Among the Redwoods
Walking With Giants
The first time I saw the redwoods, it was almost by accident. Halfway through a trip to rainy Oregon, I was caught by a sudden urge; we changed our plans mid-day.
They were calling to me across the sierras, fantasy giants of real bark, roots, and branches. I answered, of course. Who wouldn’t?
Traversing mountain roads, with snow-packed walls looming on either side of us, we drove. We were alone, in a wilderness unfamiliar. But not lost.
The sense of adventure was invigorating.
As the elevation declined, we found ourselves in lush evergreen forests, taller and greener than those we knew back home. Looking closely, we saw cabins nestled among the pines. Like, secrets.
Down in the valley, we were greeted by rolling green hills, vineyards, and idyllic towns. Each new landmark brought us closer to them—the giants. My eyes were wide with child-like wonder.
Snow sprinkled the roadside as we headed higher once more. Our destination was near. As other tourists filled the parking lots of restaurants and gas stations, we were no longer alone, but I soon realized few were heading in our direction.
We pulled up to the fee station, one of just a few vehicles. The ranger informed us with a sigh and wrinkled brow that the inclement weather had caused trail closures. And worse, their most famous tree, Pioneer Cabin, had fallen.
Years ago, a hole had been cut in the trunk, large enough for cars to pass through. Unfortunately, doing so ultimately weakened the tree, leading to its eventual demise just one year before our arrival.
With my chest tightening in disappointment, I ask if it’s possible to still see the trees. Yes. The north grove remained open, surrounded by gargantuan trees, growing healthy.
As we approached, I gasped. I knew they’d be big, but you can’t really know something is big until it’s right in front of you — towering over you. Awe-inspiring. Majestic.
With halted breath, I made my way to the platform. The wooden planks allowed me to walk above the ground, protecting the giant’s shallow root system. I peered up.
Its branches reached high into the clear sky, shading my view. Its bark, rough and ancient, scratched against my cheek. I breathed it in.
A dry, subtle scent mingled in the air. Earthy and sweet.
Meandering down an icy trail, we were in a constant state of amazement. Moss clung to their textured ridges, and needles padded their roots. Some were blackened — scarred by fire.
In a forest of redwoods, fire means life. The blaze burns excess plant matter, leaving room for seedlings to grow. Their bark is thick and resistant to burn damage. There have been cases of trunks being hollowed out by the flames while the crown and roots thrive. They’re survivors.
Being among these incredible trees is a privilege, which I felt at my core with every step. I knew I’d return again and again. A thirst never satiated.
Redwoods can grow for thousands of years, but most of the specimens we see are much younger. Adolescent. Sequoia sempervirens, the ever-living, have few enemies, but only 5% of the original old-growth redwood forests remain intact due to over-harvesting by loggers.
I’m stunned by this loss. I can only imagine what was here before. If we want to continue walking among giants, we must let them grow.
To learn more about the biology and history of this amazing species and to learn how you can contribute to their conservation, check out Save the Redwoods League!
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