Planning, Improvising, and Making Do: A Ramble Among the Redwoods from 2017

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This story from back in the day.
To set the scene, a hairy weirdo who was planning on living in the woods out of the back of his Toyota T-100 pickup and a stylish gal with a penchant for exploring met, and they somehow found something special.

Him -the narrator, having been influenced by back-issues of Overland Journal and repeated rewatches of Expedition Overland; and her having been influenced by whatever sundry vanlifers were popular back then- I never got into Instagram, sorry- decided that the best thing for their fledgling relationship was a torturous four-night, three-day long-haul backcountry excursion on the wild coastal byways of Northern California. They decided that it would be a great way to get to know the intimate things about each other that really mattered: how terrible his farts are in the confined cabin of an old pickup, how comfortable she was pooping in the woods, and just how incompatible the musical tastes of a dude who mainlines Frank Zappa and Warren Zevon and a lady who was painfully into The Lunineers truly were.

How bad could it be?

 

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The trip began on a Friday evening.
We both finished work, and made for her parents' house, where her father had graciously packed us provisions for the journey. She was vegan at the time, and I have the dietary habits of a raccoon, so his expertise and assistance was greatly appreciated.
We loaded up as daylight began to fade and began the in-retrospect-way-too-long six hour first leg to the Six Rivers National Forest.

The grand plan was to travel north on HWY 101 from Sonoma County to the Six Rivers National Forest via The Bigfoot Scenic Byway, where we would poach a campsite somewhere on the banks of the Salmon River, from there, we'd go over the mountains west to visit Fern Canyon and back for another night in another spot in the Six Rivers, before heading south and working our way down the National Forest until heading west along the Eel River and meandering back.

The drive out was tedious, stressful, and amazing. Highway 101, for those unfamiliar, sucks donkey balls. It's a glorified parking lot from the Golden Gate to Windsor, and if you look closely, you could see a garden snail passing you by and flipping you the bird on a good day while some gross techbro in a Tesla is blocking four lanes of traffic trying to get from the diamond lane to the nearest exit for god-knows-what-reason.

Once we got past all that nonsense, it was really rad. We took it easy, cruising in the outside lane, seeing what sights we could see in the beams of our lights, and enjoyed the trip.

Now Venture, my dear departed T100 didn't have cruise control. Which meant that by the time we hit the Bear River, we needed gas, snacks, and I needed to walk some cramps out of my calf. We pulled into the uncomfortably surreal Bear River Casino's massive filling station where the fine lady copilot grabbed snacks and an yerba mate, while I snagged me a Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA as a victory pint for when we finally made it.

Pit-stop completed, we boogied north through Eureka, where we met up the Bigfoot Scenic Byway and began to finally see some dirt and gravel. As much as I look back on that leg as some exciting journey into the unknown, it really wasn't anything to write home about. It was just a lot of trees and rocks, and bushes in the narrow beams of my lights. We did stop to answer a call of nature once, and were driven back to the car by some weird sounds coming from down the shoulder of the mountain.
Could it have been Bigfoot? Maybe?
Or possibly angry growers. Or a bear that didn't like getting a surprise golden shower at 0100.
I lean towards the bear explanation, because one jumped off an embankment and knocked a cop car over near there a few weeks later.
Anyway, we made it to Sommes Bar on the Salmon River after passing through the Hupa reservation sometime around 0200, crawled into the camper and slept like logs.

 

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The next morning was a smoky one. In a sign of things to come, wildfires were hitting the Six Rivers hard, and while the air had been clear earlier, shifting wind conditions had pushed the smoke back into our faces.
We still busied about camp with our apple pancakes, desperate to try and force the exhaustion from the night before out of ourselves. I'm an early riser, and she's a light sleeper, so we were running on about maybe four hours of sleep at that point.

Loading up, we headed west toward Bald Hills Road. I wanted to keep us on dirt and gravel as much as possible, and this seemed like the most interesting way west towards Fern Canyon.
It was an odd drive.

The Salmon River is this gorgeous sluice of cold water cutting through tall coastal mountains. The roads alternate between logging roads, battered pavement, gravel track, and loose sandy soil from the tectonic uplift of acreted seabed. I wish that I'd been properly rested for this leg, because it was probably the most interesting and technical driving that I'd encountered then.

