Redwood National Park

By John McKinney

Something in the collective national character is drawn to the superlative-the highest, deepest, widest, oldest-and our national parks collect and reflect what is extraordinary in the American landscape.

Not surprisingly, it was the discovery of "the world's tallest tree" by a 1963 National Geographic expedition that provided the impetus for a national park. The 367-foot high redwood and the ancient giants around it served as the rallying point for conservationists who for decades desired a redwood national park.

Amidst much controversy, Congress approved park legislation in 1968 and President Lyndon Johnson signed into law the bill creating 58,000-acre Redwood National Park.

While conservationists were pleased that the redwoods had finally gained national recognition, the new national park--a collection of cutover land, Tall Trees Grove and a trio of existing state parks--was hardly the dynamic ecosystem envisioned. Redwood Creek, where the tall trees thrived, was a gerrymandered island on the land, endangered by ruthless logging practices. Slopes were clearcut right up to the park boundary and subsequent erosion threatened "the worm," as the narrow corridor of tall trees along Redwood Creek was known.

In 1977, Bay Area Congressman Philip Burton introduced a bill to expand the park. Timber company resistance was fierce. A logging truck convoy, with a mammoth redwood peanut in tow, converged on Washington but failed to stop Congress and President Jimmy Carter from approving a 48,000-acre park expansion act.

Today the park includes several tall tree sanctuaries and a lot of logged land undergoing rehabilitation. Miles of tractor trails and logging roads, which turn into stream channels and cause terrible erosion during winter rains, must be removed, the land recontoured, the hillsides replanted. Restoring the ancient forest is a process that takes a very, very long time.

The namesake redwoods are obviously what draw Americans to this (rather lightly visited) national park, but often it is the region's spectacular coast that prompts a return visit. Dramatic bluffs, hidden coves, tidepools and wilderness beaches are linked by a 40-mile length of the California Coastal Trail. The trail, one of the most scenic stretches of pathway on the West Coast, offers splendid day hiking and backpacking opportunities.

One of my favorite times to visit the redwoods is in late spring when the rains (usually) stop. June, in the form of rhododendrons, is busting out all over, pink and conspicuous beneath the tall trees.

I come to the redwoods to hike not only to contemplate the tall trees, but to notice all the little things as well. The most overwhelming little thing I notice from my 2.5-mile an hour pace is the shade-loving undergrowth of the redwood forest. Poison oak climbs 150 feet up some of the tall giants. California huckleberry, azalea, mosses, lichen and five-fingered ferns are everywhere--springing out of logs and stumps in a wild and dazzling profusion that I had previously associated only with the Amazon.

There's little light on the trail; it could be any time of the day or night. Minutes, hours and days have little meaning amidst 2,000-year old trees and a 20-million year old forest.

It occurred to me, as I followed a trail past solemn colonnades of redwoods named for conservationists and long-departed industrialists, that in the redwoods the only meaningful time distinctions are Now and Forever. Now, in the form of shopping centers, drive-through trees and clear-cut lands is sometimes disheartening. Forever, however, are the redwoods, whose species name sempervirens means "everlasting." Although nothing in nature lasts forever, the redwood is about as close to everlasting as any living thing can get.

Some 160 million years ago or so, great forests of the tall trees grew in Europe, Asia and North America. Redwoods towered over the tallest dinosaur. A million or two years ago, with the coming of the ice age, the redwoods retreated and made a last stand along the northern California coast and the southwestern tip of Oregon. Ninety-six percent of the ancient coast redwood forests have been chopped down; of the four percent remaining, most is under public protection, hopefully forever.