Waves crashed rhythmically on the shore: the sole sound in an otherwise silent world. Sea lions poked their noses out of the foam in each wave’s wake. The sky was the color of orange sherbet overhead. A trail of twinned footprints marked our passage across an otherwise untouched black sand beach. This was the Lost Coast Trail, at last!
Ready to run
After dreaming about it for years, it was finally time to see this beautiful trail for ourselves. In late May 2020, we were in the USA and itching for adventure. I called to confirm with the Bureau of Land Management that the trail was open again, and it was – but only for day use. We happened to have the perfect day-use hack: a plan to run the northern section of the Lost Coast Trail in its entirety.
The Lost Coast Trail North is the famous Northern California route coveted by many a backpacker. However, it’s not the whole story: there is a southern section in Sinkyone Wilderness State Park. But we’d opted to save the tricky Lost Coast Trail: South for another day: our hands were full enough already with tidal timings and transport arrangements!
Many hikers tread the Lost Coast Trail slowly, savoring it over a few days. But camping was been deemed a public health risk in spring 2020, and besides, we don’t have a tent. And truth be told, we just wanted to run it!
Not to set any records, though that’s been done here too. Rather because at around 45 kilometers, the northern Lost Coast trail was a nice, doable distance for a trail run, and because we know how to meditate on the move.
Confirming that we weren’t going to be violating any rules was only the first step. Next, we needed to check the tides: a crucial part of all journeys on the Lost Coast. Turns out, the best day for our adventure was the very next day! So we hastily packed our bags and reviewed our plans.
As this trail is point-to-point, we also had to arrange transportation. After a few frantic, late afternoon phone calls, we managed to secure a driver for the return trip.
The night before Lost Coast Trail, we were in bed before the sky was dark: eager to get as much sleep as we could. Without the prompting of any of our alarms, we woke up at 2 am and were ready to go.
Stop and go
It was an adventure that had been weeks in the planning. I felt pretty prepared for the day ahead, but Kent was nervous. We gulped down sandwiches as we hit the freeway. It wasn’t 15 minutes before we were pulled over by a police officer.
It was, after all, Memorial Day weekend. We were the only car on the road and it was 3 am.
The delay wasn’t terribly long, but it cost us. We were now about half an hour behind schedule, and worse, Kent was really stress out. We drove slowly through Eureka, hitting red light after red light, and then just when we got going quickly on the freeway again, our exit appeared.
A quiet road led through farmland to Ferndale. From there, we turned onto a still narrower road that wound slowly up into the hills and away from civilization. This is The Wildcat, and it is the best road one can drive.
At first we were in a dark, misty forest. Emerging into open pasture, the road swung up, down and around rolling hills. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, bathing the pastoral scene in their light. Cows blinked at us sleepily from the edge of the road as we drove by.
That first glimpse of the ocean took my breath away, even in the dark. Somehow, I just knew it was there, where the hills seemed to stop and there was just an empty, shining space. The rollercoaster of a road swept down towards the beach in a dramatic arc, and then I was sure.
We drove alongside the crashing waves for a while, then up into the hills again, passing by a few lonely farmhouses on our way to the intersection that marks Petrolia. Crossing a bridge on the far side of town, we turned onto Lighthouse Drive: the gravel runway to the coast!
Dawn was on its way, and the sky was transitioning through the blues: midnight, royal, navy, steel. The building brightness made it possible for us to swing around the massive potholes on this remote road as we inched our way along.
Finally, we arrived at Mattole Beach! To our surprise, we were not alone. There was a van in the campground, and two other cars were parked at the trailhead. I briefly wondered whether or not we’d see other runners on the trail. But there were more important things to attend to.
No sooner had we strapped on our packs and readied the satellites than Kent broke into a fit of coughing. Just beyond the locked gate, on the very first few meters of the trail, he began to retch. In a matter of minutes, he was empty of all the calories I’d cajoled into him on the three hour drive. It was…not the best start we could have hoped for.
But Kent is tough, and never lets a little morning vomiting keep him from a trail run. I suggested we go back to the car and regroup, but Kent waved me on ahead of him. And so, leaving a few small piles of puke behind us, we set off.
Despite the inauspicious start, from that moment on, it was a gorgeous morning. The approach of sunrise had softened the colors of the sky and melted the clouds. We ran towards the sea in that soft light, even softer sand beneath our feet.
