Our hike was with V from the BayAreaHiking Yahoo! group. Jenny, Craig, Ilya, and Rita from our Humboldt Redwoods Grasshopper Peak backpacking trip were there, too. V and most of the other people on today’s hike were preparing for a backpack up the Hoh River Valley to the Blue Glacier in the Olympic Mountains of Washington. For training purposes, they were carrying all the gear they would carry in the Olympic Mountains, which made their packs much heavier, and their hike much more difficult, than ours.

We started at 10:30, walking inland toward a valley filled with tall redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens).

But before we got to the redwoods, the trail climbed a hillside of Monterey pine (Pinus radiata), Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii var. menziesii), coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia), and poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum).

Once the trail came down from the hillside and crossed Waddell Creek, we were among the redwoods. The air was cool and our path was green and shaded. Thick stands of red alders (Alnus rubra) grew next to the water.

We followed the creek upstream for a while, then took the McCrary Ridge Trail, climbing steeply through a dry second-growth forest of Douglas-fir, tanoak (Lithocarpus densiflorus), and huckleberry (Vaccinium ovatum).

As we got higher, the soil became sandy and the trees became stunted. The Douglas-firs dropped away and knobcone pines (Pinus attenuata) took their place. We’d seen a similar environment when we hiked at Butano State Park, a few miles to the north. It was hot up there: we had no shade and the light-colored sand reflected the sunlight right back at us. Everyone slowed down. We looked back at Waddell Beach wistfully, imagining how much cooler it would be down there next to the water.

We stopped for lunch next to the Mt. McAbee overlook, at 1,730 feet. As we rested in the shade, V taught everyone some knots that would be essential for safe travel on the Blue Glacier in the Olympics.

After lunch, we took the Howard King Trail down to Berry Creek Falls. The trail was steep, winding, and narrow. It was so faint, it was sometimes difficult to find. I’ve come to consider these to be good things. The trail also descended through a variety of habitats, from chaparral, to Douglas-fir forest, to redwood forest. Elizabeth and I loved it.

At the bottom we made the quick walk to Berry Creek Falls. I’d already been there lots of times and taken the requisite pictures, so I tried not to repeat myself.

Next, we took the flat Skyline to the Sea Trail back to the ocean. Elizabeth and I, with our relatively light packs, were quick. But others, with their heavy packs, were going much slower; some had budding injuries. After waiting a half hour for them while getting bitten by mosquitoes, we and some others decided to break from the group and walk the last 2 miles back to our cars on our own.

Elizabeth and I finished at 6:30 and stopped at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Company for burgers and beer on the way home.

Jenny, who hiked with us today, wrote a blog post about the hike.

Adventure runner Leor Pantilat enjoyed running this same route in 2009.

Related posts:

1. Miners’ Ridge and James Irvine loop hike, Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
2. Olympic National Park Hurricane Ridge hike

Elizabeth and I set out for Humboldt Redwoods State Park with Jenny on Friday night, getting to the Burlington Campground at 9 PM. We were on a group trip, and our plan was to hike to the top of 3,379-foot Grasshopper Peak on Saturday, camp there, then hike back down on Sunday.

We set up our tent in the dark. Beside us were big swordferns (Polystichum munitum) and towering redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens). It was a damp 45 degrees and low clouds drifted past the moon. We fell asleep easily.

Saturday

The next morning we met the other group members: Rita, Val, Craig, and Ilya. We broke camp at 9 ready to hike, but quickly found out that we couldn’t do our planned hike. The trail crossed a swift, deep river, and the pedestrian bridge across it wouldn’t be in place for another month. We brainstormed for other ideas and decided on another backpacking loop up to Grasshopper Peak:  take the Grasshopper Multi-Use Trail (Grasshopper M.U.T.) up, camp at Grasshopper Trail Camp, then take the Johnson Camp Trail back down—an 18-mile loop with about 3,000 feet of elevation gain. We got our permits and were on our way.

We started our hike at noon, up a steady grade on the Grasshopper M.U.T., a dirt road to the fire lookout on Grasshopper Peak. Around us were redwoods, huckleberry (Vaccinium ovatum), poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum), and irises (Iris sp.). I even spotted a few calypso orchids (Calypso bulbosa).

The Grasshopper M.U.T climbs from 300 to 3,379 feet over six miles. Since Humboldt Redwoods State Park is well-known for protecting the largest single tract of old-growth redwood forest in the world, I had imagined that the Grasshopper M.U.T. would take me through a variety of pristine habitats as it ascended. The reality was anything but.

