The sun grew bold, piercing through the forest, creating stark contrast against the dark Redwoods. My adventure companion, Zach, and I were backpacking through the Redwood Forest in northern California on our way to the Pacific Ocean to the Golden Bluffs Campground. The hike in total was to be about seven miles, but just a few miles in my backpack was getting quite heavy. I kept adjusting the straps, raising it and lowering it on my back trying to find the most comfortable position. We could have driven to the campground, but I wanted the novelty of hiking across the forest and achieving that great sense of accomplishment.
Along the way it was rather interesting. Many of the Redwoods had hollow cavities, or had fallen to make natural bridges. I did cross one such bridge, and poked my head into a few tree cavities, but I wasn’t quite as far reaching as Zach, who climbed up into a few trees, reaching great heights. One of the first times we ever went hiking together I noted how much he truly interacts with the forest. In the Big South Fork, back in Kentucky he’d shimmy his way up a tree trunk, just hugging onto it. He’d be atop a giant boulder in a matter of seconds, and he’d pick a vine or plant from the forest and tie it around his wrist. He was a creature of the wild.
With the light shining so powerfully above and really spilling into the forest, it revealed how the forest wasn’t as dense as previously perceived. Yes, there were lots of ferns everywhere, and a Redwood can be found in any direction. However, apart from the Redwoods, other trees were absent, and the Redwoods don’t branch and sprawl like some other trees, but more like bloom towards their tops, leaving a vacancy in the forest, a void space between one tree and the next. The path we were on was also a well-worn one, so I didn’t quite feel as though I was the wildest of places that I had perhaps expected. It was a pretty well worn playground. We were on a path called the John Irvine Loop and technically we were not in the National Park, but a state park. The area’s full name is “Redwood Forest National and State Parks.” That’s what all the signage proclaimed. It’s a conglomerate of state parks and one limited region of federal land. Its three most comprising parks are Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, Del Norte Coast Redwood State Park, and Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. We were in the latter.
In my book, Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Parks and beautiful wild I made a lot of Star Wars references. I was a considerable fan at the time, but I’m sad of what has come of the franchise. I do believe however, here it is worth mentioning that the Redwood Forest is the planet of Endor in Return of the Jedi. It’s the land of Ewoks and imperial speeders zooming past Redwoods and giant ferns. If anyone has seen the movie, this just helps paint a visual. I was getting a little worn out by the scenery however. It was the weight on my back, and the hard worn trail, that I believe were getting to me. After a while the landscape was a bit monotonous. I had tried to take many photos but the great contrast in lighting made it hard for my photos to turn out desirable. I was ready to get to the ocean!
Before we emerged from the forest we passed by an area called Fern Canyon. It was all according to plan. Fern Canyon is about a mile hike through a level canyon, about as wide as a two lane road. It wanders along Home Creek, and a number of times we hopped over or walked in the creek. We also had to maneuver over a few fallen tree trunks. The canyon walls were about a couple stories high and were sprouting with moisture-loving ferns. In some breaks between the ferns adornment, I could see water dripping down the canyon walls and mosses hugging tight. It was a unique nature feature but limited in display. The canyon narrowed us in, inhibiting our view of the rest of the forest, and all we could see was green. Green ferns, and more green ferns.
Then….
The Pacific Ocean! We ran out onto the sand, dropping our bags and taking off our boots. The hike, though, not much to report on, had taken a major part of the day. The excitement to have finally made it to the ocean was real. I changed into my swim trunks and envisioned a refreshing swim, but when my feet hit the water, I knew I would not be swimming at all. It was very cold. That was enough.
Looking back I noticed how the forest had abruptly ended and the landscape turned immediately into sand. There was no cohesive graduation of landscape. It was drastic. We had come out of a low line of the forest, but stretching ahead and behind I saw the forest rise and fall on sandy bluffs. Much of the bluffs were covered in greenery with sand patches peeking out. We were in a very wide inlet of the ocean, but could not see where the ends of the bluffs curved, because the ocean sprayed a fine cool mist cloaking the landscape. And if it was not spraying it was creeping up from the ocean giving a hazy appearance. This was not the fun in the sun, warm summer beach I may have been hoping for. This was a damp, chilling beach, with sand of a dismal gray color. It was a large beach. I could imagine one could walk out very far into shallow water with such a low gradient, and the sand was very fine, except for the patches of small rock and shell shards that showed up every so often.
