Redwood Country

March 6, 2006
We were in no hurry to leave the KOA in Willits. Fernie was playing online poker before I got out of bed and made an additional $15. I am beginning to believe that this man could make a career playing poker. He always treats me to a nice meal out with his winnings so I’m a big supporter.

It was drizzling rain and misty as we pulled out but within the hour the landscape got brighter and the sun forced its way through the clouds and dappled the green hillsides. Random patches of blue appeared in the sky and multiplied compressing the clouds to insignificance. Deep in the thick undergrowth, the gnarled and mossy tree trunks dripped with moisture beneath the forest of evergreens as we curled up the smooth and fast highway 101. The trees got larger as we progressed along the Redwood Highway. Eagles, casting immense shadows over the road, soared overhead as if the cessation of the rain had brought out their prey. In the mountain passes, cliffs had given way sliding a murky mess of rocks and trees across the highway. Water was still gushing as we passed. The road crews in their bright yellow rain gear scraped and shovelled and loaded the muddy morass into large dump trucks, which deposited the debris on sidings along the way. Rivers had overflowed their banks; the raging waters capturing and razing anything in the way. In one spot the river had eradicated a long stretch of the old highway below.

The gargantuan redwoods began to appear, sometimes creating a wall of trunks beside the road. Squeezing through the redwoods with Maggie meant occasionally waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass and stealing a bit of their lane. Tourist inspired retailers offered ‘Chain-saw carvings’. They paraded the finished pieces along the roadside; there were gross depictions of Indian chiefs, grizzlies, polecats, totems and the piece de resistance – the jowly hunch-backed and ubiquitous Bigfoot. (I thought of my friend Bob – if he’d been with us, he wouldn’t have been able to resist - Or perhaps the ‘burl tables’ would have been his artistic choice.) Tourists were ensnared by signs starting ‘World-Famous …….’ or ‘The Largest ………’ or ‘Believe it or not ……..’.

We reached our intended destination in the early afternoon. Trinidad is a quaint seaside town just north of Eureka, California. The casino Cher-Ae Heights is located on a high bluff beside the ocean and the welcome mat for Rvers was obvious when the ‘RV’ signs guided us to a beautiful, level, paved spot with a view between the trees of the ocean. There were drinking water outlets provided and within minutes of our arrival, a van arrived to transport us to the casino, which was really within walking distance.

Trinidad is a town with a population of just over 300 and the town hall advertises a ‘crab fest’ on Friday night; I wonder if they would welcome travellers. We stopped in at Katie’s Smokehouse, in the back of a house. The owner rattled on about the history of Katies, which had been there for seventy years even though she and her husband had only owned it for seventeen years. She told us that Trinidad is the most westerly city in California and its population are fishermen, for crabs mostly. The town is high above the rocky coves where waves crashed violently and the fishing boats bobbed crazily off the end of the rocky bluff. We bought some smoked oysters and smoked salmon for our evening’s repast. An atmosphere such as this called for a ‘fish’ lunch and Fernie treated with his poker winnings – it was fabulous with a glass of chardonnay to wash it down in a quaint little harbour side cafe.

The weather became quite blustery again and we quickly got back to the car between walks to the beach and driving down the winding road with breathtaking views at every turn to the fishing dock. Fishermen with weathered faces like the ages-old deeply creviced bark of the redwoods, were clad in oilskins and sou’ westers and tinkered busily with their gear. Sea gulls the size of eagles lined the railings of the long jetty, not budging as we slithered between them. Another large group of gulls, shrieking piercingly while waves tossed them about, fought over the seafood debris tossed overboard from the fishing boats.



An evening of Texas Hold-em for Fernie while I relaxed in Maggie with Caesar was the plan. The rains returned violently, drumming on the roof as I happily tapped away at my laptop while watching a bit of TV, my little electric heater warming my feet under the table. Suddenly the heater stopped and the TV went black but I could hear that our portable generator was still running. I donned my duck shoes and Fernie’s Australian Dryzabone oilskin coat and hat and ventured outside. The water was gushing underneath the motorhome in torrents and had, I figured, splashed the electrical connection and shorted the system out. No knowing what I should do, I just shut the generator down and hustled back inside already dripping wet. I put the onboard generator on for a while and everything worked fine but it’s so noisy that Caesar and I snuggled up in bed with a book and our 12-volt TV – we were quite content. We knew that Fernie might be gone for several hours as he was in a tournament. When he returned, he yelled from the door in an accusatory tone “What the heck happened?” It only took him a couple of seconds to fire the generator back up and restore the power – quite magically!

March 7, 2006
The rain had run its course and we awoke to a beautiful day. It got us going early – well, early for us anyway. Through the trees, I spied a broad and bright rainbow arcing across the rocky promontory. I ran for my camera – it was so spectacular. Then we ventured on.

The highway exuded a steaming mist as the sun sucked up the vapour from the soaking wet pavement. Patches of mist clung to the trees and high above, as the clouds rose, the mountaintops appeared cloaked with glistening white snow. We’d round a corner to a long expanse of beach with surfing-size waves smacking the shore, emitting a salty spray that blurred the seascape into a scene from an oil painting. Suddenly, a squall hit and hail bombarded Maggie; the road ahead was slick white and we slowed to compensate but it stopped as quickly as it started.

Travelling in Maggie is a delight for the passenger – me! Our high position gives a birds-eye view rivalling that of the front seat of a tour bus. We see over roadside hedges and walls glimpsing sights we’d never view from a car. A perfect example – behind a high barrier, an expanse of meadow was visible, a large herd of elk relaxing comfortably in the long grass. We would never have known they were there from a car.

The sun barely penetrated the redwood forests but would sporadically highlight the soft spring green of the sparse but newly leaved undergrowth beneath the regal giants. I’d spy surreal clearings deep in the forest, which would take me back to my childhood belief in fairies and say “Oh, I wish we could pull Maggie deep into the forest and stay for a while”. Fernie would just ignore my dreamlike mind-set in his pragmatic way.

The sun continued to shine into Oregon. Bright yellow gorse covered the banks and hillsides reflecting the sunshine with a golden glow. The redwoods behind us, the trees were scrubbier and windswept and the occasional smooth copper-trunked arbutus (Americans have another word for arbutus but it escapes me) was interspersed. Numerous portions of the highway had been washed out and road crews were hurriedly repairing and repaving. We were really fortunate not to have been driving through in the storms only days ago because the highway must have been closed.

As we rambled, we chose so many houses as places we’d like to live; they were always perched high on the cliffs in sheltered nooks overlooking sandy coves with crashing surf bordered by rocky headlands. But we decided life was better in our rolling home with different outlooks every day.

The retail outlets differed from California – galleries, bookshops and when they did sell Myrtlewood and giftware, it was displayed much more tastefully. Further along, sand dunes materialized – I wonder why only certain spots have dunes. Isn’t it windy all along the Pacific coast? I guess I need to do a little research on the internet.

We reached our home for the night early in the afternoon – Fernie thought he’d driven a long day – we clocked 194 miles. It was in North Bend, Oregon – the Mill Casino - a great spot on Coos Bay with designated RV parking. Sadly, they’re building an RV park with hook-ups due to complete in the summer, which probably means ‘no more dry camping’. We had a wonderful feast of seafood chowder with smoked oysters and salmon from Katie’s in Trinidad, sourdough bread and chilled chardonnay. A free wifi connection was the coup de grace especially since Fernie found that the poker limits were way too high at The Mill so online poker beckoned.