After arriving at the San Jose airport a few minutes earlier than scheduled, I found my ride with astonishing ease and was on my way to my Grandmother's house, where my family is staying for the next five days to a week. I was rather exhausted by the time we got there, after a longish drive which I remember only from the fact that we were all tired and had hilarious conversations in Spanish. After eating pizza and watching 'The Avengers,' which was cheesy but fun, I crawled through the various bedding in the fifteen by fifteen room I'm sharing with my three sisters to read in bed for a little while. As the words blurred before my eyes, I was informed that we would be waking early to head to the redwoods in Muir Park. Desparing of my rest, I pulled a sleepingbag over my head and tried to drift into oblivion ...
We did wake early; after a breakfast of oatmeal with the works (chocolate chips, brown sugar, rasins, various nuts, milk) we all piled into the suburban and drove off to San Francisco. My Grandmother elected to remain behind. So, eight of us crammed into the nine-seat car for an hour and a half drive to town. We went via San Rafael, which all of the kids tried to say 'San Ra-fae-el' and my father insisted was an American word, not Spanish, and should be said 'San Ru-fel.' The road is much more interesting when you criticize the landmarks in Spanish. Much.
I started crocheting a scarf on the way, and had finished about five or six inches, or a half a skein of yarn, when we arrived at the park. It was chilly and wet. We all had sweatshirts, coats, and many wore hats and gloves as well. The attendant who took our entrance fees provided a small pamphlet, which was to be shared between the eight of us. Sequioia semper virens was the main attraction at this park -- after a bit of misunderstanding we found that the true Giant Sequioia, which is what most people think of when they hear the name 'redwood' is only found in the Sierra Nevada area, and what we were really looking at was the Coast Redwood. Still a magnificent tree, it is apparently resistant to mold and mosses, and therefore survives quite well in the soggy areas we tromped through. I had originally entertained thoughts of wearing some nice boots I had, but upon consulting with my mother chose to don my tennis shoes instead. This was a wise choice.
We started our jaunt on a boardwalk, where there were many signs saying things like 'Don't touch the trees' and 'Stay on the path.' So we did. Mostly. After a spurt of picture taking during the first fifteen minutes or so, all three of the cameras that had been brought seemed to run out of batteries. So much for being prepared ...
The path eventually morphed into a cement walkway bordered by split-log fencing, and as we left the grounds of Muir Park after a mere mile of walking, it became a muddy forest trail. Not all of it was terribly muddy, but it all looked rather damp. The profuse ferns, mushrooms, and other tropical-looking vegetation along the sides of the hill were quite happy. We walked up. And up. A maze of switchbacks led up the side of a mountain past the redwoods and above the treeline. There was a huge Douglas Fir which had fallen three or four years ago -- we would have mistaken it for a redwood carcass, if not for the moss growing along the sides. Even when dead, redwoods seem to repel the moss and other forest growths. There was a sign declaring that particular tree to be the Kent Tree, dedicated to someone who had either donated land or protected this part of the forest for a while, I can't remember. It was truly massive for a Douglas Fir, according to our resident gardener and horticulturist. They both agreed that it was an exception.
The atmosphere grew increasingly warmer as we traveled up -- by the time we broached the upper treeline and could see the ocean, faintly shimmering and seeming to float slightly higher than the mountains we had come through, most of us had shed our coats and sweatshirts and were now working with the problem of carrying them back down the mountain. This was solved by going quickly. We jogged, walked quite quickly, and actually ran for a lot of the way down. Something in the brisk air must have been slightly intoxicating, because all of my brothers and sisters and I found ourselves singing as we descended. I'm sure it was disconcerting to some of the other hikers -- there were quite a few -- to come upon our motley crew as we sang hymns, Christmas carols, various Bible verses and chapters, and even attempted Skullcrusher Mountain. Which unfortunately failed -- but the other music came through all right.
Even as we regained the lowest level, where the car was parked, residual warmth from the jog down kept us pretty warm. Once we re-entered the car, various snacks were passed around to us, and then we were surprised by stopping after traveling a mere mile or so to Muir Beach. The lagoon was closed for wading, but there was a nice little jumble of boulders off to one side, and we amused ourselves by hopping from one to another, searching for seashells and tumbled rocks and bits of glass, and scouting for mussels, anemones, limpets, and barnacles. My father called my attention to some bright pink anemones, which were quite small and adorable, but were closed up as it was low tide. No one having killed themselves by falling or jumping off the larger rocks (yes, they did both fall and jump) we resigned ourselves to facing the afternoon traffic on the way back to Livermore. I didn't know that San Francisco had a 2:30pm rush hour ... on Saturdays ... We went back via the Golden Gate Bridge, which was shorter than I had expected, and the Bay Bridge. Both of them were quite impressive. My mother said that was the kind of bridge she liked -- sturdy. She's not much for any other kind of bridge, or driving along cliffs. But the double fence between the cars and the bay on the Golden Gate Bridge was just to her liking.
There was some consternation when we realized we didn't have a map of San Francisco, but we drove up and down a few steep hills through a couple of tall neighborhoods and my father and mother finally worked out how to get back to the freeway. I still don't really know where we actually are -- I'm hoping to get away with not driving anywhere, at least for the most part. The area reminds me of Oregon -- trees and buildings and things everywhere blocking my view of the horizon. I hate driving when I can't see where I'm going.
I've just been informed that we're going to watch a mindless movie. As it's 10pm and I'm already tired, perhaps I'll go see whether I can fall asleep during it ...
See you later!
Anemone
Post a Comment