Redwood National Park
More than anywhere else, the Redwoods felt like a different planet.
There is nowhere like the forest. THIS forest. In the fall, with rain, and fog, and the trees.
The trees, the trees, the trees.
It was Endor. It was Eden. It was New York City. Trees stretching up past your view, into the grey mist. It’s one thing for a mountain to be tall. Even a canyon wall. But these were living things. They weren’t just “there.” They grew. They grow still.
There were more colors than I thought a temperate forest could have. Ferns and bushes were vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds. You’d walk through the fog and the rain from one incredible clearing, only to stumble on another, hidden from view by these living monoliths.
If I had to go back to one place today, this might be the one. It was an experience that you feel on an existential level.
And the final morning, I walked down into the tall trees trail. I pealed off where the internet said I should. I crossed a stream, and hiked up a smaller one. I bushwhacked up a hill, and then stretched my arms wide, and hugged the tallest tree in the world.
The entire trip was worth it for that moment alone. But in the Redwoods. In the fall, with the rain and the fog and the trees, there were so so many more.
A fallen giant
Van Life
Turn on right
Cutting through
Resting among the giants
Riding shotgun on the 101
Hyperion
My steed
Into the mist
Jungle Book
Next tree on the right
But which way is up