In the shadow of dawn
And suddenly we were there; we were doing the Lost Coast Trail! We saw waves rolling in up and down the coast. Green bluffs bracketed our stretch of sand, but the Pacific went on forever.
The trail fragmented into many narrow footpaths leading through the dunes and we followed them at random, always moving south. We hopped over a few dry streambeds, crossed another beach, then ran across a prairie.
At the water’s edge, the sand was course and dark, sinking slightly underfoot. The water was mercurial: reflective, silvery and ethereal. Dawn had brought about a calming effect on the morning, and the waves rolled in gently, slowly. We quickly found one of my favorite places of the whole trail: a beach that was untouched, save for our footprints on the sloping sand.
Within minutes, our Lost Coast Trail run was one of those adventures that I live for. Everything was beautiful; everything felt easy. Kent too, seemed cured of his earlier issues, and soaked up the wonder with me.
We rounded Windy Point just after the morning’s lowest tide on a wide, safe stretch of beach. In the shade below the bluffs of Punta stood two cabins, their windows shining like eyes as they reflected the sea. Nothing stirred, but we ran past them quietly and respectfully, marveling at the hardiness and good fortune of the souls choosing to live in this place.
Beyond the cabins lay our first creek crossing. At Four Mile Creek, Kent deftly navigated a log over the stream. I stepped onto the same natural bridge, promptly lost my footing, and slid off into the stream. It hadn’t even taken an hour, and I was wet already!
The trail stretched away ahead of us as a thin line through long grass. Our route skirted another bluff, at the foot of which we could see Punta Gorda Lighthouse!
It’s a small tower with an important history (though that’s a story for another post). It grew larger on the horizon as we ran across the flat towards it.
Of course I wanted to stop. I’m a real lighthouse lover. I’d read that you could climb up the tower, and there was a little plaque beside it we both wanted to read. But this was no ordinary run: the Lost Coast Trail is tide-dependent. There are two four-mile sections that should only be crossed at low tide. So we raced on, although not without a few backward glances on my part.
Luckily, there was a lot ahead of us to grab my eye and capture my attention. Just beyond the lighthouse was a colony of massive elephant seals high on the beach! They lounged in lazy groups: looking for all the world like massively overgrown sweet potatoes with their elongated bodies and brown coats.
They were actually so close to the trail in places that we had to navigate past them with great caution. I turned on the camera, then crept by, making as little noise as I could.
Leaving behind our marine mammal friends and the lighthouse, we ventured into dense brush and hopped across another stream. The weeds somehow undid both my shoelaces, so we paused briefly for some kit readjustments.
Although the sky overhead was now a pale, cloudless blue, our trail remained deep in shadow. The sunrise had been hidden from us by the bluffs, and the sun remained out of view late into the morning. This actually made for great running conditions: we didn’t have to worry about sunscreen or water at this stage, and the cool air felt refreshing. Indeed, the conditions kept us moving quickly, which was just what we needed to beat the tide.
Although for the moment, the tide wasn’t a concern. The Lost Coast Trail led us high above the waves on a dramatic cliff. Below, jagged rocks rose from the sea, some of them topped by rowdy sea lions jostling for position. Ahead, the emerald sweep of the coast was in view: that’s where we were headed!
A couple of kilometers ahead, we descended from the foothills onto the beach, by way of Sea Lion Gulch. This marked the start of the first tidally impassable zone, and our return to the sand.
Although we were looking out for it, we missed the sign for the overland route, and found ourselves at the base of aptly-named Hat Rock. We retraced our steps backwards, and scoured the rocky cliffs for evidence of an upper trail. Then we did something I do not recommend, and I’m not proud of.
I hesitate to type this, because I don’t want anyone following in my footsteps. But the truth is that we went around the outside of Hat Rock. With our late start and a bit of pressure on to get through the impassable zone before the tide rose, we simply kept going on the beach. In reterospect, we probably didn’t backtrack far enough, or look hard enough for the alternate route.
At the time, the way looked forward okay. The tide level was exceptionally low that morning (-.89 feet) and the waves were more than a meter distant down the rocks on the beach. We’re pretty experienced with challenging terrain, but here we struggled mightily.
