Walking in the Redwoods – An Experience of Awe

Looking Up

Looking Up ©2013 Bo Mackison

“Going to the woods is going home.” ~ John Muir

The magnificent redwoods have been on my bucket list for years, circled in bright red ink, one of those must-see wonders. So when my daughter proposed an add-on vacation to her work trip in northern California, and asked if I wanted to join her, the answer was a no hesitation, emphatic “YES!”

My kids are National Park junkies. Sherpa and I guided sojourns through the United States on an annual basis – two or three weeks on the road in August every year from the time our youngest was 5 and able to enjoy long roads trips. We even managed a few trips with college aged kids, though less regular, so our family has memories of many travels through the 48 contiguous states. There are parts of the country we didn’t travel through, not because of interest, but because we ran out of parents-with-children vacation years.

We never traveled the Everglades in Florida, most of the gulf coast of Florida, Upper Michigan; we only did brief forays into Delaware, Connecticut, Oregon and Nevada. And, though we flew to Sacramento for a family wedding many years ago, we couldn’t add vacation time, and so we never explored the National Parks in northern California or southern Oregon.

Through a Redwood

Looking Through ©2013 Bo Mackison

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.” ~ John Muir

When the opportunity to explore Redwood National Park came, we didn’t hesitate. We went.

We sat on the beaches, watching the waves of the Pacific pound the coast in its infinite process, turning larger black bits of sand into tinier bits. We hiked the Cathedral Trees Trail and the Fern Canyon Trail, sometimes laughing as the trees dripped on our backs, more often silenced in awe by the mere presence of these giants.

We explored an old giant, half living, half in various states of decay. The ancient tree offered us a rare view — we ducked into an opening between two roots and stood in the inner chamber of a redwood. We were in the tree’s inner sanctum, and when we peered  upwards, we had a view of the canopies of the surrounding trees.

Travel like this – time to explore, connect, breathe – it is the stuff of the mystical. A bit of the spiritual, a bit of the poetic, a bit of the artistic and the naturalist. A time to search for our deepest desires, our truest meaning – that which we hold within, an inkling of what we might yet be.

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Bo Mackison is photographer, traveler, collector of stories, naturalist, and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  In August, I stood in the redwood groves of the coastal California, in awe, and I remain humbled by their magnificence.

Yes, These are Redwoods and They are Magnificent!

Redwood Abstract

Redwood Abstract © 2013 Bo Mackison

“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It’s not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.”
~ John Steinbeck in Travels with Charley – In Search of America

Look at these trees.

Coastal redwoods stretching three hundred feet towards the clouds. Examine the details. Can you separate the grooved bark from the whispers of sequoia needles? Can you see your way to the sky? Can you hear their silence, your heart beating as you imagine standing in the red earth of ancient redwoods, peering at this generation of trees?

We hike the Cathedral Trail in Redwoods National Park.

Aptly named. Standing under the these giants, dwarfed and insignificant, this is more of a cathedral than any humanly constructed cathedral ever entered.

I creep into this time vacuum, standing with my palms pressed tightly against a tree’s bark.

I feel the heartbeat of the earth. Standing in redwood earth, crumbled mother tree from ancient days, her offspring encircle me. Nine trees in a ring, I stand and peer through leafy air, see only a suggestion of blue beyond treetops.

In rare sunlight, a potpourri of dust motes swirl about our faces. We are in the presence of the ancients, in a world we barely recognize. Silent soliloquy, the trees speak.

 In August, I stood in the redwood groves of the coastal California.