redwood – Josh Hodge blog

Crescent City: Tide Pools and Tsunamis

January 20, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged crescent city, golden bluffs, national park, redwood, redwood forestLeave a comment

We had survived a cold night on the sands of the Pacific coast, and I was ready to start moving and get out of here. When I emerged from my cocoon, unzipped my tent, and peeled back the fly, I saw none other than our resident elk here to grace us with his presence once again. I suppose he liked to come around meal times, although we certainly did not feed him.

At the picnic table both Zach and I were sitting wrapped in our sleeping bags, shivering and pitifully sneaking our hands out from under our sleeping bags to pinch off a bit of Clif Bar or down a gulp of Muscle Milk. That was our breakfast.

It was a cold gray misty morning at Golden Bluffs. The wind was whipping, the ocean waves were fiercely crashing, and nothing was quite golden this morning. The place was rather hostile to our presence, so I did not want to waste any time in getting packed up and back on the trail. We had taken a different route back through the Redwoods. It was the official “Tsunami Evacuation Route,” as one sign proclaimed, but also known as the Miner’s Ridge trail on the park map. We hiked it for 4.1 miles out to the car at Prairie Creek Redwood State Park. The trail was rather unnotable, especially after the experiences and observations of the day prior. My mind was set on the objective: get to the car and onto the next leg of the adventure. While we were hiking we came across a young couple on the trail. Zach knew them! They were from Auburn, the small town of about 1,600 that Zach’s family is from in southwestern Kentucky. They chatted for a few minutes.

When we reached the car we drove twelve miles south to the Kuchel Visitor Center. We had already been to one visitor center the day prior, but I like to visit all the visitor centers at a given park. I suppose it’s the fear of missing out on something that drives me. Plus this was the visitor center with the park film, which is a staple in my visitation of a National Park. I also needed to get a pin to add to my collection and a park sticker for my summer’s Nalgene bottle. There Zach bought himself a brown Redwood cap. I was glad, for it was a sign he enjoyed the adventure enough to buy a souvenir. I was very concerned about Zach having a good time. I had convinced him to come on this trip and spend the money to fly to California, and I wanted to make sure it was well worth it for him. Also all my previous National Park adventures were so special and sacred to me. I wanted him to find that joy and fulfillment which I found in my park adventures.

I admit, after finding it very difficult to connect with people after moving to Kentucky, I gave up at trying to include others. I was an outsider, with no real family connections. Everyone around me was already established in their familiar and social circIes. I could not break in. I will go do things by myself and enjoy things by myself, and I did. I had many valuable experiences at the time, but I had been convicted recently to try and share my life again. I found my life to be very rich in experiences which I so desired to share. If I was married I’d naturally share these experiences with my wife, but, being single, more effort was needed.

One day I was listening to the song “Better Get to Livin,’” by Dolly Parton, and it really spoke to me on the topic of sharing my life. It was a pivotal moment in which a paradigm shifted. I was going to intentionally try and share my life again. This resolve was very uplifting for me. My revelation in the desert days prior confirmed this. I can open the book of another and write into his or her story tales of cherished adventures, rich in meaning. I also had the successful experience of sharing a portion of another trip, which I discuss in my first book, with my friend Dom in Bryce Canyon. I hoped I could help provide Zach with such a rich experience, but to some extent I was very naive, for much of this ability was out of my control. I should not have carried this weight. Everyone experiences everything different. Nothing is quite the same for everyone. It was all so well-intentioned, but I was carrying a self-imposed expectation that became a burden to me which in return became harmful. It would soon become increasingly apparent.

