(Written from Point Arena Library, May 22)
Miles biked: 0 (934.7 overall)
On Saturday, Dad finally arrived.
Of course, he didn't fly in until 9, so I had an entire day to kill first. But it was a long-waited happening that I had looked forward to for over a week. I had managed to kill a good chunk of time during which I didn't have many miles to bike.
On Saturday, I was ready to spend some more time off the bike -- with a hiking companion.
I spent the first part of the day getting our rental car -- all the service had left was a big, ugly, hideous, white Chrysler Town & Country. (From this point forth, I'll call it the BUV, or Big Ugly Van.)
Then I drove the thing back north along 101, which was a bit weird. I had, after all, biked along the same road just two days earlier. It didn't take me long to make the obvious realization that you can observe much more of the beautiful scenery from a bike seat.
I then set up our campsite at the Elk Prairie site -- yep, there's a prairie where you can see elk there -- and got back on the road heading south, again, with several hours to kill.
I stopped at the Big Lagoon and read a bunch of the book I was trying to finish before falling asleep. Upon waking up, I decided to check out Trinidad, which I had skipped when biking south because of the rainy conditions.
That was a good choice.
The beach was gorgeous, with soft sand all around as well as interesting-shaped rocks. And after grabbing dinner, I took a trail up a hill overlooking the ocean and found the perfect overlook -- not roped or fenced in.
I sat there for several minutes, looking down at the waves crashing below and the bright sun getting ready to set, and thought how lucky I was. But I also realized how much cooler it would be if I could share it with someone.
I decided, time permitting, that I'd take Dad to the same spot Sunday night.
And, finally, it was time to go get him. I enjoyed another picture-perfect sunset before hopping in the BUV and heading to the tiny, quaint Arcata airport...
SUNDAY (DAY 1 OF HIKING): THE REDWOODS
After sleeping about as soundly as I could in the BUV -- Dad got the tent -- I awakened to his tapping on the window early Sunday morning.
We ate a delicious granola breakfast, threw everything in the BUV -- it is, I must say, very spacious -- and headed to the trail head, which was less than a mile from our campsite.
Our plan was to hike the James Irvine trail through redwoods to Fern Canyon and then the coast, at which point we'd walk along the beach for a mile or so before looping back to our starting spot via the Miner's Ridge trail.
It was a solid plan that didn't fall apart.
And it didn't take long for Dad to start snapping several pictures of the gigantic redwoods that surrounded us. Our progress was slow, but I couldn't really blame him for taking so many shots (he's an excellent photographer with a spiffy camera).
The trail was pretty easy -- not too steep and very wide.
We walked along several switchbacks through the trees, which were thick and reached into the sky a couple hundred feet. We had the forest to ourselves, and it was quiet save for the occasional bird chirping.
The cool thing about the trees -- beside them being bigger than just about any in the world -- was that they were all different.
Some shot straight up into the air, with a single trunk extending up to a few branches high above the top of your average tree. Others angled upward, almost leaning toward the sky -- I wondered how they've stayed rooted all these years (many are up to 2,000 years old) ... then I looked at the massive roots.
Other redwoods had mini trees growing out of their trunks. Others had bushes or what looked like large nature nests attached to their trunks.
And then there were the trees that had taken a fall. Many of them leaned up against other trees, creating many interesting pictures for Dad and chances to walk on huge logs for the adventurous (I took a pass this time).
It was an amazing, yet easy walk that never really went far up or down. But when we reached Fern Canyon after about 4.3 miles, we felt the trail had been well worth the hiking.
Even if we hadn't had to, really, earn the beauty we saw.
Then the landscape changed drastically.
When we entered Fern Canyon, we thought we had lost the trail upon arriving at a stream. Then we realized that the short trail was the stream.
So we started walking along the edges of the water, having to hop over rocks to the other side every couple minutes. And then we saw why the canyon got its name, because on either side of us there were bright, green ferns covering the canyon's walls.
It was a sight to behold, like nothing I'd ever seen.
And the walk was interesting, too, as we had to navigate several logs and rocks to keep from getting our shoes -- Dad's hiking boots and my Adidas -- wet.
Balance was very key, and the "Trekpod" walking stick that doubled as a tripod helped as well.
Upon exiting the canyon, fairly dry, we emerged onto the beach and were immediately warmed by the bright sun. That continued to be the case for over a mile as we walked, barefooted, along the ocean and then up in the hot sand to the Gold Bluffs campground and the entrance to the Miner's Ridge trail.
The beginning of the hike back to base camp wasn't very interesting, as the path wove through regular-sized trees, and overgrowth brushed our clothing. A second respite for cheese and crackers helped break up the monotony.
But then we got back into the Redwoods, Dad got the camera out again, and for a final time we walked in awe, craning our necks to view the tallest, widest trees we'll probably ever see.
We stopped at a beast whose bark, near the base, was shaped almost like a dragon or some kind of animal. We took a few final pictures there before finally converging with the James Irvine trail and finishing our Day 1 adventure.
In all, we hiked about 11.5 miles, but it was relatively easy and we finished just a little after 4.
