7 February 2014
Our last Oregon sunset at Harris Beach. Jason was crouched in a “corner” with the rising tide threatening to take him away.
Walking the beach low tide we saw a gull feeding on this.
Then on to Redwoods National Park in California
By my pedometer we walked 10.57 miles that day. Our longest hike so far.
The next few are mine
I crawled in under the root system and took this shot with a
flash.
For both of us walking in these trees was unnerving. I felt in the presence of something I didn’t
understand and don’t know how to communicate.
On the trail met Ellen, an author of children’s books. She is sitting in meditation with the trees.
Her current project comes from her interviews with an old man who is walking
worldwide identifying “ancient archangel
trees”.
We visited a goofy touristy place and one of the trails
there had redwood chain saw work.
Then to our little home for dinner.
This is our camp at Elk Prairie Creek Campground in the
Redwoods. There were 74 spaces and for
much of the time we were the only ones there.
(More on that below.) Asked park staff and they said the rain is so
persistent this time of year that few come.
We’ve been lucky with weather—better lucky than smart.
Others had warned us that California would be harder
camping, less amenities, less clean, less maintained and outside of the national
parks considerably more expensive. A few
of private RV resorts are good enough, but aren’t in the landscape and cost too
much. We are going to move faster than
we did Oregon. Maybe get to a dessert
for the dry. Now we are in the Medicino
area and it is raining, raining, raining nonstop. Neither of us mind rain, but Jason has not
taken a single photograph for 3-4 days so our next blog may be slow coming.
Narrative and a story follow, so those of you in it for
photos get to stop here.
I like it everywhere we go.
But Montana I love. The
familiarity, the history, the repetition is what makes a thing home. We think of Seven as “home” too. She’s a rock star. We are familiar in this little space; things
organized just so making our daily functions comfortable and easy. Wherever we go we’re home. If we could even
afford the resort and inn life, I wouldn’t want too. It would be constantly packing and unpacking,
never eating our own food, sleeping in different beds. Here at home we step out of sleep directly
into landscape, to outside. A theme in
our family. Outside.
February 4th was an unexpected moving day. On landing we never know how long a place
will last. Our first California stop,
Elk Prairie Creek State Park embedded in the Redwoods National Park, is
unexpectedly quick. Odd too because it
it was a beautiful sunny campground that was very nearly empty and has good
trails. The campground hosts greeted us
and told us they were leaving for a few days.
The only other person here had his tent hidden in a grove of trees. Jason noticed him immediately and asked me to
be wary. This is so unusual for Jason; I
of course complied.
The next morning I was walking in the “prairie” (really a
mountain meadow) and was able to greet him from afar. With Jason nearby and from a distance I
talked with him a little. Jim’s tent
(27.7 degrees when we woke this morning) is his only home. He’s a veteran who lost his job as an auto computer
engineer in Michigan years ago. He moved
to Kentucky and couldn’t make it there. He said his nerves were shot and he
started walking. Since 2009 with a very
occasional bus ride he has been walking. I'm impressed that he walked here from Kentucky. After learning where we were from, told me he
might go to Montana next. I suggested he
wait until spring.
A little later Jason pointed out the “prison gang” and I
thought it couldn’t be. But it sure
enough was. Since then we’ve seen many
in California. Making a general inquiry
about “what’s going on out there” park staff responded that they did a
controlled burn in the “prairie” and it didn’t take. They couldn’t afford
another one, so they were digging out species they want removed—apparently unremarkable to them that it was a prisoner labor.
Late afternoon screaming profanity came from Jim’s corner of
the camp and we were still here alone.
He was yelling at the Senators and the Representatives (which of course
we all like to do) and at the enemy (which I was hoping that wasn’t us). We had extra dinner that he probably needed
but caution precluded approach. More
from prudence than fear, we moved on the next morning despite having already
paid for camping.
In Oregon the retired army of volunteers was in every
campground we visited. I don’t think
this would happen there—any of it. Some
volunteers like the lifestyle, and some appreciate the free rent. They work 4-5 days/wk for 4-5 hours/d, take
time off when they want. Instead of
prison labor many are retired professionals—Don, a police chief, was one of my
favorites—doing maintenance, cleaning and all kinds of things. Seems to work very well. Here in California we wondered if understaffed
park service even knows Jim was there, and why would you put your tent in the
deep dark cold instead of the sun if you weren’t hiding a bit? We didn’t want to out the guy and so didn’t
saying anything.
I left there with a prayer for Jim, all the Jims out there. I love travelling this
way and being out in the big world with Jason. That’s the main thing.
