We were chatting amiably when we got out of the car at the small parking area of the trail we had selected. We had already driven through the Avenue of the Giants, mouths agape. We had stopped at the visitor center even, gathering information about the coast redwoods we had been driving through.
Nothing could have prepared me for entering the forest of gigantic trees on foot though. My traveling companions and I stopped our chattering and stood in awe. As I stepped onto the trail, eyes adjusting to the low light, words escaped me. All around me were massive tree trunks. A few had fallen, their root systems exposed. The ground and some of the older fallen trees were carpeted with redwood sorrel (a large clover-like plant) and ferns as high as my waist. We were silent, and, curiously, the forest was silent as well, save for one crow. We had entered a hushed cathedral, an ancient and holy sanctuary.
The flat, easy trail was only 2.4 miles, but it took well over two hours to walk it because we would frequently stop to drink it all in, murmuring, “Oh, my God!” every few yards. The photos we took could not do the trees justice. Only by taking a photo with a person in it for perspective could we capture a notion of the immensity of these behemoths, but it’s impossible to capture the whole experience in a photo.
Earlier in the week, we had visited Muir Woods National Monument near San Fransisco and were introduced to the first of these giants. Because the park is so popular, we had to pre-register our parking and entrance fees. I soon learned why. There were people everywhere. The trees were there too, of course, and I was struck by their majesty, but being surrounded by humanity, most of whom were conversing loudly, many on their phones, distracted me from fully experiencing the place. Even a section of the heavily trafficked path that had signage asking visitors to be silent was ignored by most. Only after we left this trail to pick up another did I get a taste of what was to come the next day.
Standing up to 350 feet tall, the coast redwood sports a deeply grooved spongy bark, the grooves up to twelve inches deep. Most patterns of bark are as vertical as the trees, while others spiral upward. This outer covering is home to an untold number of tiny plants and animals, not to mention what resides in the canopy. Looking up, following the arrow-straight trunk high into the canopy was a vertiginous experience. All I could see was a tuft of green.
These trees can live for more than two thousand years, their lifespans making a mockery of my brief sojourn. These giants have borne witness to thousands of generations of species and a multitude of human cultures. I had the same sensation I get when I look into a night sky at the stars and realize just how far away they are. In the presence of these trees, I felt like a mere blink in time and space. And I was humbled.
With my hand spread wide, running my fingers along the bark, I whispered what my two year old granddaughter sometimes says, “Thank you, tree.”