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 [...]]]> Friday

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.

Elizabeth and I got to the trailhead at the Juniper Campground at [...]]]> It’s peak wildflower season in the Bay Area and I wanted a hike with lots of views and lots of blooms. A loop over three peaks around Mount Diablo promised a little challenge, some big views, and tons of wildflowers, so I decided on that.

Elizabeth and I got to the trailhead at the Juniper Campground at 9. It was a sunny morning with a crisp, cool breeze. We had an excellent view of the sprawl-filled San Ramon Valley and the broad green hills that bordered it.

We didn’t hike for long before we found wedgeleaf ceanothus (Ceanothus cuneatus) covering entire hillsides with white blooms.

An hour and a half later, we got to our first summit of the day: 3,849-foot Mount Diablo. There were no cars on the summit parking lot yet, only some cyclists and a trail runner. The summit was cold and windy and Elizabeth and I took shelter behind the walls of the visitor center for a snack.

The flowers had been just OK so far, but as we descended onto the north side of Mount Diablo on the North Peak Trail, they became great.

We found bright yellow Goldfields (Lasthenia sp.) all over the ground, and orange wallflowers (Erysimum capitatum), fiddlenecks (Amsinckia sp.), and California poppy (Eschscholzia californica) shooting up above them. Red larkspur (Delphinium nudicaule) grew from the rocks.

Our next stop was North Peak, a 3,557-foot summit northwest of Mount Diablo. The road to it was so steep, Elizabeth and I had trouble climbing it—I couldn’t believe it was used by wheeled vehicles. But the summit bristled with radio antennas, so they must make it up there. We enjoyed the views, then made our way back down. On the way I noticed that the road was lined with pink-blooming gypsum springbeauty (Claytonia gypsophiloides).

Our last stop was 2,369-foot Eagle Peak. I wanted to get there via the Bald Ridge and Eagle Peak trails, a route I first thought of on my direct hike up Mount Diablo a year ago. The Bald Ridge Trail was brushy, and we had to dodge poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum) and wade through clouds of bugs, but the views and wildflowers were excellent. There were beautiful bird’s eye gilia (Gilia tricolor ssp. diffusa), purple larkspur (Delphinium sp.), and lovely but inconspicuous checker lily (Fritillaria affinis). Indian warrior (Pedicularis densiflora) lurked in the shadows.

It was warm now and the tall chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) on the trail to Eagle Peak blocked the wind, making us hot. Once on the summit, we stopped for snacks and a rest.

All that remained was the walk back to Juniper Campground. The best part of this was a huge patch of blooming white wedgeleaf and blueblossom (Ceanothus thyrsiflorus) ceanothus near Deer Flat Creek on Meridian Ridge Road.

Their flowers mottled the hillsides with blue and white and scented the air. We finished at 4, wrapping up our excellent hike in seven hours.

We got out, crossed the road, and hiked up a minor hill for a view. It was about 50 degrees and the sky above [...]]]> Elizabeth and I pulled into Mount Tamalpais‘s Rock Spring trailhead at 9 in the morning. There were no other cars there yet, just cyclists taking breaks after early morning rides up the mountain.

We got out, crossed the road, and hiked up a minor hill for a view. It was about 50 degrees and the sky above us was perfectly clear. The mountainsides were covered in bright grass; the valleys brimmed with dark conifers. An uneven fog filled the air below us, thinning to a haze in places, piling into clouds in others. It covered the Pacific Ocean to the west and San Francisco to the south. We saw only the sky, the fog, and the silhouettes of mountains.

We turned around and started our hike. Our goal was Cataract Falls, reputedly the most impressive in the Bay Area. We’d never been there, but I thought they might be flowing well after all the recent rains. Most people don’t hike to the falls from Rock Spring. Sure, we could have driven up to within a mile of the falls, which is what most visitors do, but I wanted to make a dayhike out of our visit. We’d make a loop, descending 1,300 feet to the Alpine Lake reservoir and climbing past the falls on the way back.

We left the sunny meadow near the parking lot and entered a shady forest of lichen-covered Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii). A small fern-lined creek trickled by the trail. It was so chilly under the shade of the trees that we put on our jackets and gloves.

A few minutes later, we left the forest for the chaparral. The rocky ground was still wet from yesterday’s rain and sent me sliding a few times. The plants around us were tall and diverse. Chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) was most apparent. But there was also wedgeleaf ceanothus (Ceanothus cuneatus) and at least one kind of Arctostaphylos, hoary manzanita (Arctostaphylos canescens). I was delighted to find some Sargent’s cypress (Cupressus sargentii), a tree endemic to California that I rarely find on hikes.

We stopped for a break at Barth’s Retreat, a picnic area next to a stream. After the forests and chaparral we’d walked through, the place felt remote, so I was surprised to find picnic tables, a water pump, and a barbeque grill there. But as we left, we found a dirt road leading to the site, explaining the amenities.

We took the Kent Trail down the north side of Mount Tamalpais. The vegetation consisted of spindly trees and shrubs, but every so often we’d walk by an old Douglas-fir, its trunk a massive black column breaking through the brush to the sky above. Each change in aspect and elevation revealed new plant communities. We walked through a patch of manzanita so tall and thick that it formed a tunnel around the trail. We also found a nearly pure stand of giant chinquapin (Chrysolepis chrysophylla).

We hadn’t seen any other hikers for an hour. Then the trail grew faint and split. We could go left or right, but there was no sign of what either direction led to. My map didn’t help—it had plenty of intersections that could have been ours. Well. We needed to go downhill toward Alpine Lake, and with no other indication of the correct route, we took the trail that went downhill. If that didn’t work out, we could just come back and try the other one.

We could barely see the trail through the pine needles, leaves, and fallen branches. But we stuck to it, if only to see if the next intersection would give us a clue to where we were.

The trail wrapped around a marsh and disappeared into a patch of mud. But just beyond the marsh I spotted a trail sign: we’d just finished the aptly named Cross Country Boys Trail. I checked my map: the marsh we’d passed was High Marsh and we were right where we wanted to be.

Back on the Kent Trail, we descended another 800 feet to Alpine Lake. The trees became taller and the forest became cool and shady. Redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens) showed up. Wild-sounding calls of frogs, acorn woodpeckers (Melanerpes formicivorus), California quails (Callipepla californica), and northern flickers (Colaptes auratus) echoed through the forest.

Once at Alpine Lake, we hiked through a forest of redwood and Douglas-fir to Cataract Falls. Blooming next to the trail were Indian warrior (Pedicularis densiflora),  hound’s tongue (Cynoglossum grande), and fetid adder’s tongue (Scoliopus bigelovii).

Whereas we’d seen just two or three hikers for the last four hours, we now entered a stream composed of couples, families, dogs, kids, babies, dress shoes, denim pants, cotton shirts, and video cameras. Everyone had come to see the falls.

One look at Cataract Falls and we understood why everyone had come. They were spectacular. After a good soaking rain yesterday they were flowing at their peak, filling the air with mist as they tumbled out of the forest, splashed over boulders, and dropped down ledges before finally plunging into a pool below the trail. A local who’d been coming here for years said they were at the best he’d ever seen.

We took our obligatory photos then hiked uphill. The crowds thinned with each wooden staircase we climbed. By the time we got to Laurel Dell, there was only a handful of people sitting at its wooden picnic tables. We stopped for snacks, then walked the last leg of our hike to our car.

We got back to the parking lot at 5 and were stunned to see it entirely filled. So much had changed since the morning: the air was warm, the fog was gone, and the road was busy with cars and bicycles. We were glad we had started early.