Old Growth Redwoods

A Still Life in the Forest.

Saturday began inauspiciously. I awakened feeling bad enough that I broke out one of our Covid tests. Thankfully the problem was not that but all the mosquito bites from the day before.

Our initial plan for the day had been, as I noted earlier, cultural tourism, but there were not the resources for that, so, with good weather, we decided to head out to Jedidiah Smith Redwoods State and National Park.

We're Californians through and through and we have wandered through redwoods for most of our lives. 

But this is something different, these are old growth forests, meaning that these areas have never been logged. Some of these trees are at least 2,000 years old and are unmolested, growing densely, wrapped in ferns, rhododendrons, berries, lillies and a multitude of other flora.

Almost always when walking in redwoods I aim my lens up, not here. The beauty is in tableaux on the ground. Join me on a walk through the oldest preserved grove in the park, dedicated to Frank B. Stout, an early benefactor.

Rocinante in the Redwoods

Rick in the Redwoods

From Stout Grove we got back in the car and made our way a few miles up the road to the Walker Road trail, along the Smith River.

To go through these forests is a transcendent experience. There is no other word for it and as we walked Sharon and I could not help but remember our friend and my colleague David Wright, who, coming to California for the first time, revealed in these trees. We miss him.

From there we proceeded up to Brookings, Oregon in pursuit of what native American sites we could find, most notably memorial to the neighbors of the Tolowa, the Chit Xuu dee-nee.

The statue memorializes "Chetco Lucy, whose real name is lost to history but who lived through the holocaust that nearly destroyed her people from ca 1840, before "Indian removal," policies in California and Oregon, until 1940.

By this time it was mid afternoon, time for our first taste in three years of Oregon's best (not coffee or weed, but) ice cream. Umpqua.

Of course our thoughts next turned to dinner and we were saddened to see that our old Brookings favorite, O'Halloran's seafood had not survived Pacific salmon we have ever had.

Perfection eludes the human experience, but this day was as close as we are ever to get.