The trail to McCall point is fucking gorgeous. In mid-May, the wildflowers are hard not to admire and engulf nearly the entire length of the trail, save for the few mini-oak groves it wanders through. As you ascend, the local volcanoes begin to show themselves: namely Mt. Adam's and Mt. Hood. To the north runs the Columbia - exposed are the jarringly square cut banks, chiseled by the ice bergs who flooded to the Pacific some 17,000 years ago at the end of the last ice age. Even though the trail is short, I could spend a lot of time here.
I arrived at Baker Beach on a cunty, stormy day looking for secluded surf - I found it. Just to the north of Florence, OR and the famous coastal dunes, this beach is girded by short mounds of sand, covered in coastal grass, that extend the half mile or so back to Baker campground. Though the weather didn't cooperate with plans to get in the water, the beach was a worthy stop.
During three trips to the OR coast, I eerily ended up here by chance each time. The first visit, I pulled off the highway to sleep for the night just before the parking lot - checked it out in the morning. The next was a do or die bathroom break - the carpet car seat happened to be saved from a fate of shit stain by the Devils Churn head. The third time was another sleep stop: again, I didn't even realize where I was until morning. The Churn is fantastic for finding peace amongst violence and chaos. A great place to spread a loved ones ashes, or smoke a number, or both.
This was my first taste of PNW rainforest. The intensity of the flora is palpable. So much floral fornication - and so green! Needless to say, it makes for a shitty disc golfing experience if you're a shitty disc golfer like me.