Day 7: Behind the Redwood Curtain

We left dreary Crescent City and the even drearier Curly Redwood Lodge around 9am and hopped on Highway 101 South to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.  The schedule today was light, and we took a few short treks though the flat alluvial plains of the park where the behemoths grow.  The pace was slack, but the scenery was alllll right. James mostly slept during our first set of walks, which were level enough to take the stroller.  Erica was on her photographical game today.

I'm calling this the Handstand Tree

Here's another shot of the ol' Handstander from farther back.  I'm the tiny human one at the bottom.

And I snapped this one of Erica shortly thereafter:

We had been told that the gem of Prairie Creek was Fern Canyon, with its 50-foot fern covered vertical stone walls.  We took a seemingly endless dirt road to Gold Bluffs Beach, where we espied some rare Roosevelt Elk, and then drove another 4 miles along the beach to the base of Fern Canyon.  Sadly, it turned out to be more or less a Turkey Run-type affair, albeit a bit greener.  I love Turkey Run, but as far as natural wonderment on this trip goes: thorn.

Leaving Prairie Creek, we headed to the be-bike laned, bicycle recycling program-initiating, uber-crunchy, Arcata, billed as the most progressive city in America. In 2003, it outlawed voluntary compliance with the Patriot Act and its city council several times voted to impeach George W. Bush.  Indeed, their city council has outlawed many wasteful, harmful, and illiberal things.  The town is so liberal that it seems you're not allowed to do anything.  

Our plan was a loose one, and it consisted of just strolling around town checking out just how many head shops one small seaside village can cram into its downtown.  The main square was very pretty, and so we threw a towel down and let James roll around in the shade for awhile.  A kindly, bearded young man in a tie dye t-shirt sat nearby and played Grateful Dead songs on his acoustic guitar (not kidding).  After while I began to notice more hippie-type guys and gals, though not necessarily of the friendly bearded variety.  More of the it-was-cool-when-I-was-20-and-unwashed-and-reading-Jack-Kerouac-novels-to-move-to-California-with-no-job-plans-other-than-to-kindly-panhandle-but-now-I'm-35-and-still-unwashed-and-still-in-California-and-just-as-poor-and-I've-got-a-drug-habit-to-feed-and-my-panhandling-has-gotten-rather-more-aggressive variety.  So we split, and headed to Eureka's fabulous Rodeway Inn, where I now sit typing this.  

We had a lovely dinner of indifferent pub grub and pretty good, but hardly world-beating, craft brews at Lost Cost Brewery.  James slept through the whole thing like a good boy.  Tomorrow, it's off to Humboldt Redwoods State Park, our last redwoods park.

Thorn: Fern Canyon, slow drivers on one lane roads

Rose: Great morning redwood hikes

Bud: Humboldt Redwoods, the largest tract of old growth redwoods in existence.

--Grant