Hiking Slowly
I am learning that I can make all the plans that I want to, but the Universe makes the final decisions about where I actually get to explore. Visiting the coast of Northern California, I was so close to the Humboldt Redwoods State Park that I just had to visit, and there was no way I was going to drive down the Avenue of the Giants without getting out of the car and venturing out into the forest. I had three different trails on my list but, like I said, the Universe had different plans. One trailhead started in a campground, which was closed for the winter. Another had way too many cars in the parking lot, and I was looking for a peaceful journey. The third trail, Gould Grove Nature Loop, seemed to be pretty empty so I zipped into the parking lot, grabbed my backpack, and headed out.
The lot was at a Ranger Station with several buildings, a grassy area with some benches in the center, and a Visitor’s Center. I stopped to admire the bare trees lining the road and covered in green moss before heading across the street and into the forest. The path was wide and flat and very well marked. And the trees...there are no words. Well, I guess there are, because I'm typing them, but they absolutely will not suffice. Still, I'll try my best.
It was cold and I could see my breath as I stepped into the grove. Pausing to listen to the silence, I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood and damp earth. Feeling calm washing over me, I opened my eyes and was surrounded by deep red shades of mahogany and rust, browns resembling milk chocolate and cinnamon, and hints of black brushed in long upward strokes along the trunks. Only when I looked out into the distance did I see the green of the pine needles, thriving hundreds of feet above me, swaying in the breeze, basking in the warmth of the sun, absorbing the daylight and blanketing the forest floor in their shadow.
Feeling every bit like a speck on their timeline, I moved forward along the trail passing dozens of fallen trees with masses of roots spanning twice my height (yeah, I'm a shorty, but that's still at least 10 feet!). Most were left as they fell, providing shelter to little critters, giving mosses and fungi a place to grow, and decomposing to release their nutrients back into the earth. Some trees had fallen across the path, and a section of the trunk had been cut out, exposing the center. I was surprised to see that the outer layers of bark were much more dense and substantial, while the interior, called the heartwood, of the tree was porous and delicate. During extreme fires this heartwood will burn creating caves called goosepens, which provide homes for wildlife.
Rounding a bend, I came to a tree with two massive growths called burls, about half way up the trunk. Inside of these live hundreds of cloned buds, which can sprout into new saplings if the tree is over-stressed. Cloned buds - that means a tree with the exact same genetic material will begin again. Forget Dolly the sheep, Mother Nature has been cloning things for thousands of years. Mind blowing.
In addition to having a heart and being able to clone itself, these massive trees also have something called widowmakers. As a tree grows, the lower branches (which can be a hundred feet high) are shaded and can no longer photosynthesize and produce nutrients and energy for the tree. As the branches become unnecessary, the tree sheds them letting them fall to the ground and impale anything in its way. On that note, I'll leave you with one bit of advice: remember to look up.
