It was a quiet, peaceful night. No winds shook the van and the dogs didn't bark. I was up by 6:30am to look around. Fog kept the sun from poking through all morning. It wasn't until I was out of the van that I realized that I was parked across from several tree-shrouded homes and along a river (The South Fork of the Eel River) and wanted to take the dogs down to the water. But how could I do that legally without trespassing on private property? There were no obvious trails to the river, nor trail heads.
It was very quiet in the town of Phillipsville, the southern terminus of the Avenue of Giants on CA 254, a parallel road to Highway 101 with lots of carved redwood statues and groves off the road where one can park and walk around. This was the most northern part I have been to in California up to today. I had run the Avenue of the Giants Marathon back in 1999 in the nearby state park, but I didn't recognize anything. I only remember the tall, dense trees and the deep shade of the trees.
Dogs are not allowed on any of the trails into the redwoods east of the river, but they are allowed on trails that lead to the river. I found one such pull-off, and even though signs said the trails open at 8am, I started off at 7:20am to give the dogs an early start.
Once again I walked past a man in a sleeping bag behind a redwood, tenting in a small depression hidden by a berm and shrubs. A motorbike was parked nearby. I only saw him because his unleashed pitbull barked at my dogs, and to quickly divert any potential aggression, lured the dogs quickly to the river. The short trail was well-trodden. The river wasn't very high, but there were large rocks all along the shore, and clay rocks that looked like rocks but which crumbled to the touch. The river was wide but shallow, with some swift currents. This was a playground for the dogs. I let them play, threw sticks for them, and wandered along the river. I was on the Redwood Highway, with busy US101 on the other side. The trees as as dense as they are tall, letting very little light in and coming right up to the highway. One has to pay attention here. How many fatal accidents have happened on this narrow, twisting road?
Once the dogs had their fun, I resumed my drive north on the Redwood Highway. The speed limit here is a comfortable 45 mph, fast enough to gain mileage, but not too fast to be able to stop and look around. The small fishing town of Weotts was my next stop, a village that was ravaged in December 1964 when a winter storm brought a killer flood through the area. The high water mark is posted on a power pole: at a height much taller than my van. There isn't much evidence at this historical marker of any semblance of town,as everything was wiped away and survivors moved uphill. Brittle remnants of asphalt run into the overgrown shrubs, but that is all. Dead ends are common on back roads. There was no other sign of Weott life.
The redwood highway ends at Myer's Flat, where I decided to take another break and have my morning cappuccino. There's not much in this town but a lodge, a convenience store, a post office and a coffee shop called the Daily Grind, advertising the best organic coffee in California. The place looked inviting, with a bench outside (from which to watch the dogs in the van) and chat with the few locals. The coffee shop was guarded by a mellow border collie who roamed freely inside and out. The inside was decorated with old wood furniture and cute sayings on wooden frames about the virtues of coffee.
I sat outside to make sure Sadie wouldn't get loose. I must have accidentally opened the van door as she came toward the coffee shop, getting the guard dog quite upset. Next to my van was a pallet full of bags of ice which a young man was slowly bringing inside the store next door. He saw my dog mask in the passenger head rest, thought it was a real dog but then quickly realized it was a mask, "But then it started barking at me!" he laughingly told me. That mask has already been a conversation piece.
Myer's Flat was a nice break. I got to see a few locals that looked like they were loggers, scruffy men in dark, stained clothing and long, thick beards. Young and old men here wear beards. People came and went inside the Daily Grind to chat with the young woman, who at one point left her store unattended to walk into the store. There aren't too many other jobs in this part of Humboldt County, so far away from larger towns and cities. The pace here seems so mellow.
I continued my drive north on US101, passing more small towns, more redwoods. Humboldt Bay and Eureka were now only 40 miles away, new terrain for me. I stopped in both areas. Humboldt Bay, the southern part of Eureka, looked like an algae-infested, dried-up marsh. Tide was low and the mucky shore was visible. Old boats needing dire repairs were docked nearby, stray cats sauntered around the small coastal wooden houses, and I felt like everyone was watching me. I stopped at the McDonald's in town for lunch, some soda refills, and some journal blogging; I spent more time there than I should but was never told to leave.
