Location:
Suislaw National Forest, near Lincoln City, Oregon
Access: There
are two ways to get to this place, both involving significant mileage on
a twisty one-lane mountain road where you can rarely exceed 25 mph. From
Hwy 101 north of Lincoln, take Drift Creek Rd east, turn south on S Drift
Creek Rd for ¼ mile, turn left onto FR 17 and drive 10.3 miles to
the Drift Creek TH. Alternately, from south of Lincoln City, take Hwy 18
east from Hwy 101 4.5 miles, turn south on Bear Creek County Rd for 3.5
miles, then turn left on FR 17 and drive 7 miles to the TH.
Trail: Easy,
light grade, wide, well-defined. The trail gets slick in places going from
the bridge down to the base of the falls. Distance is 3 miles roundtrip,
with an elevation loss to the base of the falls from the TH of 400 ft.
Fees: $5 daily
pass or $10 weekly Forest Pass
Dogs: Leashed
pets allowed
August 13, 2007
After leaving Harts Cove around noon, we made
straightaway for Drift Creek Falls west of Lincoln City. The drive to the
trailhead was pretty long and tedious, what with more than 10 miles of
it being on a winding, one-lane mountain road with pullouts. Drowsiness
overtook both of us on this road, as the sweeping curves and speckled sunshine
on the road lolled us to near sleep. Andra was driving, and pulled off
into one of the pullouts where we both released the seatbacks and forthwith
fell sound asleep in the shade of maples. As the sun hit the car after
twenty minutes or so, I awoke to the heat and a swarm of bees thudding
against the car. We had parked in a patch of blooming blackberries, and
the bees were zipping around gathering nectar. Many of them found their
way through the open windows of the car, bonked around against the windshield
for several moments, then found their way out again. Andra woke up as the
sun made it unbearably hot in the car, and we resumed our trip up FR17.
The trailhead was obvious when we arrived,
and we parked. Almost instantly, a convoy of three cars pulled in from
the opposite direction and parked on either side of us. About 10 people
soon congregated right behind our car and we decided to wait for them to
move on before getting out and putting on hiking shoes. Trouble is, they
didn’t move on for quite some time. They talked and talked and talked and
talked. One loud old lady, whom we began to refer to as Aunt Marge, stopped
two couples of returning hikers and interrogated them hawkishly about the
trail: "Where does it go? How long is it? How long did it take you? Was
it difficult? Is the falls worth it? Was it steep?" At first annoyed by
the group of folks feet from our bumper that would not disperse, we soon
had difficulty quelling our laughter as we listened to the ridiculous fusillade
of questions from Aunt Marge through our open windows. I mean, "Is it worth
it?" is a pretty subjective question...what value would you get from any
answer to that? Finally, we decided such folks would undoubtedly hike slowly
if they ever actually got started, and we better get on the trail before
getting stuck behind the herd. Thus, we slipped out, threw our shoes on
and in a blink we were on the trail, leaving the ruckus of the parking
lot behind for the cool, quiet shadows of the woods ahead.
The trail was beautiful, especially in the
full brilliance of a sunny August afternoon, and we strode down the gentle,
wide slope quickly and easily. Initially, the trail led through a dense
thicket of younger hemlocks which blocked out so much light that not much
grew underneath. I’m not a fan of young hemlock stands. That soon ended,
however, and from there on, enormous Douglas firs and hemlocks lined the
trail, well-spaced so as to allow some light in, all of them interspersed
with vine maples draped in moss. Ferns exploded from the forest floor everywhere,
and periodic patches of blackberries provided convenient and tasty snacks.
It was a very enjoyable mile and a quarter
to a wooden-plank suspension bridge that spanned 200 feet across a 100-foot
deep chasm. Although held only by steel cables, the bridge was surprisingly
firm underfoot, and even though I jumped and swayed to shake the bridge
to discomfit Andra who was walking up ahead, I hardly managed to shimmy
the bridge at all. I earned a dark look from Andra, nonetheless. From the
middle of the bridge, I looked down to the stream below and from the cliff
side of this gentle stream came a beautiful 75-foot spout of water that
splashed into the green water at its base. The water sparkled brilliantly
in the sunshine. I photographed it, then turned to follow Andra, who had
already disappeared on the steep trail leading to the base of the falls.
I hurried after her, slipping once on the slick ground, but not falling.
When I completed the 3 switchbacks that brought
me out to the falls, Andra was already there, staring up at the tumult
of water from the shade of a giant maple tree. Three other people were
silently enjoying the spectacle. Andra took off her boots and socks and
waded into the cold water. Having no tolerance for cold feet, I kept my
boots on and slowly picked my way among the mossy, slick rocks at the edge
of the plunge pool for a closer vantage. After photographing the falls
and allowing myself several minutes of mindless mesmerization in the churning
waters of the plunge-pool, I carefully stepped back over to firmer ground
near Andra, who was standing ankle-deep in the water. She and I walked
over to a little overhang in the shade where maidenhair ferns were drooping
from the cracks which seeped water. She dried her feet with her socks and
put her boots back on. In a few moments, we were back on the trail.
Here came Aunt Marge’s group. An elderly man
in the van of the group asked me if the trail just went to the falls and
ended. I said yes, and that it was beautiful, and kept walking. Next came
Aunt Marge, who asked the same question, and I answered the same. After
seeing the plight of the trapped hikers in te parking lot, I resolved that
not stopping was my only defense against the interrogation. Unfortunately
she physically trapped Andra, who was walking behind me, and peppered her
with questions about the falls and the end of the trail, both of which
lay a mere 60 yards down the trail. I’ve never seen someone so opposed
to surprise as Aunt Marge. Noting that Andra had been caught, I slowed
and listened from above the trail as several other of their group passed
me quietly. As it became apparent from Andra’s responses to Aunt Marge’s
questions that the trail indeed ended no more than 60 yards down the trail
at the foot of the waterfall (which is all clear enough to anybody looking
down from the bridge), Aunt Marge and her husband proposed to the rest
of their group that they simply turn back now since the trail just ended
nearby and they would have to turn around and walk up the trail anyway.
Dumbfounded, I was amused. By that logic, why hike the trail at all? Andra
broke free with some encouraging words, and we quickly scuttled around
the bend to avoid more questioning. Their debate about whether to attempt
those last 60 grueling yards to the plunge pool was loud, and we could
hear them discussing it for the next minute while we hiked up the damp
clay of the shaded trail. I think if I had to hike with Aunt Marge she
would soon find herself in the plunge pool.
We arrived back at the bridge, and crossed
it again going the other way. Andra warned me not to try any funny stuff
like bouncing or swaying the bridge, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
The hike back was enjoyable, and we made the trip swiftly to arrive back
at the car about 2 hours after we had begun. We decided to drive out the
alternate way, and took FR 17 to Bear Creek County Rd which led, eventually,
to Highway 101 near Lincoln City. We got a little turned around in a residential
neighborhood going this way, but found the highway, and then headed south
towards other adventures.
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