Crescent City Arrival & Silliness on Ship Mountain

8/23, 1005, Bigfoot Campground (along the banks of the Trinity River), Junction City, CA – Well, a lot has happened since I last wrote. I apologize for not updating as regularly, but my friend Marc in Anaheim has been unceasing in his verbal abuse at me for not spending more time “on vacation” as opposed to sitting in coffee shops writing about it.

So, Marc. Congratulations. You win.

As a result, what follows is a bit condensed and based on a horrible short-term memory and - when I was on the ball enough – written notes. I should also point out that forest fires west of my location (and this morning’s prevailing winds) are making things a little smoky out here in Junction City.

Redwood to Crescent City (8/14) – I was up and out of the park by 8am. I bid farewell to my favorite park ranger and complimented her on her classic 1960’s Mustang. She beamed with pride.

It was very foggy that morning and there was lots of roadwork along the highway. I opted to take the Newton Drury Parkway as an alternative route through the Redwoods Park. Turned out to be a great decision. It was a slow, leisurely pace through the middle of the Redwood forest. According to the gentlemen I met the previous day in the Tall Trees Grove, the Redwood forest at one time stretched for 400 miles and was at some points 30 miles wide. This trip has given me some perspective on just how much destruction was inflicted upon the area by early (and, sadly, later) Americans. The price we’ve paid is high. Have we learned anything? Not much, from my vantage point.

It was still too foggy for coastal views (I later returned for pictures), but did visit the site of the old bridge across the Klamath River (destroyed in a mid-60’s flood) before crossing the new bridge. Both bridges have sizable sculptures of bears “guarding” each end of the bridge.

Another unique feature of this area was the occasional lagoon (a couple anchored state parks) and extensive coastal wetlands. On the north shore of the Klamath River, the Klamath River overlook looms high above the river and ocean. Fog prevented me from taking advantage of it this time, but I had a feeling I’d be back.

I arrived in Crescent City WAY early and commenced to seeking a restaurant with free WiFi and the potential for a good breakfast. Found one. I parked there and caught up on e-mail and contact with both work and friends. My waitress had on a shirt with “Two Boys Are Better Than One” on it. I had to ask her about it. Turns out what at first seemed like a rather suggestive boast was actually an expression of pleasure by the mother of two sons. “I do get a lot of odd looks and rude comments when I wear this,” she told me.

All (well, most) things can be explained.

I checked into the Curly Redwood Lodge early. They were very accommodating (no pun intended) of my request and I was soon moved into my first hotel in 7 days. Ahhhhh…..
The Lodge was far from new (kind of late 50’s/early 60’s era), but very nice with large rooms and –lo and behold – they’d added WiFi since I’d made my reservations weeks before. Sweet! I was soon loaded in, had uploaded a blog, and now awaited the lifting of the fog from the area.

So began an adventure that was wondrous, scary, and a little weird.

Fear and Loathing on Ship Mountain – I recalled that the Lodge desk clerk had said, “If you want to see anything during the early part of the day around here, you’re going to have to go inland.” So, I focused on two things: Jed Smith Redwood State Park and what appeared on the map to be a route through the coastal mountains just east of Crescent City. The park was small, but featured some short, quiet trails through Redwood forests and a trail along the Smith River as it flowed through the wilderness. During my hike along the rocky shore of the Smith, I almost stepped on two snakes. When I asked the park rangers about them later, I was told they were probably garter snakes. Well, let me tell you folks, these “weren’t no garter snakes.” I’m not sure of their species, but I know they weren’t garters. I didn’t feel like arguing with park rangers, though, and wasn’t too keen on returning to the scene of the crime for a more formal ID.

The encounter with the snakes should’ve been a warning about what was to come. If only I’d known…

I asked the state park rangers about the route I’d picked out and whether or not it was 4-wheel drive territory. They referred me to the National Park Ranger station across the highway. So, across the highway I went. The encounter there was notable for at least a couple reasons, including the tongue-in-cheek response of the ranger when I pulled out my maps (“You’re in California.”) and that I met two other Austinites (one of whom worked at AMD) in the station. After some discussion, they concluded that A) the road was not paved but B) was not necessarily 4-wheel drive only. “…I think,” he added. “It’s been a number of years since I’ve been up there,” he cautioned.

So, I head to my car with map and shaky advice in-hand. Confidence is not high. But, I have the afternoon open and it’s still foggy on the coast. What the hell? I’ll give it a shot. Besides, if I turn up missing, I’ve established my identity and my intended destination at the Ranger Station. It shouldn’t take too long to find my wrecked car and remains.

Oh, my mother is going to make me pay for that last comment…

What followed was a 28-mile, death-defying, mind-roasting, solo journey into the coastal mountain wilderness along narrow, one-lane dirt roads cut (literally) into the sides of mountains among thousand foot drops off non-existent shoulders and almost constant falling rock zones. If you’ve ever seen a cartoon that has a car chase up or down mountains where the rear axle and wheels of the cars extend off the sides of the mountains on each sharp turn, that was similar – all too similar – to my drive up Ship Mountain. And with each harrowing mile, the hair on the back of my neck and temperature gauge on my rental car were climbing higher and higher. What had I gotten myself into? The drive up seemed endless, as well as scaryt. I have to admit I was starting to wonder if I’d finally taken one chance too many and the snide comment above about my car’s wreckage and my broken body may have been more of a premonition than joke.

But, I was actively proving that a 4-wheel drive vehicle was not necessary for the drive. General Motors, take note. Your 2006 Malibu Maxx V6 was up to the task at hand.

I did not see another human being for the entire 28 mile journey. Apparently, on that particular day, at least, I was the only human being stupid enough to pull such a stunt.

But, eventually, I reached the summit, parked, and took in a spectacular view of the coastal range looking East. Layer upon layer of green mountains stretched as far as the eye could see (and the eye could see VERY far). What a view. What majesty! What a moment of total isolation and opportunity to commune with nature! And, once again, my ears were met with total silence. No wind. No birds. Obviously, no other humans. Dead silence.

So, as my friend Brian suggested, I sat atop Ship Mountain for a good long while and listened for the voice of God. Indeed, it did take a while. But, eventually, God spoke to me. In a firm voice, as real and all-encompassing as the quiet around me, God said to me, “Get the hell out of here, butthead!”

So, after taking a photo or two, I high-tailed it out and – caressing the Malibu’s dashboard and urging it on saying, “Just get us out of here and I’ll never do anything like this to you again” – drove down the other side of the mountain and eventually (and gratefully) popped out along a state highway that snaked along the Smith River (great views and photo ops) and returned me to Crescent City.

After a good laugh at myself and my exploits, I rewarded my escape from my own stupidity by having a salmon dinner (with basil cream sauce) across the street from the Lodge and returning to my room to tell my tale to my lovely wife via phone. For all I know, she’ll kick me in the ass for being so stupid when I get home, but she was very understanding and accepting on the phone. I was safe – for now – and that was all that mattered.

Well, I have to tell you, the smoke from the fires west of here is getting to be somewhat of a concern. The mountains surrounding my little hideaway along the Trinity River are semi-shrouded in smoke and the distinct smell of burning woodlands is growing increasingly difficult to ignore. I think I’ll pack it up, go have lunch in Weaverville, then upload a couple blogs at my local purveyor of caffeinated beverages.

Stick out