beyond last saw regular passenger trains in 1933, so prior to TriMet opening WES, the line side scenery had been seen only by railroad employees. It's a fairly quiet and peaceful ride. The powered railcar's engine chugs along as the train glides past neighborhoods, forests, and lakes full to the brim of pond lilies. The train reached Wilsonville, waited a half hour and turned around. As a passenger, you can travel no further. Looking southbound, the Passenger track ends, and the line stretches on into the distance, a set of signals guarding it, the tracks silent and dark. I rode north again, and got off at Hall and Nimbus, waving to a Few people I didn't realize I had befriended, and headed uphill to catch the 56.

Line 42 once more caught me waiting at the bus stop, but I couldn't recall where the 42 went. I needed to go uphill, down Scholls Ferry road. I held up fingers to sign 5-6. he nodded, and then the bus turned, and headed down Scholls Ferry road, in the direction I was hoping to travel. I swore and after waiting a few more minutes, came to the inevitable conclusion that the 42 had--for the second time that day-- tried to save me from my self-induced misadventure. After a twenty-minute walk, I passed the stop the 42 would have dropped me at, much closer to home than the stop I had for the second time refused its assistance.

My bike tire wasn't fixed until the next day, and as of writing this, I still don't have a pump. But I won't forget the coincidental kindness of the Line 42, and if one ever tries to offer me a ride again, I will forsake my stubbornness and hop on . -KP

Bibliography:
Oregon Electric Railway, in the Oregon Encyclopedia
https://oregonencyclopedia.org/articles/oregon_electric_railway/#.XQLSNNNKjm0

The Interactivators: Sculpture for TriMet WES Commuter Rail by MARY PRIESTER 
https://trimet.org/pdfs/store/Interactivators.pdf

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