After our detour to the visitor center, we headed northward in the Redwoods by vehicle, parallel to the ocean, on our way to Crescent City and the Northernmost unit of the Redwood National and State Parks: Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. There we would camp at Mill Creek Campground. Of course there were places on the way to see. One of the first stops was at High Bluff Overlook. It was one of the most memorable views of this whole summer’s trip. As the name suggests, we were high up on a rocky craggy bluff, which used to be part of an old mine quarry. We were 307 feet above the ocean looking down and around at a truly expansive view of the ocean. We could see the small sandy shore lines winding around the Redwood Forest and rough rocks sticking up from the ocean, some as quite enormous boulders but miniaturized by how high up we were. We could also see breaking waves all over, not just against the shore but out in the blue expanse and against the protruding rocks. The ocean was very much alive and busy in all corners. To add to the beauty, the sky had turned a rich blue, except for the condensation lifting from the forest behind us. With a mostly clear sky, the ocean reflected an array of blues from a light turquoise to a shallow royal. I was really taken away with all the movement of the ocean and all the hundreds of independent waves crashing. I took out my camera to capture a video of the display. I was still using a point-and-shoot. I had not fully graduated to a smartphone.

I then sat there in silence, trying to be still, calm, and quiet for a moment, really taking in the scenery. I had quite an unusual vacancy of thought and would close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the ocean and feeling the warm sun on my face, and then open them every once-in-a-while to be surprised by the view again.

It’s not any fault of his own, but with Zach there was just a different dynamic than what I was used to in such beautiful moments. Typically I’d find myself in places like this of such beauty alone with God, communing with Him, speaking with Him. Maybe it was simply Zach’s presence, and adding to the fact that he didn’t share the same faith, or that he was talking on the phone with his mom, interrupting the serene, but I was not connecting spiritually as I so desired. I suppose I wanted to be alone.

We continued in the car down to Crescent Beach which was beautiful but not too different from the beach we had camped on, minus a much busier road just behind us. We were there only briefly before we made our way into the town harbor. By description it may not sound charming, but in my memory it is held as just that. There was a simplicity and sincerity about the place that added a great ease. It was not trying to be anything other than what it was. It was a blue-collar harbor and small shipping port. There were lots of small boats in the bay, next to a bunch of fishing crates, a U.S. Coast Guard Station, and a small lighthouse. Just across from all that, inland, was a trailer park next to a Super 8 hotel and a local seafood restaurant. That was all on one side. On the other side of Highway 101 was purely the Redwood Forest, which was boxed in on the other side by the Indian Reservation.

We were both very hungry, and although I would have just been fine breaking open the snack box in the trunk, Zach wanted a full proper meal at the restaurant, “The Fisherman’s,” and so we went. It was nice to sit down and have a full meal. Zach got some oysters, and I got Salmon. Our booth was next to a cold window where we could look out and see all the boats in the harbor. There were also dozens of tiny little ants on the windowsill which kept creeping onto the table as we ate.

Zach bought my dinner which was very nice of him. It was a bit of relief as I did start to get concerned about money, and through some instances I was learning it was going to cost more to travel with Zach, just based on his traveling style. I was used to traveling very economically. I’d survive on Clif Bars, jerky, and dried nuts and berries for days. I would rarely pay for a sit down restaurant on an adventure like this, especially if I wasn’t really in between parks, but really still situated around one locale.

I think it may be interesting for the record to note how much my trips have cost in the past. My last three summers of National Park adventures, each a month long, cost about $700 each. That includes plane tickets, a rental car, accommodations, gas, food, camping gear, souvenirs, and everything else.That gives a picture of how I travel. It may not sound like a lot for a month of travel, but that actually was a lot of money for me at the time. I had an excellent credit score, and so each summer I opened a credit card with introductory 0% interest for one year. I’d charge everything to that card, and then over the course of about four to five months, I’d pay it off. In the process I’d make some money by receiving cash back rewards. My $700 big summer adventures may sound quite surprising, but it goes to illustrate a few things. First it shows the state of the economy just a few years ago, prior to our grand inflation per Democrat leadership and policies. Then it hints at the salary by which public school teachers live on in Kentucky. Lastly, perhaps it shows how economical of a traveler I was. I have wanted to explain this and be transparent, because I have heard on more than one occasion, “I don’t know how you afford to travel so much.” Well, it takes planning, roughing it, skipping meals, and sleeping outside. The years of these first four National Park adventures were also lean financial times for me. I was paying off student loan debt from undergrad, paying for mandatory graduate school to keep my job, and paying off medical bills. But where there is a will, there is a way. I digress.

