The north coast of Oregon consists mainly of long, sandy beaches, attractive to beachcombers and surfers but not particularly appealing to kayakers. Every few miles, however, rocky headlands punctuate the coast. These landforms create a much more enticing environment for kayakers. The headlands and their associated offshore islands offer seabird colonies, sea caves, and the rare chance to be alone on a coast that is otherwise too easily accessible by car.
On this overly developed coast, wilderness camping opportunities are all but nonexistent. Rather than paddle from campsite to campsite, as kayakers do in Washington and British Columbia, it makes more sense to paddle the Oregon coast in a series of day trips. Over the course of three paddling days, from south to north, I kayaked Cape Kiwanda, Cape Lookout, and Cape Falcon.
Route map for Cape Kiwanda. Parking near the beach access was full, so I parked in a public lot several blocks south and wheeled my kayak through town.
Cape Kiwanda is the most geologically unusual of the north coast’s headlands, in that it is composed of sandstone instead of the more common basalt. Aesthetically, it looks like it belongs in California, some 200 miles (320 km) south, not here in our rocky, green Pacific Northwest.
As a sandstone cape, Cape Kiwanda is remarkably unstable, even by the usual standards of coastal capes. Caves and arches at the edge of Cape Kiwanda collapse without warning, including in 2011 and 2021. Two enormous sinkholes appeared in the heart of the cape in 2023, forcing Oregon State Parks to fence off part of the area. Someday in the future, all this sandstone will be reduced to mere sand.
For now, Cape Kiwanda remains intact, although it is not an easy place to kayak. Winds of fifteen to twenty knots, with waves and swell to match, prevented me from rounding the northern tip of the cape and entering the caves. So long as I kept to the leeward side of the cape, the paddling was easy, but sticking my nose out only led to a battering.
As a consolation prize, I visited Haystack Rock. This is not the famous Haystack Rock off Cannon Beach but rather a similar-looking, identically named feature farther south. Both Haystack Rocks are significant nesting sites for seabirds, especially common murres. To my delight, the Haystack Rock here at Cape Kiwanda was covered with them.
The other two attractions at Cape Kiwanda are the Great Dune and the dories. The Great Dune is exactly what it sounds like, a pile of sand 220 feet (67 m) high. It is steep enough that people ride “sandboards” down its face, like snowboarding but with better weather.
The Cape Kiwanda dories are flat-bottomed, open-hulled fishing boats that launch from the beach, directly into the surf. The original dories of the late nineteenth century were powered by oars. The modern ones, of course, use outboards, but they are still shoved off the beach by hand. It is unlike any other commercial fishing fleet in the world.
View of Cape Kiwanda and Haystack Rock from atop dunes. The Oregon coast is justly famous for its scenery.
Rock shelf, Cape Kiwanda. As is the case with most headlands, the sea caves are most accessible to kayakers during the highest tides.
Sea cave, Cape Kiwanda. A dense field of boomers repulsed my attempts to enter this cave, but on a day of low swell it would be accessible.
Kayaking bluffs at Cape Kiwanda. Although the terrain and vegetation look almost Mediterranean, the climate is classic Pacific Northwest.
Haystack Rock, Cape Kiwanda. Landing is prohibited, because the rock is part of the Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge.
Common murre colony atop Haystack Rock, Cape Kiwanda. It is rare in Washington to encounter such a large colony of common murres, but there are many such colonies in Oregon.
Hikers Chilkooting their way up Great Dune, Cape Kiwanda. I did not try sandboarding down the dune, but I couldn’t resist climbing to the top to make a downhill sprint.
Dory launching through surf, Cape Kiwanda. Powerboaters and kayakers often find reasons to disdain one another, but even a kayaker has to respect what these dorymen do.
Cape Lookout is the next cape up the beach from Cape Kiwanda. Cape Lookout is a more classic basalt formation. It extends a mile and a half (2.4 km) out to sea, like Oregon’s own miniature version of the Brooks Peninsula on Vancouver Island.
Unlike the Brooks, the only way to reach Cape Lookout is through the surf. I lucked out and found a stretch of beach in front of Cape Lookout State Park where the surf was breaking in only two lines instead of the three lines more common along the coast.
The caves at Cape Lookout are larger and deeper than the ones at Cape Kiwanda. They were also packed with seabirds at the time of my visit, mainly pigeon guillemots and common murres. I was loath to disturb the seabirds at this, one of their few refuges from human development, so I did not enter most of the largest caves.
Route map, Cape Lookout. Surf was lower in front of the park’s day use area than in front of the park’s camping area.
Cape Lookout seen from Cape Kiwanda. The surf may appear intimidating, but Oregon is a lee shore, so even a capsized, swimming kayaker will eventually be washed ashore.
Cape Lookout seen from north. Most of the campsites at Cape Lookout State Park are “dry” sites, meaning no hookups for RVs, so the park is mercifully quieter than most car-campgrounds.
