The Northern Redwoods, part 1

Reputedly, when I was four years old I hiked an entire Redwood forest without a grumble. The journey is said to have taken a full day. I, unfortunately, don't remember my good attitude or much of what I saw. But one of those mental pictures that occasionally floats into my consciousness—generally in response to a certain combination of air temperature and dampness dangling from greenery—is of a very large Redwood, which I believe I walked through, and which therefore left in my mind an association of Redwoods with wonderland. Add to that a fanaticism developed around the same age for all things Star Wars—and thus an insuppressible urge to look for Ewoks when I set foot among Redwoods—and you can imagine how readily I agreed when my mother suggested that after Thanksgiving we should drive to the northernmost of the Redwood forests in California and spend a few days exploring.

Day 1
We left early Friday morning on one of those crystal-clear, crisp days that make San Francisco a hard place to imagine not living despite the bizarre climate. We spent 9.5 hours (including a few small excursions) alternately traveling alongside the Pacific Ocean and dipping in and out of forested valleys and rises to finally reach the town of Trinidad around 6 pm. It had been a lovely day, but we were more than ready to get out of the car when we parked outside the Lost Whale Inn.

The minute we entered, I knew I would love staying here. A young couple sat at a large wooden table like you'd find in a kitchen, sipping tea and talking quietly. An older pair lounged on a sofa, flipping through magazines with their feet up as though in their own living room. A fire flickered behind the piano. (The piano!) As we shut the door, the owner greeted us with a hearty hello, handshakes that could have been hugs, and a glowing smile. As she led us around—showing us the tv room, the hot tub, the moon, the ocean, our bedrooms, the hallway table laden with packets of tea and cocoa, mugs, and hot water—it took all of three minutes for me to feel at home. Then she suggested we come downstairs for clam chowder, which we did—and which we enjoyed so much we had seconds. She also pointed out the open bottles of wine that we were free to pour from, the punch her husband had made, and the home-made cookies piled on a plate at the end of the counter. How often does one feel so content so immediately? And I haven't even mentioned how well I slept in that bed, or how the skylight in my room let me see stars just before I closed my eyes.

Day 2
Feeling about as refreshed as one can upon waking, I was excited the next day to get out into the trees. A number of large lagoons lie just behind the seashore north of Trinidad, and these we circled around slowly, enjoying watching the Pacific roll in to meet them. Shortly we entered the Prairie Creek Redwoods, where ancient trees rise with perfect verticality on all sides of you, wherever you are. You have to lean your head way back to see the tops of these 300+-foot-tall-monsters, and even then, you know you are fooling yourself to think you can really see so high. What is more readily conceivable is the girth of the trees, some of which have grown to 25 or 30 feet in diameter. Most impressive is the aptly named Big Tree, which is breathtakingly old at 1,500 years. I had a wonderful time wandering far below the tallest branches, studying bark patterns and tree groupings and wishing the sun would come out so I could take more photos. There is a magical geometry to the Redwoods that I could take in for days and days. Each trunk is vertically striated, and on the occasional tree, the channels in the bark run perfectly upward, as appallingly upright as the sun-loving trees. But on others, they twist around the tree, as though a large hand gripped the cylinder and gave it a turn; and on still others, the wales crisscross as though braided, and sometimes burls lunge out or stout branches shower a splay of needles off an otherwise barren trunk. Amidst the Redwoods, deciduous trees like alders and vine maples fill in the spaces between behemoths, and some of them drip with lichen impersonating Spanish moss. When occasionally the sun glints through the branches, the green outlines of these enshrouded trees glow yellow and capture that wondrous feeling that my mind always associates with the Redwood forest.

Though I could happily have stayed for many more hours, we ran out of trails on which to meander, and so we drove onward, exiting the main road and taking a gravelly coastal drive that I recommend to anyone even just passing through this part of the state. As the road rises, a seashore hides below; I did not know Gold Bluffs Beach existed until we stood many hundreds of feet above it—maybe even one or two thousand. Leaning over the stone wall of the overlook, we watched swells roll in from as far as a mile out. Perfectly spaced, perfectly timed, they gave the impression of choreography.

As the light dimmed, we drove back downward, exiting near the mouth of the Klamath River and returning to the Norman B. Drury scenic highway. I recommend always choosing this route over 101, which is longer and passes only new-growth conifers. The scenic highway runs right through the Redwoods and ends near a meadow positively filled with Roosevelt elk in the last light of day. As we drove home, we discovered that the elk live all over the region, grazing not only in protected areas but also in front yards and side yards and along the shoulders of roads. We enjoyed stopping every few minutes to admire them, and we were equally pleased at the opportunity the end-of-day viewings gave us to spot egrets dotting the trees and marshes.