We made it to Fern Canyon where we had just a terrible blowout fight- Cranky People Overland, amirite? Get your rest, friends.
We reconciled, explored the canyon some, and then just sat on the beach for a while. As the shadows grew longer, we knew two things:
1. We were better having reconciled.
2. We didn't want to make that long drive back to the Six Rivers.
This is when the improvisation would begin.

To be continued...

 

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Heading out of Fern Canyon, we passed a wee tiny water crossing, and we just had to stop for some poser photos.

 

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Heading out, we asked a Ranger at Fern Canyon where a good campground was, and we were cautioned that with it being a holiday weekend we'd likely strike out.
We decided that we'd head south towards Trinidad and maybe find a place to crash in a motel or or turn east on one of the easier entrances back into the Six Rivers.
As we worked our way down, we found a little diner to grab some lunch: The Lighthouse Grill. I had ribs and she had some kind of veggie burger. This was back in the day before Impossible Burgers were a thing, so it was just a Garden Burger.
We wandered across the way to Murphy's Market where we got the important stuff: a bottle of whiskey and some plates.

Yes. We left home without plates and cutlery.
I'm a professional.

We wandered down to Trinidad State Beach, dropped the tailgate and enjoyed our libation while peering out over the beach overlook. It's a moment that will always mean everything to me.
The sun began to settled onto the horizon and we still had nowhere to stay. We were too tired to go east, and too uncomfortable just poaching a night at the overlook.
On the drive in we'd seen signage for the Emerald Forest RV Camp, and so we thought that we'd roll the dice on paying them a visit.

 

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A few minutes later, we were rolling past the signposts of Emerald Forest. The woman at the Front Desk was just incredibly nice and accommodating. They had tons of availability and even gave us a full RV spot under a big sprawling redwood.
We had water, land power, access to an amazing stone floored bathroom with a stall shower; all of the comforts of home.
We had a bit of a funny moment when we rolled into our camping spot and the young man next door was checking out my barely-modified truck and asking if I was an adventurer. It was a real shot in the arm of my ego.

Anyway, we clambered into the camper and settled in. We watched movies on my laptop and had a good time enjoying the quiet.

 

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The next following morning, we decided that we would just take the most scenic way possible home. To that end, we decided to take HWY 1 home once it broke away from 101.

Our first stop southbound was in Eureka, where we found a random shop called Vampire Penguin.
Curious, we swung by and found the best shave ices that we'd ever had. Tender, light shapes of flavored shave ice, topped with fruit and boba, heaped in coconut.
The shop later closed when the landlord raised the rent on them, and it just stands out as a wonderful little treat that you get to experience once in your life and then it retreats into distant memory.

We headed south to The Avenue of the Giants, and hit as many byways and rural roads as we could manage.
Passing through Weott, we found a little bypass road that would take us onto the shores of the Eel River for some more poser photos.

We took 254 through the Avenue and found a random produce stall selling all kinds of fruits and veggies, including the best blackberry popsicles that I'd ever had. I sometimes lay awake at night thinking about that little stall. I want to do this trip all over again and watch my daughters squeal with glee when they get their popsicles.
Someday.

 

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We hit Leggett and headed west to HWY 1.
We were gifted with the most incredible views of the craggy north coast beaches that makes my soul sing.
We stopped by the Mendocino Dunes to explore the mouth of the Ten Mile River, and decided that the next best course of action was to hit 128 east from Fort Bragg to visit Anderson Valley Brewing in Booneville.

And we made it to the brewery just as they were locking their doors for the evening.

Bummer.

From there, we decided that the next best course of action was beers at the now-departed Bear Republic in Healdsburg and tacos.
Then, it was the worst part of any fun escape from the real world: going back home.

As I've mentioned a couple of times in this story, I think about this trip a lot. It was my first taste of what I could do in a fun on-road/off-road excursion. It showed me how much of a great exploration vehicle I'd had in that old truck.
When things get stressful, or I find myself in a funk, I think about that night in Emerald Forest, or the shave ice at Vampire Penguin. When I'm overwhelmed at work and dog-tired, I think about the cold waters of the Salmon River and the pilings from long-gone trestle bridges from old logging railroads.
It's a little nugget of joy and wonder that I hold onto, and draw stamina from in order the face the challenges of adult life.

I miss that trip. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Thanks for reading, friends.