The Best And Worst Of Humans Is Found At The Giant Sequoias

A spiritual journey among the giant trees of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park

I had just begun exploring California’s national parks when a fire broke out in the Sequoia National Park, home to the world's largest tree, General Sherman. Normally, this is not a big deal as the sequoias have adapted to protect themselves from fire. Their bark is up to 18 inches thick and very fibrous, which resists burning.

In September 2021, a lightning strike started a new type of fire the trees were not accustomed to. I watched updates on the fire on Instagram. The image of an ancient sequoia going up in flames caused me to cry out, "No!"

There was a very real threat that the trees might be gone before I could see them. I cursed myself for not going sooner.

The firefighters wrapped General Sherman and other notable trees in silver fire blankets to protect them from this fast-moving blaze. Approximately 2,000 firefighters, including the elite Hot Shots, battled the KNP Complex fire in Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park.

Years of drought in California made the land brittle, and the fire consumed all in its path with a voracious appetite. The fire didn't care that the trees were thousands of years old and protected. It didn't care that this is the only place in the world where they grow.

After three months of firefighting and the arrival of winter, it was finally declared 100% contained. Most of the notable trees had been saved, but according to the National Park Service, it burned 88,307 acres in the Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. As the firefighters began to leave, their stations would stop to pose for a picture in front of General Sherman to commemorate the tree they saved.

I vowed to visit as soon as it was again open to the public.

I would get my chance in February 2022 during President's Day weekend. I parked at the Giant Forest Museum and decided to hike up to General Sherman. I got directions from the park ranger and set off with short-lived confidence—several feet of snow on the ground made following the signs impossible.

After post-holing my leg several times and stripping down to a t-shirt due to the exertion of hiking in the deep snow at elevation, I realized I was lost. I should have been worried. I had no cell service and was alone in the forest in the dead of winter. But I wasn't. I felt at home.

I had been following the footsteps of someone with a sizeable bounding dog, but I decided to retrace my steps and follow another pair of tracks to the Cloister.

The Cloister is a group of four giant sequoias huddled next to each other, probably from the same family. I no longer cared that I was lost and decided to sit with the trees and enjoy this moment of silence.

I never wanted to hug a tree more. They were so large I would have looked like an ant hugging a sunflower stalk. The crowds were elsewhere. Here, it was just us.

A couple came hiking through, and I called to them, asking what their destination was. General Sherman, they hollered back. I asked if I could join them as I was lost and had no cell service.

They kindly agreed. They were a lovely couple, and I was glad to hike with them. Especially since they were smart enough to have the maps downloaded for offline use.

We reached the giant forest, and I approached General Sherman.

"You okay, big guy? You gave us quite a scare." I said to him.

Only then was I reassured. The General had survived.

These trees are magic. Not because they are huge or thousands of years old, nor because of how rare they are. They seemed to have souls I could feel and connect to.

A few months later, while at Kings Canyon, I stumbled upon the Big Stump. I choked back tears. This massive stump was all that was left of the giant known as the Mark Twain Tree that stood there for thousands of years. The stump is sixteen feet in diameter.

A nearby sign describes the sound the Mark Twain tree made as it was felled. It groaned, they said.

The tree was cut down because many didn't believe trees this big existed. It was displayed in New York and London so people could marvel at what was once a magnificent tree.

After three years of drought, the winter of 2023 brought record-breaking snow and rain to the thirsty state. Filling the reservoirs and quenching the forests. At the sequoias, there was a record-breaking snowpack, and the forest was sealed off from humans for months. It gave the forest a much-needed break to recover from the fires.

In November 2023, I returned to the Giant Forest. This time, it was free of snow, and only a handful of tourists braved the cold. I set out to hike the Trail of the Sequoias. I made sure to have my maps downloaded.

I stopped to nod to the General at the beginning. I helped two women find the McKinley tree, and then I was alone.

I came across a sign that said "The Room Tree" and crawled into the belly of the tree. A bench was made from the trunk, and the base was hollow. There was even a window. The inside of the tree was blackened from having fires in the tree. Would anyone notice if I moved in here?

I hiked on past the dilapidated Cattle Cabin and through the Black Arch tree. I was in no rush and stopped to take in my surroundings often. Then, during one pause, I noticed how quiet it was now, far from the tourists at General Sherman. So quiet, I rustled my coat to make sure I didn't go deaf.

In the absolute silence of these giant trees, I noticed just how loud the noises in my head were. Dear God, is this how I have been living? I thought to myself. I decided to hike until my head became as quiet as the forest.

I came across Three Amigo Trees and found the name apt as they stood there like the very best of friends.

As I approached Tharp's Log, the silence was broken by a rapid knocking sound. I knew it could mean only one thing: a woodpecker was about. I then saw a piece of bark fall and was able to hone in on the noisy bird.

At Tharp's Log, I peeked in the fallen tree that had been made into a cabin. Built in 1861, Hale Tharp was the first non-Native American to live there. His tree house had a fireplace and a window with horseshoe hinges.

Tharp hosted John Muir in 1875, who named the grove The Giant Forest. Muir would play a large role in getting Yosemite and the Sequoias designated as national parks during his visits with Theodore Roosevelt.

The trail then crossed a creek, and I climbed the switchbacks up the mountain, gaining over 1200 feet of elevation. As I was already at 7000 feet altitude, I huffed and puffed, feeling terribly out of shape.

I thought about the firefighters who spent months in these mountains making these same hikes but with much more equipment and surrounded by fire. It quieted any complaints.

Then I came across where the fire had entered the Giant Forest.

I paid my respects to the fallen trees and wondered why some trees were spared, and others were not.

I came across a fallen tree that would have been too big to crawl over, so they cut a hole in it so people could pass. Then, I noticed several baby sequoias growing out of the trunk. Life finds a way.

I returned to the heavily trafficked tourist areas as the trail merged with the Congress trail. I was once again among the people. My hike was just short of eight miles.

When it was time to leave the Sequoias, I drove through Kings Canyon north to Yosemite National Park. I thought about how different Yosemite and the Sequoias were. Yosemite is a magical place where butterflies and fairies dance through the valley. It doesn’t have a history of destruction like the Sequoias do.

The Sequoias represent the best and worst of human beings’s nature. Our worst nature, such as cutting down these magnificent trees for our use, sits next to the incredible feat of the firefighters spending months in sheer exhaustion doing all they could to protect these trees.

I thought about how short our human lives are and how noisy they are compared to the sequoias. What if we could be more like these trees? Quiet and confident, living without the need for admiration from man. They stood for thousands of years through snow storms and fires, yet they couldn’t withstand the ugly side of humans.

Does it take exceptional circumstances for us to grow large like the sequoias? If so, will I find a place with the right conditions where I can grow bigger than anyone would believe? Could I grow my skin as thick as the bark on the sequoias to protect myself from the dark side of humans? Can I become as still and resolute as these giants?

I can try.

Someone once asked where I want my ashes scattered after I die. Among the sequoias, I said without thought. They will look out for me, and I will watch out for them as they hopefully continue to grow for another thousand years after I’m gone.

If you enjoyed this story and would like to read about my first trip to Yosemite National Park, please use the link below. Thanks for reading!

This was written in response to the Globetrotter’s monthly challenge of Spiritual Sites.

If you would like to read more from this challenge, I’d like to recommend Jillian Amatt - Artistic Voyages, who shares my love of trees, and Joe Guay - Dispatches From the Guay Life!, who shares my love of cemeteries.