I adore coastal redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens). They are perhaps my closest and wisest of friends. Old-growth, second-growth, and everything in-between, redwood groves are intimate places where soaring canopies and thick trunks protect a lush and vibrant community of ferns, mosses, lichens, mushrooms, trillium, sorrel (Oxalis oregana), and delicate wildflowers (like orchids). It's that contrast between the brownish-red of the branches, the coniferous evergreen of the leaves, and the Kermit-the-frog, almost neon hues of the moist understory that makes these forested spaces truly shine.
Moving to Montana meant leaving the coastal reds behind. I was in mourning for a while, seeking solace on exposed ridgelines, in glaciated valleys, and in deep ravines populated by Ponderosa pines, Douglas firs, subalpine firs, whitebark pines, larches, quaking aspens, and Western hemlocks. As much as I loved these new forest friends, I missed the wet intimacy of a coastal redwood creek basin, like those in Del Norte, Humbolt, Mendocino, Sonoma, San Mateo, and Santa Cruz counties - including my home turf and much-Yelped Purisima Creek Redwoods OSP near Half Moon Bay: http://www.yelp.com/biz/purisima-creek-redwoods-open-space-preserve-woodside
Then I discovered Ross Creek's old growth red cedar grove, located in a remote corner of Northwestern Montana, south of Libby near Bull Lake in the Cabinet Mountains. It reminded me of home, while also retaining a distinctive Montana character that I was increasingly coming to enjoy. It was as if two of my favorite parts of the American Northwest had coupled in a night of wild, unbridled passion; the result was a curiously compelling hybrid progeny: part Rocky Mountain ruggedness, part Pacific coastal majesty. It was a wonderful, almost fairy-tale experience. I arrived early and had the grove to myself for a few blissful hours. The trail system is modest, well-maintained, and accessible to people of all ages. An impromptu rock cairn art display near the end of the loop added to the appeal of the place, as did the intense green and yellow colors of October, before dense snowfields blanketed the area in impenetrable, inaccessible whiteness. I didn't speak (I was alone, after all), and the silence of the forest echoed inside my head, bouncing off facets of my imagination that I didn't even realize I had. My footsteps were muffled by the humidity that makes this place a sheltered sanctuary from the bitter winds and icy harshness of winter. This microclimate, which you won't find in other parts of the state to the East, has enabled this precious colony of red cedars to grow for hundreds of years undisturbed. Some are estimated to be 400 years old, and they're still growing!
Knowing that places like Ross Creek exist where trees of great age and gracefulness can grow in peace makes me feel happy to be living in Montana. As for my beloved redwoods, I tend to visit them fairly regularly when back in Northern California, and I appreciate them all the more from a distance than I did before leaving. Redwoods or red cedars: both are beautiful, both are magical, both make you feel glad to be alive.
Walk in the shadow of these gentle giants, and you'll realize that there's more to life than being human. Trees have a good life if we just let them be. At Ross Creek, we do, and that makes all the difference. They don't get a lot of visitors, but those who come are always welcome if they respect the rules of the forest - leave no trace, take your time, don't make a lot of unnecessary noise, be calm, and remember to breathe.
Trees know this stuff. It's second nature to them. So too, should it be for all of us. read more