It turns out that not all of the forests in Humboldt Redwoods are old-growth. Indeed, the secondary forest on the Grasshopper M.U.T. was notable only for its monotony. Redwoods and Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) emerged from a midstory of tanoak (Lithocarpus densiflorus) and madrone (Arbutus menziesii). In the understory grew huckleberry and salal (Gaultheria shallon). Huge stumps of redwoods, logged long ago, loomed next to the trail. The horizontal slots loggers had cut into them for platforms were still visible. Some exceptionally large redwoods and Douglas-firs, those too twisted or too burled to be valuable as lumber or those whose trunks had holes burned into them by forest fires, had been spared. The only interesting aspect of the forest was that redwoods grew up to an elevation of 3,000 feet, by far the highest I’d ever seen them growing.

Near the top of Grasshopper Peak, the forest became sparse and stunted. The redwoods disappeared, the Douglas-firs became scattered, and the forest gave way to a woodland of canyon oak (Quercus chrysolepis), manzanita, (Arctostaphylos sp.), and madrone. This offered us our first views from the hike: forested green hills all around us.

We got to the Grasshopper Trail Camp at 3:30 and rejected it immediately. Sure, it was on a ridge overlooking a pretty meadow. It even had an outhouse and bear box. But it was the coldest, windiest place we’d encountered all day.

We walked downhill and checked the meadow for better campsites. It was a little sloped and lumpy, but it was sheltered from the wind, which was good enough for us. We set up our tents and then shared snacks and vodka.

I looked around. The meadow bore hundreds of small, five-petaled white baby blue eyes (Nemophila menziesii var. atomaria).  It was also popular with mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus): their scats littered the grass.

The condition of the trees around it revealed the meadow as a battleground in the ancient war between forest and grassland. The grass was strewn with the charred trunks of Douglas-firs that had been killed by fire before they were 20 feet tall. The taller, older Douglas-firs beyond the meadow were burned and clinging to life.

Before sunset, we walked the half mile to the top of Grasshopper Peak. On the way we found a big scat filled with fur and bones. Was it a mountain lion’s (Puma concolor)? I scanned the shadows for a large, tawny, long-tailed cat.

From the summit, we saw mountains in every direction fading into a blue haze. To the east were dark, snow-capped peaks in the Mendocino National Forest. To the west, below the setting sun, we could just make out the Pacific Ocean beyond the King Range. Around us were scrubby manzanita, ceanothus (Ceanothus sp.), and gooseberry (Ribes californicum).

A tall fire tower, its doors and windows boarded up, occupied the summit. We didn’t know if it was permanently closed or if it had just been shut down for the wet season. A sign at the campground had promised water at the summit, but we found everything shut off. We would have no water except what we had brought up with us for dinner and breakfast.

We walked back to camp and ate dinner together as the sun set. Fires were not allowed at the camp, so we huddled around a small candle made from a tin of paraffin wax with a wick in it instead. It was cold and breezy, so Elizabeth and I returned to our tent once we had shivered enough. It was 9 o’clock and 41 degrees.

The moon cast shadows on the walls of our tent. Inside, it was warm and still. The ground wasn’t too sloped, either. It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.

Sunday

We left camp the next morning at 9. It was sunny, cool, and the wind had softened to a breeze. Through the trees we saw distant ridges and foggy valleys.

On the way down, we left the Grasshopper M.U.T. and took the Johnson Camp Trail.

We stopped at the Johnson Trail Camp, a former cabin site for tie hackers, who once lived there while making railroad ties from redwoods. The cabins were decrepit, with doors that wouldn’t open and roofs full of holes. Elizabeth thought they were frightening, but I thought they were picturesque. It’s also a nice camp site: it’s in a sheltered cove, it has running water right next to it, and it has an outhouse and a bear box.

After leaving the camp, we immediately entered a fine old growth forest. There were no more stumps. The trees grew in a variety of sizes and ages. Sunlight came through the gaps in the forest canopy and dappled the understory.

As if to welcome us to this enchanted forest, a spotted owl (Strix occidentalis) landed on a tree in front of us. It seemed as interested in us as we were in it, cocking its head to the side as we took photos. It hopped off its perch, spread its huge wings, then glided silently onto another branch, this time closer to us. We watched it some more, then walked on. The owl flew one more time, following us down the trail. We said our goodbyes.

The Johnson Camp Trail passed through 5 miles of beautiful old-growth forest on its way down the mountain. To compare it with the Grasshopper M.U.T. is to tell the tale of two trails. The Grasshopper M.U.T. was wide, the Johnson Camp Trail was narrow. The Grasshopper M.U.T. plowed straight through the landscape, the Johnson Camp Trail caressed it. The Grasshopper M.U.T. was monotonous, the Johnson Camp Trail was varied.

The forest changed character as we descended. Sometimes giant redwoods dominated the forest, other times they shared it with Douglas-fir. The forest became open and sunny and the air became warmer. The midstory became a place of tanoak and madrone, the understory a place of huckleberry, salal, and swordfern.