We quickly discovered the reason that this short section is marked impassable at all tide levels. The rocks were sharp and jagged, and completely covered the beach: you could not put a foot on solid sand. What’s more, the rocks were covered with a thick layer of green algae that was the slipperiest substance I’ve ever encountered. I had to have three points of contact at all times, and even then had issues. I slipped and banged some part of my anatomy on the rocks more times than I can count. Progress was unbelievably slow, but we eventually made it around Hat Rock. However, I would strongly recommend against doing what we did!
On the other side, the going felt blissfully easy. We ran on hard-packed sand exposed by the retreating tide. And we weren’t the only ones: we saw many footprints: definitely deer, and what looked like otter tracks. While before we’d ran beside rolling, grassy slopes, now the boundary of the land was a rocky, vertical cliff.
It was anything but featureless: there were little waterfalls and deep gullies. At one of the latter, sunlight beamed through onto the beach for the very first time and I stepped into it with real joy in my heart.
Fun in the sun
That same gully, cut by Cooksie Creek, featured our next crossing. This time, we both got wet wading across the cold, fast-flowing water.
After passing by several more mini waterfalls and some interesting striations in the rock, we noticed two sets of footprints. They were going the same direction we were, and we began to theorize about them. Were these fellow runners? Rangers on patrol? Illicit campers? It seemed most likely to be the latter, considering that we’d only just started to see them.
And we soon lost their footprints again. This section of the Lost Coast Trail features boulders of various shapes and sizes. There were small, loose ones that rolled around underfoot. Then there were large, smooth ones that necessitated some hopping around.
At Randall Creek, I took my second plunge of the day. My jump featured an unwise landing zone of soft, crumbling sand from which I fell slowly backwards to sit down in the stream. Now I was well and truly wet!
But we had finally reached the sun – or perhaps it had risen high enough to reach us, so I quickly began to dry off. In fact, it was soon warm enough for us to remove our jackets. We did not remember to put on sunscreen at this time, which was an error that we would come to regret.
The firm trail through the prairie of Spanish Flat allowed for swift, smooth progress. We delighted in yet another change of terrain. California poppies had begun to open in the sun, adding a touch of orange to the golden grasses.
On the next few creek crossings, we didn’t bother with trying to stay dry. As the morning continued to heat up, I relished any opportunity to refresh my feet! The increased illumination on this bright, sunny day made the Lost Coast Trail even more beautiful. We could see our future in the bend of the coastline.
Someone has a cabin at this point: a little wooden wonder with a whale weathervane in front. I still wish it was ours.
The trail had broadened to double-track and it was around then that we caught sight of and passed the hiking duo whose footprints we’d spotted earlier. Kent and I continued to run side-by-side past a second remote, private residence: this one more modern and painted yellow. The trees on the slopes above were barren and black from a burn.
We made good time here, as the trail continued to be both flat and firm on the prairie above the beach. We reached Big Flat long before we anticipated.
True to form, I bungled a log crossing of Big Flat Creek and splashed into the small river. On the other side, we found the campground – and multiple campers! It was a bit jarring: because of the closure order, we’d expected to be truly on our own. But we’d just passed two, and here was a big group of along with two other couples!
Even though we were early, we weren’t early enough to start on the next tidally impassable section. We ran across Miller Flat to check it out and spent a little while looking out over the next stretch of coastline. But it was 11 am, and the tide was approaching the 3 foot mark.
A rather long rest
So we decided to retrace our steps to Miller Flat to in order to wait it out. On the way back, we startled a snake sunning itself, and passed through a small herd of deer. Kent requested shade, so we initially plopped down behind a giant log. But we were facing north, and strong winds chilled our sweaty skins. So we flipped around to the other, sunny side – and that was where we stayed.
I was hungry, and quickly ate my way through an energy bar, a bag of Ritz Bitz and a box of TicTacs. Kent lay on the sand and tried to sleep. High tide would have us out of action for a minimum of four hours, making this also one of our strangest runs ever.
The sand was soft and the sun was warm, so lounging was easy. But sleeping was difficult. We’d just run 30 kilometers and we had 10 more to go. Kent was also extremely thirsty, and we were on severe water rations. So instead of sleeping, we talked, looked around, changed positions, sometimes ate things out of our packs and dusted off sandy feet.
