Redwood Coast, California

Hunting for places to pitch a tent after dark has to be one of the most frustrating things ever. The phrases, “campground full” and “our spaces are only $62.70” seem to be a common motif for the California coast.

Be that as it may, every once in a while the (twisted and spiteful) camping gods smile down on weary travelers and bless them with incredible places to stay. Our first night on the Redwood Coast was just such an occasion.

After some 5 hours of driving and countless U-turns we drove our trusty VW up a dirt path into the woods and left it there. With nothing but iPod screens to light our way we descended into a gorge and found a rock beach next to a swift moving river. Indifferent to the sloped, lumpy ground we set up camp and crashed.

The next morning I stumbled out of the unbearably hot tent and shielded my eyes against the glaring sunlight. Slowly adjusting to the brightness, I was confronted by possibly the clearest and bluest river I have ever seen, some 15 steps from out tent. It was as if someone had poured gallons of dye into the water, neither words nor photos really do it justice.

After breakfast we simply sat there, basking in the warm sun and taking it all in. A hidden paradise.

A strong recommendation from Ben Small later led us to another gem, Stout Grove.

Never before have I felt so positively tiny as I did standing next to the trees there. Towering hundreds of feet tall and wider than our car is long, they are truly a sight to behold. We wandered speechless for about an hour or so, staring at the canopy in disbelief. Every now and again the silence would be broken by two of the giants bumping into each other with a deep, unearthly thud. ‘Please stay on the trail’ signs were frequently ignored as fallen skyscrapers tempted us to walk along them, leading hundreds of feet into the pristine forest.

Once, again, there are no words...

Our campsite.

..and this was a small one...

wandering....

Me climbing into the underside of a fallen redwood.