Today was a bit of a letdown, because the particular section of the park where I hiked was not nearly as insular and other-worldly as yesterday. Had I gone to this area first instead, I’m sure I’d have enjoyed it immensely. As it was, it was a bit of a comedown from yesterday’s amazing spectactle
It rained through the night. The good news is that when I got ready for bed, the dogs weren’t barking. The bad news is some guy was hurling rather loudly instead, for at least 20 minutes. It was what Wayne Campbell (of Wayne’s World fame) would call “peristaltic vomiting.” A really special vacation moment. Oh, and silver lining: once the guy stopped, the dogs started barking again. Tomorrow night it will probably be road construction, or an elk orgy, or some native fire-walking ritual. So I had no choice but to shut the windows, and get hot during the night. And not the good kind of heat in the night either. It was still drizzling in the morning, and the fog/mist would stick around til mid afternoon.
Today’s hike was north of where I’m staying, closer to Crescent City, CA, the last town of any real size before the Oregon border. The object is the “Stout Grove” in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, which the innkeeper has assured me is a really attractive spot for redwoods. “Jedediah” reminds me of this apparent trend I’ve noticed lately among 20ish suburban white couples going to these modern “relaxed” churches to give their kids obscure bible names, like “Caleb” or “Ezra.” 1876 called, it wants its names back. It’s just so FLDS or Branch Davidian. Like the young ones should be wearing scarves and looking for Uncle Dad somewhere. You’re not getting into heaven any faster by sticking your kids with one of these names, but you are making it a lot more certain your kid will get pummeled at recess. This is really just the new wave Protestant church version of the Hollywood kid name, or their version of “Apple,” or “Lourdes,” or “Chastity.” What’s wrong with the classics, like “Chris,” or “Mark,” or “John”? Or “George Foreman”? This is on par with giving your kid a first name that’s really a last name, like “Hunter” or “Austin.” Hey, you’re not in a soap opera, and neither is your kid. Its also about as bad as creative spellings of actual names: “Krystal,” or “Klohe.” Its like Sarah Jessica Parker’s character in LA Story, Sandee (spelled SanDeE, with the last “e” having two dots over it).
So. Anyway.
Today’s hike to the Stout Grove started in the drizzle, which cleared up just a bit into the hike. The Stout Grove is located near the Smith River, which runs right through the middle of the park. There’s a half mile loop trail that runs through the grove, with trails leading off that loop. The grove itself is quite lovely. Tall, old growth redwoods, but fewer in number. It was a much smaller area than yesterday’s hike, though, so it lacked that closed-in, insular feeling. Also, as the sun came out, sunlight hit the trees above and later in the day cast some interesting shadows and light rays. Several people were out on the trail, and even more were driving on the main road leading through the park. Quite interesting for a Monday at a place in the middle of nowhere.
I first took the River trail off of the loop, which extends for nearly a mile up the Smith River. Unfortunately, it really didn’t offer any views of the river, or access to the river, so I did something parks always tell you not to-I cut off the trail and made it to the river. The “river” consisted of a medium-size stream running over hundreds of thousands of rocks of all sizes. Maybe in the spring with snow melt there’s a lot more water, but for now, the river wasn’t very imposing. I sputtered around for a bit, enjoying the view of the treeline and bluffs above, lined with redwoods, and took in the views before finishing the trail. Then, after eating lunch, I tried to take the Mill Creek trail for a distance. This is a smallish creek feeding into the river, and was lined with somewhat high banks, although not nearly as high or narrow as Fern Canyon from yesterday. The “trail,” however, did not really exist. There was no trail in the sense of something having been laid out that hikers can follow. Essentially, the trail was just the river stream, which at many points could not be followed without getting up to knee deep in the water. Personally, I wouldn’t have minded that, but I’m extremely wary of blisters anyway, so immersing my boots just doesn’t make sense. But try as I might, I splashed twice trying to maneuver around the creek, so I bagged that trail after about 45 minutes.
After trying my best to wring creek water out of my boots and socks, I drove a bit and hit something called the Bald Hills trail. This trail led south and generally followed the river. The trailhead marker warned of strenuous and difficult conditions on the way out, with an 1,800’ elevation gain. Sure enough, the trail was more like doing the stairmaster than hiking along a trail. Although it led through a redwood forest, this was a “new growth” or replanted section, meaning that the redwoods were not nearly as imposing, and other trees such as maples (whose leaves were beginning to turn) have intermingled with the redwoods. There was much more open space so this section didn’t have that same “Land That Time Forgot” quality as yesterday. So really it was just like walking through the woods. Woods with tall trees mind you, but the woods nonetheless. As I wrote earlier, had I not been through the Prairie Creek park yesterday, I’m sure this park would have been much more impressive. Having done so, today just wasn’t as special.
I’d brought a change of clothes so I could go out to dinner later in Crescent City, so on the drive into town I found a place to change, and got to town around 6:30. Figuring it was still a bit early to eat, I drove around town a bit and found something labeled as a “scenic drive.” Sure enough, it led me to a fairly long road right next to the water, giving great views of the shore and some of the large rocks out in the water. The street was of course lined with surprisingly small and modest homes facing the ocean. Although I’m sure these houses are quite expensive, their remoteness from Portland or San Francisco means they can’t be anywhere near as expensive as further down the coast. There were several points to stop and enjoy the scenery, and at Fort George Point, I could hear seals barking on the rocks below. I stayed until sunset and got some great pictures, which hopefully one day I’ll be able to post.
Crescent City in some ways reminds me of Galveston: a town whose glory days are long since passed but it keeps hanging on, trying to find some reason to justify its continued existence. Crescent City came into prominence as a port town to ship logs down the coast. When the lumber industry dried up (due to the forests playing out and Congress’ creation of the national park), there was nothing left but tourism. Some of the news accounts suggests the people here aren’t exactly thrilled about the parks in their midst. They recall the glory days of mowing down the forests. Likewise, Galveston hasn’t had any real purpose since all the commercial interests fled to Houston after the 1900 storm. For the most part, shipping goes to Houston, not Galveston. The town tries to get its share of Houston tourists, but after Ike that may be problematic. Plus, rising incomes have given Houstonians more vacation options than just driving to Galveston. Each city has a kind of bleak feel. In Crescent City, its all the hitchhikers, panhandlers, and guys walking around without shirts. But they do have a Wal-Mart!
Next-the Pacific Coast Highway!
No comments:
Post a Comment