My predecessor and his car that I'm going to buy. 

Here I am at the edge of the Smith River. 

Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park

My girlfriend Anne and I went on a little camping trip in the Jedediah Smith National forest this weekend. The Smith River, geologically young and dam-free, is full of Salmon, Trout, and Steelhead, as it swiftly winds through the forest. The river is one of the last rivers left to flow naturally, and as a result, it has some of the best fishing in the world. Named after a fur trapper, the park and area was “discovered” in 1826. In reality, it wasn’t “discovered” because there was a pre-existing population and thriving culture of Native Americans. After the so-called “discovery”, the area was soon exploited with severity for its natural resources by waves of settlers, and over the course of settlement, brutal disease, sour economic policy, and dehumanization the native inhabitants has caused a sharp decline in the natives and their economy. Nevertheless, the Klamath, Trinity, and Smith area is still an essential source of calories and commodity for the Yurok, Tolowa, Wiyot, and Hoopa tribes, which are overcoming adversity and the effects of colonization.

Before I set off, I’m trying to visit and capture my favorite landmarks here in Humboldt. Of course, time is running down, and I will be unable to see and enjoy it all. The ancient redwood forest is one of the most remarkable spectacles in California. Upon entering the forest, enormous, thick tree trunks reach firmly and resolutely from the ground and toward the sky, blocking out most sunlight. Time seems to slowdown as the filtered sunlight faintly brushes the surfaces of the forest, drawing out the deep earthy reds, greens, and purples of the ancient redwoods, the ferns poking out below them, and the sorrel covering the remaining floor with a muted and cushioned blanket. Everything is softened. Footsteps are nearly inaudible and sound as if they were a child’s as they secretly tiptoe across a plush carpet of pine needles. All is employed; Nothing is left untouched. Vegetation of multiple forms drowsily creeps from each crevasse in the earth, each gnarled root, and from each living or decaying tree. Within and beneath the vegetation, insects, fungi, and bacteria exert themselves in the perpetual cycle of rebirth and decay. Thus each living creature has its place; each aspiring seedling, each squirming centipede, and even the oozing yellowish slugs have a niche, a place, a home. In a way, the ancient forests are very comforting. They appear to coddle and to protect the meek and gaping late apes looking naively upward. I pretend to hear them talking with an elderly voice, filled with words of assurance. It says, “We have been here for eternity. Life will continue to evolve. It will go on.” My imagination, however, speaks with a forked tongue. The stark reality is that there is very little redwood “wilderness” left. Thoughts of eternity are merely delusional. Only 2% of the original old-growth California redwood forest is left on this earth. Of that 2%, 45% of it is the Smith National Forest. These are the healthiest forests because of their richness of biodiversity. It has taken thousands of years for the forests to create its complex yet delicate balance; it doesn’t take much to throw that balance out of whack. The pictures beneath the text are of me in the forest, and I must admit that I shouldn’t be standing on top of the fallen redwood because even the lichen and plants that grow on top of it are essential to the health of the forest, and they can be easily damaged. :( It is impossible to go without leaving our mark, but we must tread lightly.

I'm standing on top of a tree that is a few thousand years old! 

Yes! I am a tree hugger. This is an enormous California Redwood in the Simpson-Reed Grove, near Crescent City.