That gave me a chance to show Dad the bluff in Trinidad before we got on 299 for the long, scenic drive inland to Weaverville.
And what a drive it was. We knew it'd take a couple hours to get to the small town and motel, which would be our home base for three nights as we hiked in the area, but the time passed quickly because of the views.
The road was mostly a two-lane highway that twisted and turned alongside a raging river with huge hills on either side. Then we would climb several hundred feet, all of it curvy, and suddenly be looking down on the river far below.
It was particularly beautiful in the evening, and we timed our trip very well -- after stopping in Willow Creek for dinner and to watch the fourth quarter of Orlando's Game 7 win over Boston, we arrived in Weaverville just after dark.
MONDAY (DAY 2 OF HIKING): THE TRINITY ALPS
It's hard to explain just how beautiful the Trinity Alps are, but I'll try.
I've hiked in New Hampshire's White Mountains every summer since I started hiking, and they might always be the most beautiful, pristine mountains to me.
But the Trinity Alps sure give them a run for their money.
On Monday, we hiked about 8 miles up the Canyon Creek trail to the lower Canyon Lake, which sits around 5,700 feet up in the midst of the Alps.
We couldn't reach one of the range's summits for a variety of reasons.
1. They were all capped with snow.
2. There are no trails up them.
3. We weren't equipped to camp.
Usually, that would be a huge bummer to me.
But not this time. The hike among the mountains, most of which are between 8,000 and 9,000 feet, more than satiated my appetite for adventure.
The trail wasn't that difficult. We started at around 3,000 feet, and the climb was gradual.
But it didn't take long for the walking to become interesting. For one, we did most of our tramping alongside or close to a raging creek, with a high water level, that stayed with us all the way to our turnaround spot at the lake.
And when we weren't right by the creek, we were walking on a narrow path dug into a hill that looked down, a couple hundred feet, to the creek.
One thing we had to be careful of was to make sure we'd be able to cross the creek and all its side creeks -- both on our way up and down. After all, Dad pointed out, the water would be higher later in the day after snow from the mountains was melted by the sun.
At the first crossing, we walked over a log that had clearly been placed above the raging water. We knew this because a taut rope was hung above it to help hikers like us.
A few miles into the hike, we walked along a series of switchbacks that crossed a little stream about three times. This was when we had to excel at going from rock-to-rock across the water.
Oh, and all this time, by the way, we were looking up to both sides -- the East and West -- at beautiful, snow-capped mountains that never got old to admire. Dad, of course, was taking dozens of pictures, and he couldn't be blamed.
It was that amazing.
Since we were still relatively low, the mountains appeared intimidating. They seemed to be way, way above us. The thought of reaching one's summit, even without snow, would be quite the task.
Luckily, we didn't have to think about that. Rather, we simply continued to hike north along the creek, getting higher and higher.
And were only three (minor) negatives about the trail:
1. It wasn't clearly marked, with no blazes on trees or cairns -- until we nearly reached the lake and were walking on exposed rock. That's when we started to follow small cairns that weren't always easy to spot and were, at times, a bit confusing. We had to pay close attention to the trail.
2. As Dad pointed out, it seemed worn down. It is, according to guide books and maps, extremely popular during the summer months and feels a lot of feet. Also, I think, people don't always follow the trail, exactly, because of what I just mentioned. That's never good for a trail's well-being.
3. Because we were hiking so early in the season, the level of the creek was extremely high. While it was cool to view, it also meant that parts of the trail resembled a stream. On the way up, we managed to walk around most of the water. On the way down, we decided to slosh our way through it.
Still, those were minor issues. They didn't put a damper, at all, on our day.
Before we got up near the lake, we passed a couple of raging waterfalls, and I mean RAGING. When we got up close to the middle falls, about 6 miles from the trail head, we got a little bit wet -- and we were standing 5 feet above the water.
Then we had to cross the very active creek before the upper falls. Well, I guess we could have continued up the east side of the falls and then crossed -- to get to the lake -- but the map said that people have died trying this.
And we were having too much fun to try that.
Still, when we reached the crossing point, I quickly noticed that while a walking log extended out into the middle of the creek, there remained about 12-15 feet of water between the end of the log and the other side.
I looked up and down the waterway -- there was no other option.
So we rolled up our shorts, put our cameras in our backpacks, and proceeded to ford the creek -- grabbing onto a rock about midway across it to steady ourselves and then making a final push for land while standing in knee-deep, rushing water.
It was an adrenaline rush, and, to be honest, having wet shoes didn't feel so bad afterward.
That's because, it should be mentioned, it was quite hot. Despite the elevation, we hiked under a bright sun the entire afternoon and temperatures that were probably in the 70s.
We hadn't been sure if the lake would be unfrozen, but when we finally arrived, at the spot where it meets the creek, it was glistening in the sun -- with not a patch of ice to be seen.
(There were, however, a few snow banks above the water.)
We considered hiking another mile, and 400 feet, up to the second lake. But then we stopped at a comfortable rock overlooking the lake, where three brothers we had met -- Gregory, Joe and Tony -- were hanging out, and thought, Why push it?
