Blue Goose ~ Day 173

November 17, 2014 ~ Garberville, CA to Ft. Bragg, CA

I'm glad I didn't drive this road last night as it was bright and sunny this mooring and had been cloudy and coastal-moist last night. I drove through the sacred redwoods winding west to the coast at 35 mph. The word "stalwart" came to mind. These magnificent, incredible trees..... There are people who sit / live in them, usually as protest against logging:

WWW.NYTIMES.COM

Though she has spent the last five months living 130 feet up an ancient redwood, Remedy, as the young woman calls herself during these days as a tree sitter, is hardly lonely.
People stop by all the time. This afternoon, when she rappelled about 100 feet down the bulky trunk of the 1,200-year-old tree she is occupying to talk to a reporter, six supporters happened by: a couple from down the road who brought two gallons of water; a phone buddy bearing bananas and peaches; and a local environmentalist and two friends from Berkeley who came by to say, ''Way to go.''
''I didn't know what to expect when I decided to do this,'' said Remedy, barefoot and dreadlocked and dangling from a harness and thick rope. Like many of her counterparts who perch in ancient trees to prevent them from being cut down, Remedy, a 27-year-old former bookseller, does not give her real name.
She moved here to Humboldt County, in the redwood country of Northern California, from Olympia, Wash., ''because the trees were calling me.'' Just days after she climbed this tree off the side of a quiet road (''It picked me,'' she said), supporters started coming out of the woodwork, so to speak, offering her amenities like food, company and a cellphone.

She has a neighbor nearby, another tree-sitter, a woman named Wren. Their stories intrigue me and make me smile, thinking how west coast they are. I found them while searching for the title of a nonfiction book I read several years ago, The Wild Trees by Richard Preston, good reading for anyone even remotely curious about redwoods, or worth reading just for his excellent writing. He also wrote The Hot Zone (published 20 years ago) about the Ebola virus. I love authors with curious minds about science and the natural world with the gift to make their stories fascinating.

And then, suddenly, the ocean was in full view as the road turned south. I pulled over high above a little cove, the outflow of Hardy Creek, in the warm sun with only a hint of a breeze coming off the water. A car pulled up and a man got out, walking in my direction. I am always on the alert, but wasn't about to jump in my car and roar off. He was just checking on me which became evident once he began talking which he continued doing for the next 15 minutes. He is the "caretaker" of the cove, owned by 10 siblings who live south of San Francisco. He is supposed to discourage all who think this is a public spot but seemed generally tolerant unless the visitors/trespassers were stupid like a recent group who had built a fire and roasted hotdogs and then left with sparks from the fire blowing toward the dry grasses, and litter and half-eaten food and plastic wrappers strewn about. In general, surfers left no trace he told me. At one time, this place was a small community supported by logging with a mill, a train trestle out to a large rock offshore, a wharf, a few houses including a brothel, a large hotel. When the mill burned, that was it for Hardy Creek, although I think the "south of SF" family may be descendants of the owners back then.

Hardy Creek, CA

Richard, if you are reading this, check out www.mendorailhistory.org and search on "Hardy Creek" for a great B and W photo. There was also a post office here from 1902 to 1915.

Today, there is no obvious evidence of all that, but my new history teacher pointed out metal artifacts still embedded in the cliffs and rocks. He also said that riparian / littoral laws don't apply to original private owners of coastal beaches. I researched this, and it is definitely a contentious issue out here. Which is probably why he has a job. He says he "comes up here sometimes 20 times some days" to assure  nothing too outrageous happens. He had stories about everything as gregarious people do, and I have no doubt he would have talked the afternoon away. But I learned some of the history of one small piece of the 1100-mile Pacific coast of California. I am struck by the back stories of any place I linger, even briefly, once I listen, read or research on my own.

On down the coast to Ft. Bragg, stopping for an hour at MacKerricher SP where I walked on a boardwalk over the headlands, watching California Ground Squirrels and tame White-crowned Sparrows.

Invasive ice plant - CA

Headlands in Ft. Bragg, CA

 And then found Richard in his very temporary studio apartment 10 blocks from the ocean. We drove around, reflecting at what he now calls "Maria's Point" where he scattered her ashes. We drove by the two homes where they had lived. The Fir Street house with the ocean view looked well cared-for with several bird feeders in the yard and that sweet little sheltered place where she used to sit outside and read for hours. We went treasure hunting on Glass Beach, which the locals used as a dump years ago. Now, the trashed glass bottles have broken into pieces and have been ground smooth and round by the ocean and sand and sparkle in the sunshine. In fact, there are three little beaches covered with this seaglass, but one is lucky to find blues or reds anymore. What is left are mostly root-beer colored, white or green glass pebbles. Scrambling down a short, steep trail we watched a woman who was assiduously trowel-digging in the black mucky ground near the cliff, on her knees, working hard, sifting through the dirt. A couple of other less determined women were poking around like we were. Today the headlands had a poignant quality but were peaceful. 

Remembering Maria....Richard pointed out the very invasive ice plant and talked of how she and her friends would spend hours pulling this, how she loved the wildflowers on these headlands. It is her kind of space.

California Poppy