Getting Lost
With most of our family and friends visits out of the way, we had time to take our first adventure of the year. The Lost Coast has been on our todo list since last year’s drive north through California. It’s a stretch of coastline through California’s King Range—good for temperatures and scenery—with a backpacking trail and a single dirt road connecting Rockport and Ferndale. Rugged and dusty, but that’s exactly why we bought a van like Marcel.
We fueled up, topped off our water tanks, bought some provisions, then turned off Highway 1 onto a dirt road barely visible from the asphalt. It immediately started climbing up the side of a mountain and into the Lost Coast Redwoods. The first miles brought us up those mountains—sometimes with dramatic views of the Pacific Ocean below. We took our time, listening to Marcel moan and creak under the stress of hauling its own weight—nearly 5 tons—up and over each obstacle. An hour in, we started descending the other side toward a well-known beach-camping spot: Usal Beach.
Usal is the primary stop for most people on this road. Most turn around after a few days of camping and partying, but we’d just gotten started. We stayed a couple nights among the trees just off the beach in our own slice of the camping area. Finally able to sit still, get some work done, and explore a bit—this was close to exactly what we were looking for. Only problem: its popularity. We were one of about two dozen campers, some in the trees with us, some out on the beach in view. The place has a reputation for getting rowdy on weekends, which made our mid-week arrival perfectly timed. By our third day, we were ready to move on.
Leaving Usal, the dirt road gives you two options: turn back or continue north. Both involve a big climb. We shifted Marcel into 4-low and took the road we hadn’t traveled yet. Another couple hours of tight, twisty road through the coastal mountains ended at an intersection with asphalt. To the left, down nearly 2,000 feet, sits the small town of Shelter Cove—on Kerri’s radar for an overnight explore. We made the drop and arrived at the only campground-slash-RV-park in town. It was nearly full and damn expensive. We paid up for a single night and went out on foot for dinner. Despite the crowded campground, it was a quiet night. Breakfast at a small bakery on the coast, then we moved on. On the plus-side, we both got a shower in.
After climbing back up the same elevation (clenched teeth, worried about overheating), we took the other fork at the intersection to head north on the dirt road. A couple spots on the map looked good for an overnight break. The first was occupied, the second wasn’t up to our standards. We finally pulled into an established campground and parked under a large tree. No opening in the canopy for Starlink to reach us, but a day offline was going to work out fine.
I tackled a few odd jobs on the van—wiring up an auxiliary fan to keep the engine cool at low speeds, fixing some fuel pump wiring that was on the brink of burning out—while Kerri settled in with a stack of books. The wind that day was brisk, but by evening it was a proper gale. Earlier that same day, Kerri heard a story about a tree falling in a windstorm in a nearby campground, pinning a camper underneath for two days before help arrived. Needless to say, she didn’t sleep much that night. I slept like a baby.
Having survived the windy night under the trees, we continued north. A few hours of slow, uneventful driving and we were looking down at our next destination: Mattole Beach, an established (read: popular) beachfront camping spot at the end—or start—of the Lost Coast Backpacking trail. Both nights were quite windy, but Marcel needed rest and we needed to work. A vault toilet and trash cans are a major luxury for us, and it was nice to have them. We strolled out to the beach each night to catch what little sunset we could—fog and clouds kept the full view from us.
With our next family visit still a few days away and no rush to get back to civilization, we packed up and jumped back in for a few-mile hop up the mountain to the south. Down a rough 4×4 road sits Windy Point, 600 feet above the beach with views out into the Pacific and solid solitude. We arrived in fair weather, but by evening the wind and fog had moved in. The name should have been a clue, but I’d ignored it. By morning it had set in thick, and with nothing to see—fog and all—we decided to head back down in search of river-side camping.
Once back at sea level, the wind had abated and the sun was peeking through the fog. We picked our way down what generously qualified as a “dirt road,” which led straight onto the river rocks and banks of the Mattole River. We didn’t drive far, just enough to find solitude with the river sliding gently past our windows. Exactly what we both needed: camping on a mountain river with the sun keeping us warm but not hot. We worked until near sunset, then got out for a short walk, air-fried hot dogs, and a cocktail. Perfect day.
