Crimson Quest

By Michael H. Kew

Narrow coastband from Port Orford south through Big Sur—Earth's tallest living things once bristled from two million of these holy acres.

In the 1850s gold was gotten—hives of white humans swarmed west to quadruple Alta California's population. Mining exploded, sawmills sprouted, antique redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens) were slaughtered. Today 95 percent—ascending nearly 400 feet and living for more than 2,500 years—are gone.

The five percent? Seventy-seven percent of those remain saw-prone on private land. The rest comprise famous parks in central and northern Cal.

“Redwoods, once seen, leave a mark that stays with you,” Steinbeck wrote in 1962’s Travels with Charley. “They are ambassadors from another time.”

October 2009. National Geographic magazine publishes Joel Bourne's “The Super Trees" immortalizing events of the Redwood Transect, a 1,800-mile south-to-north slog through the scraps of these historic conifers. The transectors—Lindsey Holm and Mike Fay—firstly grokked the southernmost "scattered holdings" in Monterey County. Eleven months on, the two had searched and slogged through deep brush six or so miles north of the state line.

I paused and smiled near the story's end: “On the last day of their transect, as they hunted for the northernmost redwood near Oregon’s Chetco River….”

Here, having somewhat avoided sawteeth, a handful of ancients dot the watershed. And in the Rogue River-Siskiyou National Forest, with their road signage, toilets, picnic tables, and self-guided interpretive brochures, two small groves are easily reached.

After reading the National Geographic story and growing evermore curious per coordinates of our absolute northernmost naturally occurring redwood tree, I studied a big Forest Service map of my locality. One obscure triangle of land: 21-acre Snaketooth Redwood Botanical Area. Below this were Big and Little Redwood creeks, drooling into the Chetco’s south bank.

Coast redwood, Chetco River Valley, date unknown. Photo courtesy Chetco Historical Society.

In March 2018 Klamath Forest Alliance's Luke Ruediger sent a blog entry detailing his Quail Prairie Creek canyon inspection per its proposed post-Chetco Bar Fire salvage logging, an evil dream of the Forest Service. Recalling the National Geographic line, I was piqued: "In a few locations young redwoods can be found growing among forests once dominated by Douglas fir. In one location we found...a single redwood tree, scorched by the fire, but responding with vigorous, green basal sprouts throughout the trunk. This tree, likely spread into the area from the nearby Snaketooth Butte redwood stands, is located within a roadside hazard unit. The entire stand...will be removed in the roadside logging prescriptions...(and) will potentially damage the isolated redwood, reducing its viability."

I placed Quail Prairie Creek at more than six miles north of the aforementioned redwood sites and 10 miles north of Oregon’s most famous redwoods that are literally downmountain from my house.

Wheeling for one minute past Alfred A. Loeb State Park (should be indigenously renamed Chetco State Park), where the air speaks of moss and camphor, motorists will find a small dirt carpark fronting a rectangular isle of old-growth forest amid myriad clearcuts and commercial fir plantations.

Looping through this 50-acre prize, Redwood Nature Trail is a popular 1.1-mile walk. The path snakes up and down a slope bisected by Two Salmon Creek and other seasonal streams gurgling to the Chetco. Sun-dappled canopies and lush understories here show us how the areal non-prairied hills once looked, smelled, and vibed.

In August 2017 the Chetco Bar Fire nearly nixed everything but via firefighting efforts the grove was narrowly saved. Not so lucky were the Wheeler Creek Research Natural Area (prime old-growth redwoods), Redwood Bar Campground, and the Snaketooth Redwood Botanical Area. Most of the affected trees, however, with their thick fire-resistant bark, endured scant damage. High in tannins, redwood bark has no resin nor pitch and hence burns slowly.

Oregon Redwoods Trail. Photo: Kew.

The trail's biggest redwoods are anywhere from three to eight centuries old and live at the top of the loop. The northernmost 300-footer is found here. Unique in that the largest are normally at lower, flatter elevations.

"I suspect it has to do with cold air sinking into the canyons in winter and potentially causing tree tops to freeze. But I’m not sure. The Chetco is a special place as it is not only one of the coldest valleys where redwoods grow but also one of the warmest. It has the greatest temperature variation of anywhere redwoods live besides maybe Napa County."

This was Zane Moore, jovial chap and scholar of redwood genomes at University of California, Davis. In April 2022 National Geographic published another redwoods article wherein writer Nadia Drake explored the tree's albino oddities. ("A biological improbability—an organism that shouldn’t exist...a scientific puzzle.") Moore was the story's protagonist.

I wondered if he'd found any albinos near Brookings.

"The northernmost known specimen is in California's Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park," he said. "I would love to know about any albino redwoods you find up there, though. Keep your eye out for big yellow branches in the trees."

Fourteen miles north of Jedediah Smith (should be renamed "Tolowa Dee-ni’ Redwoods State Park" per the region's indigenous tribe) lies the also-lamely-named Oregon Redwoods Trail. This land—from Peavine Ridge east a few miles to Bear Ridge—is home to Oregon’s largest Sequoia sempervirens.

"....including a 322-foot-tall one and a 22-foot-wide diameter one," Moore said. "The largest is a bit over 22,000 cubic feet, about half the size of the largest redwoods in Jedediah Smith. But these trees are not easily accessible. They’re a decent bushwhack in the Peavine area. Are you able to do that? Would you like to go see them?"

Thirty-five years ago, Oregon Redwoods Trail was almost another clearcut. On Peavine Ridge, around the top of the Moser Creek drainage, the Forest Service sought to log 60 acres of public land for a quick three million board feet. Thankfully the old trees were saved and can forever be enjoyed by all—even loggers.

One September yore, just past the equinox and beneath a Harvest Moon shrouded in blue, via mountain bike and foot I'd poked around Quail Prairie Creek for what's likely the world's northernmost naturally occurring coast redwood. Miles off the mark, Fay and Holm didn't find it. Neither have I—yet.

Thirst and hunger and dark Mozart sonatas rode me back to my car and civilization for a burger and French fries.

Slouched on his mobility scooter at the next table coincidentally was a thin beatific man—an ex-logger, perhaps 80—sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He glanced over and asked why my clothes were splattered with mud.

“Yeah, we used to pull a lot of big redwood outta there,” he said, gargle-voiced. “Not many of ‘em left—is that right?”

Those fries—much too salty.

This image + main: 300-footers along the Redwood Nature Trail, September 2023. Photos: Kew.