After dinner we parked further in the harbor and walked around in the tide pools. It was quite fun and just fascinating to the curious childhood marine biologist that evidently lived in both of us. We carefully moved from rock to rock, looking down in shallow pools of all sorts of sea urchins, crustaceans, and occasional rich pink and white-laced sea stars. We also walked a peninsula to Battery Point Lighthouse. It was a short stubby little thing, but quaint nevertheless with its little red roof and stout appearance. Around the lighthouse were some rocky cliffs adorned with patches of short pink wildflowers, which had to be rather tough.. We climbed around the small rocks cliffs and at one point stopped to observe some pelicans and another seabird, the murre, which was feeding and would nose dive into the water, emerging a few seconds later to do it all again. It was quite entertaining to watch, and its maneuvers were somewhat comical, brandishing a few laughs.

As we walked back to the car, I noticed two dramatic government issued signs. One was bright red and displayed, “Danger, Deadly Waves at Any Time.” Another had five tips for surviving a Tsunami, complete diagrams and a footnote stating that “cold water can paralyze.” Warning signs for Tsunamis were new to me. That’s not something we see in Kentucky or anywhere in the Midwest. We do have some signs labeling tornado shelters however, and I remember the signs about earthquakes from my time in Mexico City but never Tsunamis.

After our enjoyable and chill evening in the harbor we stopped at a local Safeway supermarket to buy a few snacks. We purchased some cherries. This was starting to become a thing here on the fringes of the Pacific Northwest. Cherries would become increasingly popular and prevalent in Washington. We also bought the goods to treat ourselves with s’mores over a campfire tonight.

Mill Creek was a nice wooded campground. As we were setting up camp, Zach became frustrated trying to blow up his air mattress. I had bought these cheap eight dollar air mattresses at Walmart when I got out West, but I didn’t bother buying a pump. I’m always just used to using my lungs. Yes, it’s an inconvenience, but as already evidenced, I was a cheapskate. I’ll admit it does take a long while to pump up an air mattress with the power of one’s own lungs, and it does make me light-headed. I have to take frequent breaks, but it saves money. I don’t think Zach was quite ready for this, and I hadn’t evolved in person and character to the point where I could afford and pay for the convenience of an air pump.

So when Zach was done setting up his part of camp, he was done with it all! He was done with the air mattress, done with me, and done with the day. A tsunami of sueño came over him, and he went right to sleep. It was still early in the evening, and I wanted to maybe go explore a trail near the campground, build a fire, tell stories, and make s’mores. I let him sleep for a while, then I tried to wake him. I documented in my journal that I tried to wake him six times. He would not get up. In retrospect, I understand that he was probably just very tired, especially after our two days of backpacking in the Redwood Forest, and it was likely didn’t sleep too well on the brisk Pacific coast. However, I internally was starting to become frustrated with him. Rest is important, but at the moment I viewed it as him wasting an entire evening. To strengthen my case against him, I started thinking how difficult it was to get him moving in the mornings. The poor guy was tired, but I was full of energy. These sort of trips energize me, and I’m always about packing in as many experiences as I can and seeing as much as I can. Anyhow, I resolved that I wouldn’t wait for him any longer. I built a campfire solo, and I made s’mores by myself and then went into my tent. I documented that I had hiked 41.2 miles so far on this summer’s adventure including a total of 12.5 miles with Zach. I then turned off my headlamp, let my head sink into my pillow and drifted off to sleep. I had a good evening at the ocean but had a pestering thought that Zach would probably be somewhat upset with me making the s’mores without him, but what could I do? He wouldn’t respond. I still hoped he was having a good trip.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Camping at Golden Bluffs with an Unexpected Visitor”

Camping at Golden Bluffs with an Unexpected Visitor

January 19, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged california, camping, golden bluffs, golden bluffs campground, national parks, redwood, redwoodsLeave a comment

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.