The view was amazing -- we could see Mt. Sawtooth to the east, Mt. Hilton to the west and Mtns. Wedding Cake and, we think, Thompson to the north.
Oh, and the lake, and the rocks surrounding it, was pretty cool, too.
So we took it easy for a while, exchanging stories with the brothers from the Bay Area, taking a few, warm swigs of their bourbon -- the best hiking liquor -- and just admiring the scenery around us.
A little after 3, it was time to head down. And while it's never quite as cool having to backtrack as opposed to taking a loop, it's not so bad when you're doing the trail for the first time.
For instance, there were a couple sections of the trail that we didn't even remember from the hike up -- including a really neat part right along the raging creek -- and the waterfalls deserved a second look.
The water level seemed a little bit higher at the creek crossings, but we found them much easier to bypass since we no longer cared about keeping our shoes dry.
Dad continued to take pictures, many of the different creeks and flowers we passed, and then we cruised through the last couple miles and reached the BUV with a good hour to spare before darkness.
It was Dad's longest one-day hike -- about 16 miles -- and the third-longest of my hiking career.
It won't be forgotten, that's for sure.
TUESDAY (DAY 3 OF HIKING): MT. LASSEN
For our final day of hiking, we knew we wanted to see a volcano -- the question was which one.
Mt. Shasta is the highest in California -- and on the West Coast, for that matter -- at over 14,000 feet. But it stood a good two and a half hours away, including many miles on uninteresting Interstate 5.
So we chose, instead, to visit Mt. Lassen, which still stands over 10,000 feet and, we were pretty sure, could be reached by a more scenic drive (and, as we found out, a shorter one).
And, boy, was it worth seeing.
It was a hot day in the valley, with the BUV telling us the temperature in Redding -- where we had a delicious breakfast -- was 80. But as we neared Lassen National Park, I watched in amazement as the temperature dropped to 70 ... then 68 ... then 67.
Not that the drop should have been surprising. By the time we reached the park, we were over 5,000 feet.
Unfortunately, only 10 miles of the roadway through the park was open -- the rest won't be opened until mid-June probably -- but that didn't keep us from reveling in being so close to the tallest mountain I've ever seen up close.
First we took a 1.7-mile walk around tranquil Manzanita Lake, which gave us several views of Lassen and the peaks around it. I don't think anyone was hiking it that day, because it was covered in snow.
The white stuff blanketed the mountain probably from about the 7,500-foot mark up to its peak at 10,457 feet. I thought it was cool looking at one of its ridges, which appeared to be completely smooth.
Of course, it might look much different at 7,000 feet.
The park wasn't just populated by a huge mountain. As we were beginning our hike, Dad spotted an eagle that was hovering high above. An eagle -- just like that.
He took pictures of it and many other birds, and wildlife, as we circled the lake.
Then, for our main entree, we drove as far down as we could and decided to hike along the park road and possibly take a trail that led closer to the mountain from there.
That plan was going just great -- we were excited, pumped up, enthused! -- until we started along the Hat Creek trail and noticed huge piles of that white stuff in our way. At that moment, it dawned on us why the road was closed.
We turned around and continued walking down the road, hoping to find a great view or some kind of neat area. And, sure enough, a couple walking in the opposite direction said that there was such a spot some "300 to 500 yards" ahead.
Three football fields, I thought, that's nothing!
But then we started walking, and walking, and walking ... and saw nothing but the road, the snow on either bank and the trees blocking any views of Lassen and its comrades.
We kept going, though, because Dad was telling me the amazing story of the movie "Adaptation," which I now, of course, must see -- even if I know the script from start to finish.
Anyway, he kept telling the story -- and we plodding along.
And we saw nothing.
Finally, he finished describing the movie and we decided to turn around. I thought that we'd been played by the innocent-looking couple -- and they were probably driving off to Vegas in the BUV (which had Nevada tags, by the way).
But we broke up the walk with some cheese and crackers and finally arrived back at the parking lot, where we took a neat half-mile walk on the tourist-friendly interpretive trail.
The trail wove through the area where rocks had rolled to during a period of earthquakes beginning in 1915. It was amazing thinking that rocks from that far away had gotten so far from the peak.
According to one of the signs along the tour, there is a mix of rocks from 27,000 years ago -- when Lassen formed -- and from the recent earthquake around the mountain.
As we drove out of the park, we noticed large piles of rocks on both sides of the road. It was, like the days before, a part of nature we had never seen before.
On the long drive back to Weaverville, we stopped at a few places where Dad, and his expensive camera, was able to take some great pictures of the 14,162-foot Shasta, which loomed -- high, snowy and intimidating -- to the north.
When we arrived at the La Grange for a final, delicious dinner, I felt like we'd experienced it all.
The Redwoods.
The Trinity Alps.
A large, historic volcano.
It'd been an amazing few days.
Thanks to Dad for making it happen (and, of course, for feeding me and giving my credit card -- and the Trek 520 -- a break).
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