Back to the trail elevation report.
Last night when I went to bed I heard several dogs barking loudly and incessantly. This morning, at 6:30, they were back at it. What a great way to wake up. Early. On vacation.
If you're looking for a quiet spot at the Requa Inn, however, you might try the dining room. Four couples are sitting at four different tables, yet no one is saying a word to each other. So while I'm traveling alone, apparently I'm not missing out on any great conversations.
The Requa Inn otherwise is pretty nice. It was built in 1914, as I think I wrote yesterday, yet has been updated with most modern conveniences. One thing it lacks is sinks where the hot and cold water come out of the same spout. The last time I saw this was at Kathy Farroba's house in Wellington, NZ. Before that, at my Grandmother's house in Galena Park. The Inn is at the mouth of the Klamath River, in Klamath, CA. On the opposite bank is a forested rise, part of the national park. The Inn has extensive antique furnishings, and a sort of Laura Ashley design concept. My room has lace curtains and a white teddy bear on the bed. A sort of RV/tent camp is located just a bit up the river, and on Sunday when I passed by it looked like some sort of modern-day Okie transit camp, a la Grapes of Wrath. At breakfast, an older lady came up to me and introduced herself and said she's from Lakeway, and she and her husband were also staying at the Inn (the front desk has a sign that lists the towns from which all that night's guests come, so she knew there was someone from Austin and asked the clerk). They were in Point Reyes (she recommended visiting Cowgirl Creamery-I enthusiastically agreed as Kimberly and Terry have taken me there once already). They're going on to Oregon, then coming back to Napa, where they're going to French Laundry. I felt so sophisticated to be able to tell her "you're going to love it!" Then, her husband came over and introduced himself and we talked for a bit about our trips. This proves once again, there's no people like Texans (or Louisianians). No matter where you run into each other, you've got something in common, in a way that two people from New Jersey or Rhode Island don't. Texas is the best. And Louisiana.
Today I basically hiked in the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park from the visitor's center to the ocean, along "Fern Canyon," then back along a creek to the visitor's center. Prairie Creek is one of the constituent parks making up the Redwoods National and State Parks. As I learned the next day, its the superior portion of the complex. Without waxing eloquently again on every detail about redwoods, here's some more impressions. The park was "other worldly." With the moss, ferns, slugs, spiders, chirping birds, towering redwoods, fallen and crashed redwoods, and other ground cover, and all of it blocking light, I expected a tyrannosaurus rex or brontosaurus to plod by any second, or a pterodactyl to swoop down from the sky, or a mastodon to lumber along. It had a distinct million years ago in the primordial ooze feel to it. No traffic sounds, no one talking, no bikes whizzing by, no dogs barking, no teenagers giggling, no slobs trying to figure out how to make it to the Cinnabon. You feel concealed within a closed world, somewhere else in time or place, without cities, lawsuits, elections, defective products, credit reports, and all the other trappings of our modern civilization. Its the most contained place I've ever been.
Hike wise, today's hike was about six hours, much of it through drizzle that started when I made it to the beach. It started out clear and somewhat sunny, prompting me to take dozens of photos. For much of the hike, I was climbing uphill (and carrying a pack). But as I approached the shoreline the trail went downhill, as you'd expect. Not long after I made it to the beach and started eating lunch, the fog and then clouds started rolling in quickly. I figured I'd better get back under the tree canopy quickly, so I cut lunch short and ate while hiking over to Fern Canyon. This is a really interesting area in an extremely interesting park. It literally is a fern-covered canyon through which a creek runs to the sea, cutting into the park for almost a mile. Its pictured above. Hard to say how high the canyon walls are, but you can get an idea from comparing to the man in the photo. After Fern Canyon, I followed a trail back to visitor's center, along the same creek that later runs through Fern Canyon. The drizzle continued and actually picked up on the way back. It made a really peaceful sound as the drops hit the broad leafed plants on the forest floor, a rushing sound that along with the constant creek sound was almost like a natural static. Boy did it make me have to use the bathroom every 15 minutes. (Sorry for that detail, but hey...).
Again, words can't do justice to this place, not even photos. You really have to be there, and experience the solitude and the majesty of the place firsthand. To give you some idea, parts of Jurassic Park 2 were filmed here, and Redwoods National Park was Endor in Return of the Jedi. You know, the forest planet where those creepy Ewoks lived.
Next-day two in the redwoods, and sunset hunting
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