We wake early, not out of a particular desire to, but more because the room is absolutely freezing. It feels like we’re definitely in the off season so far, and the fact the room clearly hasn’t been heated in a while only underlines this assumption. Dressing very quickly, we get the car packed and head on up the road - we stop shorty at a local supermarket to stock up on essentials. What is essential to us, it turns out, is a metric tonne of M&Ms, beef jerky and cereal bars - I have to say, however, that US supermarkets are always a treat to visit, the sheer variety and quantity of products on offer is kind of mind blowing to somebody used to a Tesco Metro in Shoreditch.
As we get back underway, the coastline becomes much more rugged, with thickening forests and dunes, lined with delicately shifting pampas grasses, edging our right hand side that lead into plunging cliffs on our left. The sea swells look punishing and make me wonder why the area offers so many opportunities to rent surfboards, but it all looks stunning in the bright morning sun. We stop a couple of times at some convenient viewpoints to take pictures and enjoy the fresh coastal air - it really feels like an auspicious start, although that’s maybe just the M&Ms starting to take effect.
We continue north and the landscape starts to shift - the cliffs become vertical and the forests thicken, becoming darker, taller and starting to shut out the sunlight. Thick mists start to wind their ways through the trees and hang over the roads and the environment suddenly takes on a very different tone. We rarely see other cars as we start to drive along great stretches of arrow-straight roads, looping impossibly into the distance. We’re entering some of Northern California’s famed redwood forests and we can start to pick out the giant trunks amongst the smaller pines as we move on.
Eventually, we seen one of the staples of an American road trip - a sign advertising a nearby roadside attraction, in this case the ‘world famous drive-through tree’. You might have seen images of these sorts of things, massive redwoods with holes carved in the bottom so cars can drive under them - we pull up next to a small kiosk to pay the $10 entry fee (it seems all of these trees, and there are a few of them, are under private ownership) and wind our way towards the Chandelier Tree. It’s at this point that I’m reminded of this very specifically American approach to sightseeing - namely that these smaller venues have a rather limited sense of scene setting but a very well-defined sense of dollars and cents. The tree itself sits amid a small lake of asphalt, with its backdrop being a very large gift shop. It’s hard not to feel a little cynical about the motivations for things like this, but we drove through the tree all the same, with only minor abrasions to our wing mirrors.
We keep moving through the winding gorges, until we spot a tantalisingly closed gate off to one side of the highway - we stop and explore, finding an old section of road that must have been abandoned due to a fairly significant rockslide that we encounter shortly past the gate. We keep walking along, round the slowly curving pathway, which nature is already starting to reclaim - small bushes grow out from cracks in the roadway and trees have extended their canopies to create dappled shade along its length. I’m struck by the readiness of the local government to simply abandon this old stretch of road and build a new one, rather than simply clear the obstructions - this ‘discard and replace’ approach becomes something of a theme as we move on.
We pull over in front of another tree-based tourist attraction - this time a free one, so at least we’re learning - the Grandfather Tree, whose enormous base seems to be made to take photos against. Again, the tree is surrounded by opportunities to spend money, although everything feels a little hollow given we’re so far out from the summer season.
We continue into the Humboldt Forest National Park and now the redwoods really are in their ascendancy - they are everywhere, rusty titans whose trunks seem to only support any foliage way up above our heads. The forest floor is dark and damp, littered with broken trees and redolent with the smell of pine sap. We stop several times at small trailheads to stretch our legs and take in this almost inconceivable scenery, but our real goal is a 13km hike starting from a small car park in the forest and requiring us to use two fallen trees as a bridge over a fast flowing river. A small tumble aside, it’s a relaxing and picturesque route - a nice warm up for our legs and our aspirations.
Once we’re back at the car, we push on into a small working town called Eureka, arriving at our motel just after dark. Once we’ve gotten our bags stowed in the room, we head out to a small, quiet bar for a drink and some food - in a singular terrible move, we skip dinner and head back out to try and find a more lively venue. This results in our discovery of an even quieter venue, for the time being, and our reintroduction to an old friend - Fireball Whiskey. This pretty much puts an end to our night, for the purposes of this diary, so we’ll wish you a somewhat hazy farewell.
