Humboldt Redwoods State Park, CA
There are trees and there are trees… These were definitely the latter.
The only goal on this part of the trip was to travel north. And we had driven around the country long enough to know it was better for us not to drive for more than five hours per day. I randomly chose to stop at a California state park; it sat conveniently close to the highway. But we had no expectations; it was just a state park — how good could it be?
We left San Francisco and drove through the Golden Gate Bridge, through the wealthier northern communities — San Rafael, Petaluma, Santa Rosa. On my map app, the names of the towns then started to pop up in smaller and smaller fonts — Ukiah, Laytonville, Garberville. Beyond that, the road began to weave next to the South Fork Eel River and our directions had us take something called “Avenue of the Giants.” There was absolutely no exaggeration in the name.
By the time we arrived at our campsite in the Humboldt Redwoods State Park (Burlington Campground), all we could do is look up in wonder: the trees! The TREES! THE TREES!
Our campsite was nestled — literally — among giant redwood trees. Our little van looked even smaller in between the trees that dwarfed it. Among the trees were also several dead trunks that looked as if they had belonged to even larger trees; I could easily have used one for my own personal cave. Just like the majestic view of Yosemite Valley, these trees aroused a sense of awe and reverence for the beauty and power of Mother Nature. We were happy to rest by the trees and didn’t even bother going anywhere else for the day.
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Before leaving the area, we took a walk on the Rockefeller Loop Trail, a most glorious 0.6 miles of natural wonder.
As sunlight broke through the branches and leaves, I had the feeling of being in a natural sacred cathedral. The trees stood guard, in their solid and majestic quiet, watching over the other plants — ferns, wildflowers, vines — that enjoyed and thrived in their shelter. The live trees also seemed to stand guard over the fallen ones, which, after death, were becoming vessels for new life: new plants, ferns, moss used the grooved surfaces as their new homes and fed on the nutrients provided by the dead trees. The thought crossed my mind that I wouldn’t mind if something similar happened after I died.
