Walking on the Beach

There’s something soothing about walking on the beach... the sound of the waves crashing onto shore, the water receding back out… over and over again. I hear nothing else, just the water, the wind, the occasional shriek of a seagull… it calms my soul.

In landlocked Alberta I don’t get to experience this sensation. I have to rely on my Dan Gibson’s Solitudes: The Classics CD to take me to that place. It adds gentle classical music and bird twitter to the waves, and whenever I have a migraine or just need to relax, I reach for the iPod, close my eyes, and drift into that space.

Growing up, the ocean was never far away, and I have fond memories of finding a sheltered spot (“gryde”) in the sand in which to spread my towel and settle down for a while. Now that I have to travel hundreds of kilometers to reach the ocean, I drink it in tenfold to sustain me until next time.

On our recent road trip I got to walk on several beaches, Crescent Beach being one of them. It is a long strip of sand south of Crescent City in Northern California, and at low tide the strip is quite wide. The mist coming off the ocean on this day made the beach walk almost ethereal… me, all alone, at the end of the world.

Most people, at some point or other when they walk on the beach, bend their heads and look for rocks, shells, feathers, and whatever else is washed up by the waves. I am no different, and at the same time I challenge myself to capture a story from the beach in my viewfinder.

The Pacific Ocean is one wild ocean. I have a healthy respect for her and she has rewarded me. We shall meet again.

Redwoods

Hiking in the redwoods… how often have I said these words and wished it was something I had done instead of something I wanted to do sometime.  Well, recently “sometime” arrived and my wish came true.

The first time I stood among the towering coast redwood trees in Northern California I was in awe. So straight and tall, like soldiers side by side, they were, and most so wide across the base I could only reach a fraction of their girth with my arms stretched out. One after the other, on and on they went as the trail wound itself through the forest. How many before me had trod here over the centuries? Millenniums? For coast redwoods can survive for 2000 years, but most live “only” 500 to 700 years. Imagine the stories the forest could tell!

Some trees sacrificed their lives to become log roadbed of the Redwood Highway in the 1800s. Even though they are almost covered by ferns and other vegetation, the logs are still visible under US 101 along Hobbs Wall Trail. And in the forest the stumps of felled redwoods are encircled by new growth redwood trees in what is known as fairy rings. Survival is paramount… the old tree suckered from its roots to give life to new trees. Generations from now those trees will be towering giants themselves.

Despite a wide and intertwined root system, it is shallow, only 10-13 feet deep, which isn’t much for a 300 foot tree. It is not advisable to go for a hike in stormy weather as trees might come crashing down without warning. After one recent storm a tree blocked the trail in Stout Grove, and rangers went out with a two-man crosscut saw to clear the trail. Why a hand tool? Nesting birds nearby would be disturbed by the noise of a chain saw. But the downed tree was so wide the saw got stuck halfway through! The tree stayed across the trail, saw imbedded, and the “Please stay on trail” sign leaning on the trunk. Law-abiding citizen that I am, I crawled over the tree trunk and stayed on the trail!

The Boy Scout Tree Trail hike is the one that stands out in my mind as “the” hike in the redwoods. Listed as one of the longer redwood forest trails at 5.6 miles (9 km) out-and-back, the trail winds up and down through a sea of ferns beneath the gigantic trees. I had to stop often to take in the sight and imprint it in my mind. Although I have some amazing photographs from this hike, pictures just don’t do the experience justice. I felt humbled to be in the presence of these old trees. I felt privileged to be allowed to witness with my own eyes the grandeur that is the coast redwood forest. I am now part of redwood history.

I have struggled for days to find the words to write this post, probably because there are no words to adequately describe the redwoods and the emotions they brought out in me. So I will leave you with a quotation by John Steinbeck that says it much better than anything I could write:

“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It's not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.”