Swimming with Lions

By Charlie Gandy (written May 19, 2021)

Note: This blog post originally appeared on PedalLove.org. It’s part of a series Charlie wrote about his five-year adventure of section hiking the coast of California.

I really didn't expect the last twenty miles of my 1,200-mile walk up California's extraordinary coastline to be so eventful. Compared to my start at the Mexican border five years ago, when the US Border Patrol scrambled to shoo me away from the fence (I was determined to start my walk at precisely the point that separates our two countries), how exciting could it be to walk across the Oregon border?

However, what happened at the end of a long, never boring journey of walking California's beaches, bluffs, trails, rails and roads tracing the state's edge with the Pacific Ocean, put a big cherry on the top of a very memorable series of treks.

Roughly eighty days of adventure (organized as one-day to week-long section hikes), finished for me on a foggy day with a cold, solo swim across the Smith River, just three miles from my ending point. There were few threats as I started out at six am from the Curly Redwood Lodge in Crescent City.

I’d spent my last night in California enjoying a dirt bagger's "spa treatment" featuring a long warm shower after six days of sleeping on the ground (also known as camping), and a fine seafood meal across the street, before a nice long warm sleep, and drying out my gear.

During the last week I’d hiked from Fernbridge, just south of Eureka, 110 miles to Crescent City along wide beaches, high dunes, and abandoned rail lines to Trinidad. From there my northward route went inland using meandering trails through old growth redwood forests then back to the beach at Crescent City. My final day would be twenty more miles of mostly beach walking and river crossing to reach my final goal.

Today my first stop was two blocks from my start, the 24 hour convenience store for provisions. Coffee and donuts for breakfast, chicken wrap and hot flaming Cheetos for lunch. Snickers for snacks. Rich extravagant fair compared to most days, but hey, I was in celebration mode. Dinner was in my backpack as it always was, my recently discovered perfect trail meal; instant potatoes with cheese mixed with real bacon bits, red pepper, garlic salt, and balsamic vinegar. Yum.

Beyond coffee, I usually carry two liters of water which will last most of the day under cool conditions, more needed if the weather is hot. Unlike the last few hiking days of scarce food sources requiring that I carry pounds of food, today is relatively light.

Now well provisioned, I strolled about six miles to the beach along a fog shrouded rocky bluff, through a quiet neighborhood, and along a rural road past the airport. It occurred to me later that today’s types of walking conditions, combined with beach walking, dune hiking, and river swimming represented many of of the types of treads I experienced along the entire walk of the coast. What was missing today were the the less fun routes I’ve had to trek: active rail lines, big city streets, highways and steep hills and mountains. So far my last day was a nice sampling of very pleasant walking conditions.

No one was around as the country road ended and the beach began. I let gravity pull me down the gentle grade to sprawling sand. Light from the sun struggled to burn a hole in the cool, dense morning fog. Intermittent rays were quickly doused. Far offshore blue skies could be seen, but locally gray clouds dominated. One positive of this condition is an intimacy with immediate stimuli. Grains of sand, shapes of rocks, shells, flow lines of water in sand - and a lot more detail comes into focus. The same thing happens on high mountain climbing routes. Fog thickens and redirects our attention away from long vistas and toward alpine details such as colorful flowers and interesting rock formations - offering a nice framing of focus so that unseen or overlooked discoveries are made.

Sound is another element altered by fog. Shorebird’s screeches and screams cut through the still, moist air while the roar of the ocean is muffled. With each stride I could hear my footprints being made in the softer sand.

After settling into a comfortable pace and finding just the best sand for strolling, walking the beach is always a spiritual, meditative experience for me. The expansive, powerful Pacific Ocean on my left delivers a rhythmic beat while a variety of majestic landscapes pass on my right. I can feel the magnetic energy of the liminal space I'm walking, where water meets land, liquid meets solid.

