The Mighty Redwoods

Chase the cat relaxes on the dash as we drive to the Redwoods

I have been nearly everyplace in California, save for the far northwest corner of the state.  It’s hard to get there: You have to travel on smaller roads, which are winding and often closed by landslides, and it’s rainy and cold much of the year.

Redwoods at dawn

But Redwoods National Park is in that far corner, and I’ve long wanted to see its empty coasts and wild forests.  Since we were already in Oregon, it wasn’t so far.

O'Brien, Oregon

We traveled down I-5, and headed towards the coast on Route 199, stopping randomly at a RV park as it got dark.  I found myself in O’Brien, Oregon, population 293 and home to my father’s fiancée, Donna.  My dad died suddenly from lymphoma back in 1993 before they could marry.  Donna, a gentle and remarkably vibrant and strong woman who was also one of the kindest people I’ve known, settled down with Wayne and bought land in O’Brien.  They had twenty-some happy years there, bringing in a lovely trailer and heading south in their mobile home during the winter.  Donna died of COPD last year while we were still in Spain, just weeks before Wayne succumbed to his pancreatic cancer.  I was amazed and sad to be in O’Brien, and my thoughts were of Donna. 

Serendipity at work

In the morning we headed for the redwoods and were in Jedediah Smith State Park by noon.  Redwoods National Park is a large concerted effort by both the federal government and the State of California to preserve these last virgin stands of the tallest trees on Earth.  Once redwoods covered two million acres on the northern Californian coast; now only about 100,000 acres of old forest remain, less than 5%, and more than half of this now is parkland. 

Todd looks tiny!

The story of the redwoods is yet another example of Eurocentric hubris.  Native peoples lived here for thousands of years, but the first white men saw natural resources to be exploited—first gold, and then lumber.  Redwoods were logged in the millions and sent south to the burgeoning cities on the Gold-Rush California coast.  Much of San Francisco was rebuilt after the 1906 earthquake using redwood. 

Redwood door

Due to the redwood’s quick regrowth, the lumber seemed easily renewable.  It wasn’t until relatively recently, in the late 1980s and 1990s, that biologists began studying what was slowly recognized as, like the oceans, one of the last undiscovered worlds:  the redwood canopy. 

Redwood burls

The redwood canopy was thought to be desert-like, with little diversity and nothing much more than redwood crowns.  When the first biologists climbed up the ancient trees, they found astonishing things:  soils tucked into tree forks and hollowed-out nooks that had huckleberry bushes and brush growing there.  Small bonsai versions of tanoak, spruce, and hemlock grew to several feet tall, and salamanders crept in the damp duff.  It turns out there were more than 200 species of different organisms growing in a single redwood crown. 

No one realized what was living up there

The lichens account for a great amount of biodiversity.  A lichen (pronounced “liken,” I finally learned) is a complex organism composed of an algae or cyanobacteria, which can photosynthesize, growing symbiotically with a fungus.  Each contributes to the other’s health.  Most important to forest ecology, lichens are one of the few organisms that can retrieve nitrogen from the atmosphere and fix it into a solid that can be used by other plants.  Redwood lichens in the canopy account for some 10% of nitrogen-fixing in the redwood forest, which is astonishing, since nitrogen-fixing usually happens at ground level. 

An astonishing variety of plant life

But such a diverse canopy comes at a steep price: it can take 800 or 1000 years for a tree to become big enough to support such variety.  The loggers had no idea what they were destroying when they removed 95% of the old-growth trees from the last stands of what was once a continent-spanning redwood forest.

Even Cosmos the Cat liked the redwoods

Redwoods are amazing trees.  Their bark is thick and tough, so they can withstand raging forest fires.  Many trees we saw had huge burn marks, and even caves burned out in the interior, but a robust crown still waved high overhead. 

Unphased by fire

When a redwood is cut, or anytime the cambium (the small layer of cells between bark and wood, which transports the nutrients up the tree) is exposed, the redwood has the ability to sprout new trees directly from the cut.  This ability gives rise to fairy rings, where trees sprout out of cut stumps, creating circles of new growth.  These grow into full-sized trees that can create a cathedral-like appearance.

Trying to climb 

Another amazing fact is the redwood’s ability to tolerate shade.  A new tree will spring up in the shadow of the parent tree and wait, spindly and patient, for a windstorm to take down one of the giants.  It can wait for decades.  Once exposed to light, it will shoot up to take full advantage of its new photosynthetic powers.

Nurse logs like this one can provide a home for new redwoods to grow

As part of their school, Tia and Sasha read The Wild Trees by Richard Preston.  A highly engaging tale of the first biologists to explore the redwood canopy and climb up into these 350-foot-plus monsters, it helped us appreciate the immensity and beauty we were hiking through.  A National Geographic article about the first transect (exploration through the remaining redwood stands on foot) helped us appreciate the balance necessary between old-growth and economic concerns in the area. 

Ferns sprout from the side of a redwood giant

We hiked through multiple stands of old-growth forest at Jed Smith Park, huddling one long morning in Karl the RV while rain poured down in sheets.  I insisted on hiking in the drizzle that afternoon, as we had two umbrellas.  It was glorious to be out in the rain, the redwoods soaked and the sky grey, underscoring the rainforest nature of redwoods. 

Part of the fun

We then headed for one night at Prairie Creek State Park.  Our beautiful little campsite was on the creek, and the trails and trees were phenomenal.  I kept trying to capture the grandeur on my iPhone, knowing it was futile. 

Chase the Cat on an exploration mission

Our last hike was a 10-miler out to the beach through old-growth forest and over multiple creeks.  The sun came out, lighting up the fog still hanging over the forest at 7 am.  It was magical. 

Out of the dark into the light

The last part of the hike took us through Fern Canyon.  We tromped down the stairs to the base of the canyon to find the trail ending in the creek bed.  Sasha forged ahead, braving the creek and soaking her shoes when she missed a stepping stone.  Huge logjams of 8- and 10-foot trunks blocked our way, but we saw the telltale signs of shoes scrambling a path up and over. 

Where's the path?

We took off our shoes to ford the creek.  “Is there a trail?”  Todd yelled at Sasha and me.  He and Tia were hanging back a bit.  Todd looked mad.  “C’mon!”  I yelled back.  “It’s really cool up here!  Beautiful!”  Later, Tia told me, Todd grumbled, “This is ridiculous!  If there’s one more creek to go over, I’m turning around!” 

Heading downstream

But he didn’t—his years of playing in Accotink Creek in Virginia as a kid kicked back in—and on we went through a stunning steep-walled canyon, the sides rising 50 feet and covered with ferns of all kinds.  We gave up and just soaked our shoes, walking back and forth through the creek in the freezing water.  The beauty of the place was thoroughly worth it.

Todd takes the plunge

We had lunch on the beach, the only people in sight some researchers laying down grids to map life forms.  The sand was a dark grey, the ocean churning after the storm, the sun warm, and nothing but forest, beach, and sea forever.  It was magical. The Hidden Coast is an apt nickname for this part of the world.

Stunning solitude

We hiked back to Karl, sloshing back through Fern Canyon and weaving in and out of the redwood giants.  Our RV trip was nearly finished, and this was an astonishing and educative last hike for all of us.  

Heading back to Karl