I realized swimming or basking in the sun just wasn’t going to happen, but I did recline on the moist gray sand for a while. Zach went out into a shallow sliver of ocean, and a large wave came rolling in and really got him good. I was observing, taking in my surroundings. The way the light hit the water with the reflection of misty opaque sky, made the ocean appear as silver– a long stream of tinsel with crescendoing waves of white. After a brief rest, we carried on, boots in hand. There was one more mile south on the sand to Golden Bluffs Campground. It was a strenuous final stretch, having backpacked for so long, and now our feet sinking into sand with each step. At some points I walked in the tire grooves of a jeep or some vehicle that had previously been out on the sand. Unfortunately those tracks had adulterated the otherwise wild and natural landscape.
Up ahead we started to see tent domes sticking up among wispy beach grass. Some of the blades were green but most were golden. Here we were at Golden Bluffs. It did indeed look just like it did in the magazine. I had seen this campground in a Sunset Magazine edition on Best Places to Camp in the West. When I saw it printed on those pages I knew I wanted to be there in person. I had arrived!
After passing by a number of occupied campsites, we located ours which I had reserved in advance. All the other campsites had vehicles beside them. We seemed to be the only ones who hiked here. When we reached our campsite we were surprised to find that it too was already occupied. This has happened to me before in my camping adventures. It’s usually some couple not following the rules and feeling a great sense of entitlement. But this instance was very different, for it was not occupied by any human at all. No. It was occupied by an elk– a large bull with a full rack of antlers. It was munching on the wispy grass. We approached. It did not budge nor was it phased. It looked up once,to quickly dismiss us and keep eating. It had no cares. “Excuse me, but I have a reservation for this site,” I said. He didn’t acknowledge me.
We plopped our backpacks down by the cement picnic table. The elk was about a mere twelve feet from us, right alongside the area to pitch the tents. It was clear the elk was in no hurry to move, so maybe we shouldn’t be either. He was by no means threatening. I took out some beef Jerky and gatorade from my backpack. We sat there on the ground propped against the seat of the picnic tables, just watching our personal elk. I thought we might as well get situated for this spectacle. I had pulled out our hors d’oeuvres and embraced this exquisite evening of intimate dining with an elk at the Golden Bluffs. How fancy!
When it came time to set up our tents, he was right there with us. After my tent was set I went over to the beach– the pure natural beach of the northern California coast. The sun was starting to set, and it was indeed very golden, making the dismal gray sand turn gold, and the bluff behind me by the tree line glow, and the wispy grasses encompassing our tents radiant. I wanted to enjoy the moment more than I actually did. Everything looked so warm and elegant, but I was freezing cold. I was wearing a flannel shirt over my cut-off and a pair of sweatpants. It was certainly not enough. I wrapped and held my arms close for warmth. I reclined on the sand, not long, but enough to notice the dual tone of the sunset, gold and blue. It was not like the sunset at Lake Tahoe. This was a very distinct two tone sunset, but no two sunsets are the same, just as no two lives are the same.
Back at the campground, we were searching out firewood and noticed our elk had moved on to another site. An obviously drunk camper, walking around, offered us one of his bundles of firewood. “We’ll take it.” It was enough to make a fire to heat our cans of chicken noodle soup and dip in our Triscuits. After eating and enjoying the warmth of the fire for a bit, and going over the next day’s plan with Zach, I then secured the fly of my tent, to shield from any bit of cold and wind, and I climbed inside. I nestled myself into my sleeping bag in the sand beneath my tent floor and fell asleep.
If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Parks“
Check out my previous entry here: “The Inspiration of the Redwood Forest”
Josh Hodge blog 