I go mentally inward as I stride northward into the fog. I've got fourteen miles of beach ahead, punctuated by small creek crossings, dune hiking, and a choice about swimming the Smith River or detouring and adding another eleven miles to cross on the highway bridge. I’ll take a look at the river when I get there and decide. Until then, it's just me and packs of snowy plovers moving with the remnants of waves as they wash up the beach. The birds want what I want, to stay close to the edge and keep our feet dry. The ocean wants to lure us in, and does so melodically.

My mood turns melancholy as I reflect on my journey up California's coastline and the realization that the end is near. When I started five years ago on a series of day trips exploring southern California beaches I had no overarching goal except escaping the stress of urban living with not quite enough income, and dwindling prospects.

But these day-long dalliances with SoCal’s alluring coastline whetted my appetite for more. I like a big audacious goal. At 23 this led me to run (and win) a seat as the youngest state legislator in Texas in the ‘80’s, to host the world’s largest tug of war as a fundraiser to help create Austin’s first Youth Hostel in my early 30’s, and later to scale all of the Fourteeners in both Colorado and California. Declaring my ambition to hike California’s whole 1,200 mile coastline all the way to Oregon felt right.

Living car free as I did, l committed to doing it only using trains and buses (no cars) to get to and from start/stop points, and as cheaply as possible. Sleeping in the dirt was common, motel rooms were very rare.

Now my big hairy adventure with my dream girl state was about to end and I was verklempt. A loving relationship was over or at least changed forever. I was no longer even her resident. Along the way she revealed beauty beyond my imagination, and tested me beyond my expectations.

I slept peacefully with her mostly, although there were moments. She invited me to dance on her beaches, to linger along her shaded trails, and take breaks at long views from her high bluffs. She challenged me with risk taking obstacle courses, and she lured me into dead end bushwhacking escapades. And today it was about to be over, finished, done. I was about to leave her and fall into the arms of another state and I was just not ready. Instinctively I fought back emotional swells, until realizing I was the only one around, I cried out loud, and finally felt much better.

Most of the approximately 79 hiking days before today were simply part of the route continuum. Days filled with fifteen to twenty unique miles of experiences to report about and savor, but nothing to be frightened over. And then there were maybe ten days, that, because of the known obstacles ahead were filled with anxiety or terror. Today was one of those days.

Two sources of anxiety are Lake Earl and the Smith River. Lake Earl drains out into the Pacific at about mile 10 of the day. My map shows it to be a significant size but it looks wadable. The Smith River is at mile 17 and I know I'll be swimming it, or detouring around 11 miles. It will be close to low tide but water temp, current speed and other factors are unknowns. With the ambient temperature around 55 degrees, hypothermia is a concern.

Summoning a positive attitude I approached the Lake Earl drainage and found a pleasant surprise. The drainage was dry so there was nothing to cross but more beach. Northern California is experiencing yet another year of deadly drought conditions and this freshwater lake isn't sending anything into the ocean, at least at the surface. So I found a large driftwood log to sit against and took a break. As I snacked and rested a large bulldog bounded my way. I'm a dog lover and always open to friendly greetings, so I waved to the dog's person that it was ok and made a new friend.

Moving on up the beach the sand got softer and slower. Hiking in sand is like walking up a hill. Each step takes slightly more effort than normal and the softer the sand the steeper the hill. So I took another break at about mile 14, tucked into another large driftwood log.

I’d noticed one set of fresh truck tracks on the beach and presumed they were made by someone on an infrequent beach patrol. As I sat snacking on the beach a truck came roaring out of the fog from the north and passed me about twenty feet away. The driver saw me as he passed, probably as a blurred afterthought. I, however, saw him as the biggest unknown threat on the beach right now. I'm glad I didn't just sit down on the open beach to rest, I could have become beach kill. After that unwanted surprise, and looking for relief from soft sand, I moved inland and walked for a while on a trail in the dunes. A couple of miles east of here is the Pelican Bay Maximum Security Prison run by the State of California. If I don't swim the Smith River I'll get more intimate with this notorious institution as I detour around.