At one point I covered my face and must have fallen asleep. I woke up parched and with sunburned hands. By 3:30 pm, we couldn’t wait any longer. We decided to pack up and slowly start on the remaining section of the Lost Coast Trail.
The last leg
With the sun directly overhead and from the high vantage point of the trail, the sea was that unbelievable aquamarine color usually associated with the tropics. We descended towards it on a tricky landslide of a trail, landing back on the beach.
There were so many wonders: the perfect line separating dry matte and shiny wet rocks, the sound of the waves pulling pebbles back to the sea. Here the beach was a thin, sloped black band between towering cliffs and crashing waves.
With the tide just below the three-foot mark, the beach was narrow but easily passable. A stretch of sand gave way to boulders. We rock-hopped until the exertion undid Kent’s laces, and there we paused again.
I look hilarious in photos from this point. After my midday super sun exposure, I donned all of my protective gear. Despite the late afternoon heat, I wore black gloves and a buff pulled up over my face. And I was already wearing a hat and sunglasses for the glare, and tights and long-sleeves against the floral hazards of the trail (poison oak is abundant and May is the height of its blooming season). Kent thought I resembled the small but mighty and famously sun-averse Korean grammas we’d seen so often on our runs on the peninsula.
I successfully navigated my way across Shipman Creek without getting wet and was quite proud of myself! Shortly beyond, a landslip presented new hazards in the form of giant boulders and downed trees.
Around this point, we began to see civilization ahead. I couldn’t make out distinct features, but bright glints on the hillside gave away the houses of Shelter Cove. Although it was exciting that the end was in sight, and although I was eager to explore Shelter Cove, I found myself wanting to look over my shoulder. My favorite view was of the wilderness we were still part of.
At different points on the Lost Coast Trail, we had vast views. But now, a tall rocky cliff topped by greenery prevented us seeing back the way we’d come. But I liked that: it felt like the very end of the Earth.
The terrain in this last stretch was largely the characteristic black sand of the Lost Coast Trail. Our feet sank into it and slowed our movement – but it was perfect for writing on!
We slowed down to savor everything: our last creek crossing (Horse Mountain Creek!), the texture of the sand underfoot, the unique late afternoon light on the ocean and the feeling of just having done something amazing.
The waves lapped up high on the beach. Just beyond, the continental shelf quickly drops thousands of meters into deep water. Running past Split Rock, we encountered another runner who gave us a big smile and a thumbs up. Closer to Shelter Cove, a man seated high on a different rock waved to us.
A happy ending
The trail seemed to end suddenly: a well-trodden path led up a staircase and into a parking lot. But I wasn’t ready to stop. I thought the trail would end at the point that we’d been able to see from so far away. So I ran towards a cluster of huge black rocks that were being battered by waves. Kent followed me until he couldn’t anymore.
When he called to me, I quickly turned around and began the business of wrapping up our run. I called Bill about our shuttle, and offered Kent the last sip of my water. Meanwhile, the guy atop the rock was eager to chat with us. He offered his congratulations, and said he could tell from our packs that we’d just done something epic. Also eager to talk about the Lost Coast, I stopped the watch and we told him about our day.
This quickly turned into one of the best run endings of all time. Cameron quickly climbed down and offered Kent a beer, which he absolutely ate. His girlfriend, the runner from the beach, joined him and we stood around chatting like old friends. They were two of the most enthusiastic, supportive people that I’ve ever met, and the time between the end of our run and our pre-arranged pick-up passed like no time at all.
Armed with another beer for the road, Kent and I hopped in the back of Bill’s Lost Coast Shuttle for the long trip back to the trailhead on inland roads. Bill was full of stories of local lore and adventure, and we strained to catch everything as his shuttle bumped us along the rough road.
We returned to Ravi the adventuremobile just after sunset. It was time for another drive in the dark. We’d stashed cans of coffee in the car, so Kent was prepared for the trip. But I made very few memories of the drive home: unable to stop myself from taking micro naps as I struggled to maintain conversation.
It should also be pointed out that Kent did this run on a liter of water and half an energy bar. After getting so sick in the morning, all of our normal trail snacks disgusted him and he didn’t eat. I, on the other hand, can’t run a 5k without several bars: making his mastery of his muscles all the more amazing to me.
