Back in Bamfield, a guest at the lodge asked me what I was most looking forward to on my trip. I told them the original motivation was just coming out to visit Danielle, and that I was fortunate another friend would be meeting up with me for the second leg. “So seeing friends, really. Old friends and big old trees.” They laughed at this, but I meant it quite sincerely.
A barista in Portland told us “the redwoods walked for 10 million years to get to Northern California” and then stayed there because the climate suits them perfectly. They claimed to have watched a timelapse animation of this, but when I look for it I can’t find anything.
I learn instead that more than 100 milion years ago redwoods grew across most of North America. Sequoia fossils have been found in Alaska, Texas, Pennsylvania. When the Pleistocene glaciation slowly carved up the the continent, it confined the redwoods to a narrow strip along the Pacific Coast. It’s only been in the last century and a half that they’ve been reduced to about 3% of that territory. The suitability of the Northern California climate, with its temperate rainforest and persistent fog, is maybe the only part the barista got right.
Still, I love the image of slow, lumbering giants.
Eric and I arrive in Crescent City, California in the late afternoon. I booked our “Bigfoot Bungalo” BnB long before I knew just how seriously folks take Sasquatch up in these parts.
We chill for a bit, then head into town, which does not have a lot going on, to be honest. With the vauge notion of heading toward the water, we bumble our way to Battery Point, where a historic lighthouse up on a big rock formation is only accessible at low tide. We enjoy about 30 seconds of sunset before the clouds cover it up.
Back at the Bigfoot Bungalo, I hear Eric scream from his room. “Come look at this!” I turn the corner and see him dramatically pointing to a sign featuring Bigfoot slouching ominously toward Multnomah Falls, where we had stopped the day before.
“He was there all along, watching us! He probably saw you losing your shit.”
“That’s gotta be at least a Class D sighting.”
Strangely, we both have trouble sleeping and hear a lot of odd noises in the night. A horse farm next door probably accounts for most of it. But there was a persistent tapping that seemed to wander around the perimeter that we couldn’t explain.
I tell Eric, “I heard you get up to go to the bathroom, but the sound of the door seemed like it was somewhere else. I thought you were opening the back door and just walking out into the woods.”
Eric says he also woke to the sound of the bathroom door in the middle of the night, but I swear I didn’t get out of bed.
We stop for coffee on our way to the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, where we will visit the Grove of Giants. The barista asks where we’re going.
I’m a little embarrassed to sound like a tourist, but I suppose that’s what I am. “We are headed for Redwoods.”
“Are you going up Howland Hill Road?”
I don’t know what she means, so I just say, “We’re going to Jedediah Smith.”
She says, “You should go up Howland Hill Road. Everyone else will be coming in from 199 and it’ll be packed. Howland hill is just a small one lane, you’ll drive right through a huge old growth section then it turns into the main lane that runs through the park.”
“Oh, sick. That’s a great tip.”
We joke in the car that we’re about to get highway robbed, but this back route pays off almost immediately. We turn off of 101 onto Elk Valley Road and run into a herd.
Then we veer off on a dirt road and roll into the woods.
When we had checked the forecast the night before, it looked like we might be getting some heavy morning showers. But a gentle sprinkle is all we have to contend with, and really only adds to the experience.
We follow a trail lined with some jawdroppers. It’s only after a mile or so that I realize we haven’t yet reached the actual Grove of Titans. I don’t know if I will be able to handle it.
When we finally get there a simple sign says, “You are now entering the heart of the forest.”
I guess it’s like I’ve heard other people say. The scale doesn’t really translate in photos.
Any time I get brave enough to I look up, I stumble forward. Standing before the largest one, which according to signs at the entrance must be at least 2,000 years old, my knees buckle and I’m laughing hysterically, almost weeping.
(Caught losing it by Eric)
Maybe more than the sheer size, it’s difficult to explain what it feels like to be in the presence of something so enormous that is also alive.
Back on our good friend route 101, we catch a few more staggering ocean views before it curves inland again.
Along the five and a half hour drive to Santa Rosa, we watch the terrain change from forested mountains thick with fog to scrubby hills rising above valleys of vineyards.
We did make one other important stop.
