Avenue of the Giants

Its winter where I live. The air is cold and dry. There is enough snow that most of the trails are closed but not enough to stick and make everything look fresh and new. Feeling a little house-bound, I was really craving a sunset and the Pacific. So I headed west, over the mountains of the Trinity National Forest (where I got caught in a speed trap of no less than eight, yes EIGHT, cruisers with nothing better to do than sit by the side of the road and wait for weekend travelers) and ended up in Eureka.

As I was driving through the mountains, I had visions of an ocean view magically appearing as I drove toward the Pacific. That didn't happen, but I did arrive in town just in time to catch the last light of the sunset on Humboldt Bay. Let the weekend begin!

I live in a forest of pine trees, so I was planning to just stick to the coast. After all, how different can one conifer be from another? But, I was so close to Humboldt Redwoods State Park and the Avenue of the Giants, that I couldn't really pass up such a beautiful drive, some new trails, and the opportunity to be reminded about the vast differences that exist within a species.

My plan was to start the 31 mile driving trail at its southernmost end, so I headed south on the highway. This drive, in and of itself, is gorgeous. The highway meanders along the Eel River and the forest is so dense that most of the road is shaded and you cannot see between the trees.

As I exited the highway and turned north on the Avenue of the Giants, the road narrowed and my car and I were enveloped in nature. The trees are so close that a passenger could reach out and touch a tree at any given moment. Humans may have built the road, but it is very clear that the forest owns this space and the humans are only visiting.

I tried to have a plan, but that got thrown out the window (or left on the desk in the hotel - for the best, probably) so I just drove. There are spaces to pull over all along the trail, and I took advantage of those spaces, the first one was magical. I pulled over just before the Fish Creek Bridge, got out of my car looking across the street to see if there was a trailhead, and then I turned and Mother Nature took my breath away. Literally.

I approached slowly, walked around the massive trunk, took in the beautiful, damp, red bark, breathed in the fresh air that smelled like fresh cut firewood, looked up, and cried. If you ever need a reminder of how small humanity is, how insignificant today's worries are, just stand next to an ancient Redwood and be still. As I write this memory, I find myself pausing again.

But...this is a pause and not a stop, so I pressed on. Since there was a bridge I figured there was water, so I went to look for the river. I was surprised to find that the stream was really just a trickle and that throughout the park most of the streams were dry, even though the ground and tree trunks were wet. While the damp air made the temperature feel colder, it also allowed a bright, yellow-green moss to grow on the trunks of deciduous trees at the visitor center. It was bright and shone beautifully against the dark red of the massive trees in the forest.

As I continued north on the shady road, I passed by quaint little towns (one with a population of 34), stopped at a post office, shopped at a little store, and was desperately hoping to find a spot where I could walk down to the Eel River. The riverbed was really wide but there wasn't a lot of water, the whole thing looked like it was just waiting for someone to put a chair or blanket down on the pebbly rocks and watch the water flow by.

I came to the end of the 31 mile Avenue, headed north on the Highway, and found that there was a lot more to see. I stopped at a little picnic area and found an expansive view of the river. I crossed over a beautiful, old, metal bridge, and yelled out in frustration when there was nowhere to pull over and watch the fog rolling in up the side of the mountains. I guess those pictures were just meant to live in my mind's eye.