When we got home, we had just enough energy to clean the worst of the sweat and grime off with baby wipes. We also discovered that Kent had an amazing forehead tan line. We slept deeply, and when we woke up, we headed immediately back to Lost Coast for more.
Know and Go! Lost Coast Trail
Transportation
You will need your own wheels to get to this remote part of the world, my friend. The King Range conservation area is a 4 hour drive north of San Francisco. It’s also 2-3 hours south of tiny regional Arcata-Eureka airport. So yeah, having a car would be a huge help in terms of getting to the Lost Coast.
Once here, it’s important to recognize that this is a point-to-point trail, so you will need to arrange for transportation. I’ve read about key swaps, but have no idea how you could go about doing that. So I’m going to plug Bill’s Lost Coast Shuttle. Bill is a great guy. He does not have a website, so you’ll have to call him. But he will tell you everything you need to know about this trail, get you where you want to go, and then you’ll be friends. Lost Coast Adventure is another local operator offering tours and shuttles.
All the rest of the transportation on the Lost Coast Trail is on foot – and that’s of course, one of the very best things about it!
Hike & Run
Most people hike the Lost Coast Trail over a period of days. If I were to do it again, I would consider doing this. Part of the appeal of this trail is the wild, remoteness of it. A longer itinerary allows you to spend more time enjoying your favorite places. That also gives you more time for magical mornings, epic evenings and dark nights full of starry skies. A cap on hiker numbers introduced in recent years guarantees you’ll never share the trail with more than a few dozen people.
Cynics say the Lost Coast has been found, but I beg to differ. If you opt to run this trail, and if you can go out of peak season, you will find solitude. You might see a handful of other humans at the campsites, but for the most part, you’ll have the trails to yourself. Also, famous places are famous for a reason, right? The sheer awesomeness of the rugged coast that rerouted a national highway and the waves full of marine mammals are not to be missed.
Hike it or run it: the Lost Coast is a treat for the feet.
Stay & Eat
…on your own, of course! Accommodation can be had in Shelter Cove at the southern terminus of the trail. There’s also a general store and a couple of restaurants. In the north, expect to find unmanned campsites miles from the nearest tiny town.
Along the trail, hikers are encouraged to use pre-existing campsites. These are usually located near creeks and on the flats. Avoid camping on the beach if you want to stay safe and dry!
Definitely bring your own food. There is a small store in Shelter Cove, but you want to come prepared with what you want to consume, whether you’re hiking or running. Only you know your caloric requirements, so make sure you have them in mind when you’re packing!
Last but not least, the most important consideration is water! Kent and I each took about 1.7 L on our run, so I can tell you from experience that is not sufficient! Water needs vary between individuals, and on a cloudy or rainy day you might want to drink less. But when it comes to water, too much is definitely better than too little. Luckily, there are numerous streams, and you can drink from them provided you use a filter or chemical treatment. Don’t drink untreated water: livestock inhabit the hills and wildlife roam the King Range forests.
Other Notes
A couple of other things you might find useful for this adventure: an app for tide times that you can use offline, as well as offline maps. I personally use NOAA’s Tide Alert and Avenza Maps. Also, make sure you do proper advance planning, particularly if you are doing a one-day exploration. You’re going to need to know exactly where those impassable zones are, where you can get water and possible bailout points. It’s also not a bad idea to estimate your pace for each section so you can stay on top of your day.
Be aware that backpacking and any overnight use of the Lost Coast Trail requires a permit. Be sure to get one before you go!
Kent and I ran the Lost Coast on a sunny Saturday in May 2020. It was exactly 45 kilometers and took us exactly 8.5 hours of moving time.
It could definitely be done faster: we did a combination of running and hiking and didn’t skimp on sightseeing. It can also be done slower: it’s one of the most magical spots in the States to go backpacking.
This is truly one of my favorite trails on the planet. It’s an all-time great. I cannot recommend it highly enough. You will love the Lost Coast.
For your planning purposes, check out the BLM’s Lost Coast page to get the latest on trail conditions and closures. Download this map. Get inspired by other blogs (I liked this one and this one). Then go get it! Here’s hoping you love the Lost Coast Trail as much as I did.
Want more adventures like this? Continue on the Lost Coast Trail: South section! Or, climb Punta or King Peak for birds eye views of the Lost Coast. Check out the King Range main page for all your local options. Or linger in Sinkyone Wilderness State Park!