Northeastern section of Cape Lookout. The swell impacting the cliffs throws up a scrim of mist that persists even during hot days.
Large cave at tip of Cape Lookout. This is the most obvious of the half dozen or so large caves found on both the north and south sides of the cape.
Kayaking through a tunnel, Cape Lookout. The caves on the leeward side were much easier to access than those on the windward side.
Kayaking south side of Cape Lookout. By tucking in close to the cape, it was possible to avoid both wind waves and swell.
Common murres off Cape Lookout. The murres assembled into rafts, dozens strong, to enjoy the protected waters south of the cape.
Murre colony, Cape Lookout. The cliffs at Cape Lookout are steep enough that murres can safely come to the mainland instead of remaining on offshore islands as they usually do.
Common murres in sea cave, Cape Lookout. How strange to think of birds living deep underground.
One of the reasons I like coming to Oregon is the chance to see wildlife that I can’t find at home in Washington. Although Oregon is both geographically and ecologically close to Washington, there are enough differences that I always see something unusual whenever I come. This time, I found a population of California ground squirrels at Cape Lookout. This species has entered Washington since 1912, when newly built bridges across the Columbia River afforded it access, but even today it remains much more common in Oregon than in Washington. I have never seen one in Washington, but I see at least one every time I come to Oregon.
More than anything else, I had hoped to find a wrentit, a small forest bird that, unlike the ground squirrel, has so far proved unable to take advantage of the bridges to cross the Columbia River into Washington. It had been decades since I last saw a wrentit, and as usual, I did not find one on this trip, either. The best land bird I did find was a black-throated gray warbler, my first of the year.
California ground squirrel, Cape Lookout. Although it looks like the familiar tree squirrels found in urban areas, and although it can readily climb trees, it is a true ground squirrel; it nests underground.
Cedar waxwings, Cape Lookout. This handsome species is found year-round in Washington and Oregon.
Barn swallow, Cape Lookout State Park. True to its name, this species prefers manmade structures when it comes to nest-building.
Brown pelicans, Cape Falcon. No other species than the brown pelican makes birds’ descent from dinosaurs more obvious to the casual observer.
Cape Falcon is the largest, ruggedest, and most difficult of the three capes. I tried launching for it my first morning in Oregon but could not punch out through the final line of breakers. I returned on my last morning in Oregon, when surf had reduced to a more manageable three to four feet.
After Cascade Head, Cape Falcon has the second-most sea caves of any cape in Oregon. With only a couple of exceptions, however, the caves at Cape Falcon are shallower than those at Cascade Head, such that most of the caves at Cape Falcon are neither challenging nor interesting to enter. The overall scenery, however, is superb. Here is the Pacific Northwest coast at its most iconic: trees, rocks, and clouds, stacked up hundreds of feet high.
Other than a few surfers nestled between the enclosing arms of Cape Falcon at Short Sands, I had the place to myself. I took my time exploring the various caves and arches. Many of the caves had blowholes hidden in back, which would spray water toward me in the the caves’ entrances when the swell hit just right.
One blowhole was located outside the caves in Smuggler Cove. Its spout reached so high I mistook it for the spout of a whale when I first noticed it at some miles’ distance.
Route map, Cape Falcon. Caves begin at the first headland and continue most of the way around Cape Falcon proper.
View of Cape Falcon from Manzanita. Another potential launch point I investigated is at Arch Cape.
Kayaking toward Cape Falcon. As at Cape Lookout, the cliffs here are steep enough to support mainland colonies of guillemots and murres.
Sea caves at Cape Falcon. From a distance it is impossible to tell which caves are too shallow to be worth entering and which extend far back beneath the headland.
Nosing into sea cave, Cape Falcon. Unlike at Cape Lookout, most of the caves at Cape Falcon were not home to seabirds, so I felt less inhibited about entering.
Kayaking Smuggler Cove, Cape Falcon. The surfers can keep their sandy beaches; here is a far more interesting environment to explore.
Blowhole, Smuggler Cove, Cape Falcon. This was the only blowhole I encountered that was not inside a cave.
Sea caves, Smuggler Cove. Although Smuggler Cove is home to the famous surfing beach of Short Sands, the cove itself is so sheltered it is a welcome refuge from the bumpier waters elsewhere along the cape.
Tunnel beneath Cape Falcon. At high tide, this tunnel was an easy traverse.
Cape Falcon seen from offshore. On this coast, the trees, rocks, and clouds strike a perfect balance.
Oregon is a funny place to kayak. The beaches and campgrounds are overrun with vehicle-borne tourists, but the headlands are free of any human presence whatsoever. Just half a mile from the highway, the kayaker finds himself alone in the world of nature. Half a mile further on, it’s back to the condos and RVs. I’m grateful for steep cliffs, strong wind, and high surf, for they form a moat around these precious natural fortresses.
—Alex Sidles