Traffic was getting more congested as I enter my first big town in northern California. I wasn't sure what to expect, but Eureka in the end also looked abandoned, rusty and wet. While the historic downtown had some flair, with its murals and wooden lampposts, I found no where where I could park and just walk around, so I drove on. US101 is now along the coast, with shallow dunes off Samoa beach which I wanted to explore. It was the only area where dogs were allowed, as a few small islands outside of Eureka, like Woodley island and the marina, are off limits to dogs because of the wildlife sanctuaries. I turned toward the ocean on CA255 and the peninsula. This was a nice decision because again I had some distance for the dogs to explore.
The peninsula and Samoa Beach are a natural barrier to the ocean. Navy Base Road travels a north-south direction, with a large lumber processing yard nearby. I pulled into one beach and got lucky, as only a few other people were there, including a fishing family and a girl looking for Sea dollars. There were quite a few intact ones here, but many more lay around, the beginning of new white particles to fill in the sand.
The fog had finally lifted now, but there wasn't much to see off the ocean. Just the endless waves, with blue skies meeting dark blue ocean. The dogs enjoyed the romp, but this time I made sure they stayed away from the ocean. Their sea salt adventure from last year in San Diego taught them well!
The coastline became more scenic north of Eureka. I was now leaving the fishing-lumber town and entering a more upscale residential area that even I was impressed with: the shoreline off Trinidad, with its rugged rocky coastline very common also along the Oregon coast. Flat, Carnal and Cap Rock sit out in the ocean. The hardest thing for me was finding a place to park, as the scenic drive is flanked by private property.
The highway was now getting congested with tourist traffic. The Redwoods National Park is north of here, but I was so busy watching traffic, watching for elk that graze right off the highway, that I completely missed the entrance to the national park. That was no big deal for me since dogs are not welcome in our national parks, but to completely miss the sign for it also surprised me. I would have only been allowed to drive around the park with the dogs in the van, something I'd been doing all day anyway. No big loss.
I was now losing day light and needed a place to camp. I didn't see any practical campgrounds, and I had also driven past a Jedediah State Park campground as well, which was off the highway and on a county road I didn't want to drive on. I wanted to make Crescent City my stop for the night, but the town seemed also forelorn and uninviting, but driving in the dark is not something I do on road trips because you can't see anything! My only option now was a KOA campsite north of town. It was 10pm.
Sadie whined because she needed to get out to pee, and I let both dogs pee on the grass in front of the registration office. But as soon as I let the dogs out, Minnie barked at a woman coming around the corner, and she wouldn't stop. Then the campsite owner came right up to me, angry at me for letting the dogs off leash, and told me sternly "Put the dogs in the car right now!" He was tall with white hair and meant business. I wanted to just leave at this point, knowing I wasn't welcome with a barking dog, but the man wanted to engage me. "Imagine if a five-year-old child had walked here," (rather than an adult woman) and is frightened by that dog?" he reprimanded me. I knew I was wrong for not leashing the dogs first before letting them out, but I also wasn't expecting a busy campsite at 10pm. There were three tent sites still available (at $32!) but I drove off instead. I didn't want to give the man my business and then feel unwelcome on top of that. Despondent, I was also upset with Minnie and her barking. I wasn't expecting her to be so aggressive toward others on this trip.
I eventually found a quiet spot behind the Lucky 7 casino in Smith River, a small community just a few miles from the Oregon border. I parked in a dark corner, marked by an overhead lamp post that emitted strong enough light to read by, but I was too tired to read. It had been a long, arduous day and the aggressive tone of the KOA owner bothered me well into my sleep. I had driven just under 200 miles, a perfect distance for a road trip, with several nice walks along the ocean and Eel river
More later
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