Redwoods

Feeling parched from the last few days of volcanic activity -- well, witnessing the after effects, anyway -- at Mt. Rainier, St. Helen's, and Crater Lake, I felt I need to take the day off. I turned my car towards the coast for a day of moisture, green plants, shady groves, and a different kind of inspiration: Redwood Country.

I soothed my conscience by noting that exploring Redwoods National and State Parks was indeed, a worthy enterprise. It did, you see, qualify as a member of the target group of my investigations. But it was off the official track of the 1920 Park-to-Park dedication tour route.

I reminded myself that the original tour members were slackers in some cases. They never saw Crater Lake (the Rim Road was not completed until later), nor did they ever see Lassen Volcanic National Park (there were no roads into that park in 1920). I felt I could be forgiven a slight diversion from the tour especially since it was my birthday.

And a wonderful birthday it was, too. In my race around the parks of the Northwest, I had been flying. My tight schedule forced me to cover huge distances and digest enormous of information in a short period of time. Once I picked up the kids in San Francisco, I can take it easier. At least that's what I tell myself.

In Frommer's guide to the Western National Parks, I found the Historic Requa Inn, a bed and breakfast housed in a 1914 inn overlooking the Klamath River, between the northern and southern sections of the Redwoods parks. The inn lies in an area of delicate balance between fog and sun. As I look out from the sitting room windows, the top of the hill across the river is swathed in a cottony layer of mist. But the tree line along the river is clear, as is the road and the inn itself. Sun seems to be breaking through in one spot, marked by a brilliant patch of fog, just over the next hill to the east.

Mouth of the Klamath River, near Requa, CA.

Yesterday's explorations took me south of the towns of Requa/Klamath to the peninsula that marks the beginning of the southern section of the parks. I drove first the Klamath Beach Road, which curls around the tip of the peninsula at the south side of the river's outlet to the sea. There, the spectacular views of the coast were unsullied, for the most part, by other cars filled with tourists like myself. Wildflowers populated the road side in great abundance Foxglove, wild roses, tiger lilies and many I couldn't name. Maybe I will get lucky and find then in the wildflower guides for the western region I purchased yesterday.

There were a couple of interesting sites along the road, including the old entrance to a memorial bridge, since replaced, which was guarded by enormous statues of bears one at either side. Then, there was the radar station from World War II, disguised as a farmstead. From a distance, no doubt, it would have looked authentic. Viewing it up close, however, it became a concrete-block bunker, with a reinforced roof made to look like wood shingles.

Leaving those sites behind, I turned south to follow the Newton B. Drury Scenic Drive through magnificent stands of enormous redwoods, some 15 feet or more in diameter. Golden light filtered through the tops of the trees and splashed the ferns at the base of the trees. In the shadows, plants and flowers took on a blue cast.

I stopped at Big Tree, a pullout where there were several paths that seemed about my speed. Still suffering the effects of a broken foot suffered last winter, I still didn't feel sure-footed. And also ... there were the bears. I did not want to get any closer to bears than the ones that guarded the defunct memorial bridge over the Klamath.

Big Tree offered not only Big Tree itself (a specimen over 1000 years old), but also a perfect stroll through the Cathedral of Trees” and several other well-worn footpaths. Fortunately there were other people around. The bears would probably prefer those other people, I thought, if they weren't already frightened away by our shear numbers or the whoops of small children discovering hidey-holes in the trunks of these massive trees.

As I entered the grove, it was magical. In spite of the whoops, the people, the well-worn paths, it is impossible to become unmoved by the majestic redwoods. You feel you are in the presence of great spirits. Wisdom, endurance, constancy, strength - the trees embody these qualities and more.

Like most of the places I have been, I try to study up before I write about them. With the redwoods, the primary impact is not intellectual, but emotional. Yes, I will eventually study more about them, I will explore the history of how they were saved from destruction from being clear-cut by the logging interests, which only occurred only within the last 50 years. But, first and foremost, the redwood country is a magical place where intellect is secondary. It is a place where wonder dominates.