Flash Flooding on the Lost Coast Trail

Scott Birk is nearly washed out to sea attempting to cross a rain swollen creek on the Lost Coast Trail.

In the fall of 2017 my ultra-light guru backpacking buddy Scott Birk invited me to join him on one his of all-time favorite trails, California’s Lost Coast Trail. Scott had completed the trail numerous times, often solo, and once he even started in the South at Shelter Cove, hiked the entire route in one day, spent the night at the Northern trailhead and then hiked the entire trail back to Shelter Cove the following day. For those in the know, that almost seems impossible to do as the trip usually takes 3-4 days one-way and your progress is dictated by the tides for many miles of the trail. He had the experience, the permits, we had two vehicles so we did not have to hire a shuttle service and I had the free time. It was an easy decision. Our plan was to meet on the Saturday prior to Thanksgiving at Shelter Cove, leave one of our cars there, drive to Mattole River Beach and hike down to Punta Gorda lighthouse to spend our first night on the trail. On Sunday we would hike as far south as we could, and then on Monday we would hike to our take-out point in Shelter Cove, shuttle back to Mattole River Beach to retrieve the other vehicle and drive home. We would be home in plenty of time for Thanksgiving with our families. It all went as planned until what was forecasted as a 1/2 inch of rain on Sunday night turned into over 4 inches of deluge.

My thoughts start to race in my head by just typing down that last sentence. It was intense and the conditions changed on us before we even realized the danger we were in. I will fill in the details in the captions to my photos below but I’ll leave you with this: We turned around and hiked all the way back to our start point when we were within eyesight of Shelter Cove, out intended finish point.

After driving to the North Coast and shuttling our cars we started off late in the day Saturday and enjoyed a beautiful 3 mile beach hike Punta Gorda Lighthouse.

A peaceful and beautiful sunset at Punta Gorda Lighthouse. Near the Westernmost point of California.

Scott’s ultralight tent at Camp 1 on the beach near Punta Gorda Lighthouse. The guttural sounds of elephant seals entertained us all night.

My tent at Camp 1 on the beach near Punta Gorda Lighthouse.

Scott with a century old blade to a ship prop found on the beach.

On day two we crossed the Northern 4 mile stretch of no trail zone on a receding tide. It was this stretch of coast that would radically change in 24 short hours but today it was somewhat tranquil with rain forecasted starting in the evening.

Scott negotiates the fine line between cliff and surf along the Northern section of low tide hiking only zone.

We woke on the morning of what was planned as our final day to moderate rain. We planned our departure to hit the receding tide at the Southern stretch of no trail zone. As we hiked the rain became more intense.

Decaying whale and pouring rain. Perhaps not a good omen.

Scott attempts to cross the raging Big Flat Creek. A mile and a half into what was supposed to be our final day hiking we approached Big Flat Creek and were shocked to find it a raging brown torrent of mud, boulders, and trees tumbling into the angry sea. Scott and I separated to scout the situation for possible ways across. Scott saw possibility in a low crossing just above the surf zone and went ahead to attempt it. Just as it appeared that he would make it across he stepped into a hole and was immediately swept downstream with his pack fully fastened to him. As he was about to be washed into the surf zone he gained his footing and dragged himself back to my side of the river. As I watched him go into the torrent I literally thought that he was going to die. I dropped my camera and pack and was very focused on not loosing sight of him as he was washed into the surf. I did not have many options as far as a rescue, but I hoped that I might be able to aid him in some way if he was able to get out of the confused waters where the surf and raging river were mixing.

Scott is nearly washed out to sea attempting to cross the swollen river.

After Scott’s near death experience we regrouped to discuss our options. We had no idea how long it would take Big Flat Creek to go down enough to allow for us to cross it. Having what we thought was a clear idea of the terrain we had covered from the start of our trip we decided to turn back and try to hike all the way back to the start point (where Scott's car was parked). Our timing would put us at the no trail zone at a receding tide and we were familiar with that stretch of coast and we did not think that the creeks that we had crossed would have swollen to the extent of Big Flat Creek (we were off by a factor of 100). After hiking 4 miles in the pounding rain we came up to the gateway of the four mile stretch of low tide hiking zone, Randall Creek (this photo). It looked nothing like what it had the day before. We studied it for about an hour and then made a break around the mouth of the creek and sprinted around the rocky point. From this point on things got very serious and I put the camera away to stay focused on the very dynamic landscape. We high tailed it along the cliffs and pounding surf for 2 miles avoiding continuous rock fall and full blown mudslides. One boulder several times larger than a basketball came rocketing down the cliff and launched off and landed with a deep thump right in front of me (at least 20 feet away from the cliff face).

This photo: Cooskie Creek the morning after it had been raging as a massive mud, tree and boulder laden torrent.

As we dodged the falling rocks, mudslides, and surf I saw in the distance something that was very disturbing. The surf went dark brown and was enormous up ahead, a clear sign that a larger flooded river was flowing into it. Half way into the no trail zone we were stopped in our tracks. After 12 hours of heavy rain (which dropped 4.1 inches) Cooskie Creek had grown in size by a factor of at least 100X. It was a vast torrent of dark brown mud, with the sound of boulders rolling ominously underneath its surface. Attempting to cross it would be suicidal. Thankfully, where the torrent shot out of the cliff, there was a bluff large enough for us to pitch our tents on. By 5 pm we crawled into our tents completely saturated. All night we listened to the sound of the surf, the river raging with its growling boulders, and the rain on our tents. Needless to say, I was a bit anxious. I had no idea how long it would take for the river to recede to a safe level. I was able to send text messages to my wife via satellite and she and my son researched the details of the weather and surf forecasts for us. By 3am the rain had mellowed and the sound of the river began to quiet down. We climbed out of our tents around 5:45am and with headlamps on we found that the river had receded dramatically.

Scott crosses Cooskie Creek the morning after it was a massive flash flood. Finally things were going our way. In the early twilight Scott pointed out two giant elk silhouetted on the top of the mountain across from us. We quickly packed up our camp and forded the creek not long after the sea was at low tide. We flew through the final 2 miles of the low tide stretch and started to feel at ease.

The remaining hike along the beach was actually relaxing. The rain had completely stopped. We were out of danger and not far from our trips starting point.

As we approached the Punta Gorda Lighthouse Scott mentioned to me that we had not had our morning coffee yet. We hiked up the hill to the Lighthouse ruins and enjoyed what quite possibly will be remembered as the most enjoyable cup of coffee of my life. Suffice it to say, I learned that life can change in an instant and when it does sometimes the smartest and safest thing to do is nothing and let the storm pass.