We took the Bull Creek Trail back to our cars. It led us through a remarkable bottomland redwood forest with some of the largest trees I’d ever seen. The redwoods were over ten feet in diameter. Their trunks were perfectly straight columns rising hundreds of feet into the air. The ground was filled with starflower (Trientalis latifolia), fairy bells (Disporum smithii), trilliums (Trillium ovatum), and sorrel (Oxalis oregana). It was a great finish to the hike.

We got to the cars at 3:30. On the way home, Jenny, Elizabeth, and I ate some great burgers at Buster’s Burgers and Brew in Willits.

Don’t miss:

Jenny’s account of the Humboldt Redwoods Grasshopper Peak backpack.

Ilya’s account of the Humboldt Redwoods Grasshopper Peak backpack.

Related posts:

1. Berry Creek Falls from Waddell Beach via McCrary Ridge
2. Miners’ Ridge and James Irvine loop hike, Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
3. Mill Creek Trail loop hike, Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park

We started at 9 a.m. from Skyline Boulevard, a winding two-lane road that travels the crest of the mountain range. The overnight fog was clearing up and sunlight was starting to filter through the tall conifers next to the road. We put on our jackets and gloves against the chilly air.

This weather was typical for the summer. On an ocean-facing mountainside just a few miles from the coast, El Corte de Madera’s climate is dominated by the Pacific. The ocean’s temperature hovers in the mid-50s, producing a foggy marine layer that overtakes the mountains at night and keeps them cool during the day. Indeed, I checked my thermometer several times today, and it was always 56 in the shade.

We walked for a few miles through the preserve’s extensive secondary forests. They were thick with young but tall redwoods and Douglas-fir. Next to them were much shorter madrone and tanoak. Some huckleberry filled the understory. Among all of these were huge redwood stumps. Essentially every part of the park had been logged within the last 150 years.

On the Manzanita Trail, the trees got shorter and the forest opened up. The soil was sandier. Chaparral shrubs choked out the trees. There was, aptly, plenty of manzanita (Arctostaphylos). Mixed with it were buckbrush and chamise. There were also a few leather oaks, which have adapted to grow, not as trees, but as curious evergreen shrubs. On the borders of the manzanita patches were groves of giant chinquapin. These were small trees, some 20 feet high, with narrow leaves that were dark green above and a distinctive dark yellow below.

I was looking for the Kings Mountain manzanita (Arctostaphylos regismontana). Its wild population is for the most part restricted to a few spots on the Santa Cruz Mountains. Despite its rarity, it prefers to live in the sun and thus grows right next to a few trails in El Corte de Madera. My park brochure assured me it grew along the Manzanita Trail, so blithely I assumed that all the Arctostaphylos I saw were regismontana. Wrong. I got home to find out that almost all the Arctostaphylos I photographed were just tomentosa, the attractive but common woolyleaf manzanita. A learning experience for me.

We saw a lot of people at the preserve today, but only a handful of them were hiking. Everyone else was riding mountain bikes. The preserve is hugely popular with cyclists, and I believe that the endless secondary forests might be experienced more enjoyably at high speed. Indeed, about 5 hours into our hike, after navigating countless trail intersections, Elizabeth asked if we’d actually been going up and down the same hill the entire time.

There were some stand-out sections of trail, however. The Giant Salamander Trail, recently re-opened after extensive trail work, was a winding single-track with good views of big, old Douglas-fir. The Fir Trail was another favorite, passing through the same elevations as the Manzanita Trail, and thus the same vegetation.

We finished at 4, exactly 7 hours after we started, having enjoyed a good day in the woods.

No related posts.

• Start/End: Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park Visitor Center, 41.3641, -124.0231
• Route: Nature Trail, Miners’ Ridge Trail, Davidson Road, Fern Canyon Trail, James Irvine Trail, Nature Trail
• Distance: 11.5 miles
• Elevation gain: 2,000 feet
• Highlights: old-growth redwood and Sitka spruce forests, fern canyon, beach, wild Roosevelt elk

Once the rest of our group, from the San Francisco Sierra Club, arrived, we started our hike. We walked past the azaleas and into the forest on the Nature Trail, which began as a boardwalk whose sides wrapped around 6-foot redwood trunks. Below the boardwalk was the meandering Prairie Creek, its banks lined with bushes, ferns, and small trees. Above the boardwalk, but still well below the redwood canopy, were bigleaf maples with moss-covered branches and big light-green leaves.

We left the creek on the Miners’ Ridge Trail and headed uphill.

Small wildflowers like redwood sorrel, deer foot, starflower, trillium, and wild lily of the valley filled the forest floor, joined by great bursts of ferns.

I also saw false Solomon’s seal, salal, and Smith’s and Hooker’s fairy bells. These all looked generally the same: creeping plants with alternate, oval leaves ending in sharp tips. But they did have distinct flowers that helped me tell them apart: false Solomon’s seal had white bursts of flowers on panicles; salal had pearly urn-shaped flowers hanging from racemes; the fairy bells had flowers hanging directly from their stems, but Smith’s flowers were white and cylindrical, whereas Hooker’s flowers were greenish and spreading at their bottoms.

The forest was open enough for us to see giant trunks rising out of the understory for a considerable distance. These were redwood and Douglas-fir, which looked incongruously large among the other, normal-sized plants. From unseen corners of the forest we heard the chattering song of the diminutive winter wren. We also heard the songs of both the varied and hermit thrushes, the former’s song mechanical, the latter’s ethereal.

We passed the intersection with the Clintonia Trail, where we did in fact see some red clintonia, and turned downhill to begin our descent toward the ocean. This took us into the Squashan Creek canyon, whose steep sides and dense forest darkened the trail. Fallen trees hundreds of feet long, their trunks thicker than a man is tall, lay shattered and rotting on the mountainsides, slowly sinking into a sea of ferns. We had to use hands and feet to climb over them.

I felt as if I were walking backwards in time through a forest primeval. How long ago had these trees fallen? Months? Years? Decades? Centuries? And why? From a landslide, old age, the winds of a storm? Their life events occur on a timescale entirely unlike my own. A sapling might wait for centuries in the shade before one of its elders falls to leave a gap of light where it can grow. The length of time between their generations can be greater than the age of the United States.

We dropped lower as we neared Squashan Creek’s outlet to the Pacific Ocean. Thick bushes of thimbleberry and salmonberry, over 6 feet tall, lined the trail. There were also coltsfoot and cow parsnip, weedy-looking plants with huge leaves. We crossed a small feeder stream choked with horsetails and ferns and lined with yellow monkey flowers. Down here there were no longer many redwoods. Instead, the salty ocean air that blows through the canyon favored Sitka spruce. We could feel a breeze coming off the ocean as we walked: the same air that gave an advantage to the spruce. And as we got closer, we could also hear the surf.

There was no dramatic view of the ocean as we left the forest. Instead, we were greeted by a broad seaside meadow populated with scattered spruce, most of them barely 10 feet tall. The wind and salt spray near the ocean were just too harsh for them to grow any higher. Behind us, as further evidence of this, half the spruces near the exit from the canyon were lying on the ground, their tops pointing inland, probably flattened by blasts from a winter storm.

We followed Davidson Road to the Fern Canyon parking area and then walked through the meadow to have lunch on the shore. Behind us were the beach’s namesake gold bluffs, their tops covered in dark spruces. A herd of elk trotted away to the north as we walked by them. The ground was marshy and we tried to keep our feet dry with little success. Sand flies landed on our hands and faces, but a pleasant on-shore breeze kept most of them away.

Once at the beach, we sat on the warm, dark sand and ate lunch, watching black cormorants and flocks of pelicans fly over the surf.

After lunch we returned to the forest through Fern Canyon, a 20-foot wide gravel stream bed bounded by 40-foot cliffs. These cliffs have combined with the constant flow of moist air coming from the ocean to create a perfect habitat for ferns. Out of the dark muddy cliffs grew five-fingered and sword ferns along with deer, lady, bracken, and chain ferns, their fronds rocking slowly in the breeze.

Rivulets of water trickled down the cliffs over mossy rocks and into the pebble banks of Fern Creek. It was a slow, meandering creek and we crossed it several times, often on logs that had fallen into the canyon from the forest above.

The sky was beginning to clear and sunlight made its way through the trees, bouncing off the cliffs and illuminating the ferns. We made our way through the canyon like this, walking on gravel and balancing on polished logs to cross the stream, for twenty minutes before we turned uphill and back into the forest on the James Irvine Trail.

As we hiked out of the canyon, we entered an old-growth Sitka spruce forest where the maroon spruce trunks grew from a thick green understory. The tree trunks had old branch stubs sticking straight out from them like broken bicycle spokes, moss hanging from their tips. The Sitka spruce didn’t quite have the girth of the redwoods, but they could hold their own when it came to height: a few of the park’s Sitka spruce are over 300 feet tall. One Sitka spruce grew from the side of a fallen redwood, its roots wrapping around the trunk of the fallen tree like constricting snake.

By now the sun was coming out, changing the forest’s character as we walked back on the James Irvine Trail. Scenery that had been cool and gloomy in the morning had become warm and inviting.

As we walked back, I watched the forest gradually return to the redwood and Douglas-fir mix from the morning.

Related posts:

1. Mill Creek Trail loop hike, Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park
2. Butano State Park Hike
3. Berry Creek Falls from Waddell Beach via McCrary Ridge