Califronia

Nothing prepares you for the giant redwood forest. No matter how many times you read about it or see it in pictures, it will still take your breath away. Your mind will shut down, unable to comprehend anything of this stature, and for several minutes you will stand there, lost for words and awestruck. You will wonder how anything on earth could be so magnificent.

It has been my good fortune to have gazed upon many of the world's great panoramas-Grand Canyon, Machu Picchu, Iguazu Falls-and each is dazzling in its own right. But for sheer impact, the view and cathedral-like silence of a grove of giant redwoods compares with any.

Coastal redwoods of northern California grow within a few miles of the world's largest ocean and spend much of their lives shrouded in fog as a result. For the photographer this is mostly a good thing. It not only adds a sense of mystery to the forest, but it softens the light and reduces glare in the godbeams of this underworld.

But this is ridiculous! The fog is everywhere, threaded among the trees, adrift on meadows, and rising like steam from the asphalt. It reminds me of pea soup, so thick I can part it or play with it, which I am in no mood to do. I feel damp and dispirited but take solace in knowing that all fog must lift sometime, even this one. But when?

The path is slippery from condensation, but the air feels clean and refreshing. I shuffle cautiously forward, ever deeper into the gloomy silence. All I hear are my own muffled footsteps and the sound of dewdrops falling like light rain. Visibility in this white world is measured in inches.

And then a miracle in the woods. The fog parts ever so slightly from above, admitting a golden beam through the trees, to the forest floor. And then it is like a theatre curtain being drawn apart. I force myself not to shout as I comprehend the surroundings. My eyes are pulled upward, along the beam, and I can see I am enveloped by the world's tallest trees as they reach to the giddying heights of heaven. A collective sigh of "Jeesus!" echoes from up and down the trail. I just thought I was alone.

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Nothing prepares you for the giant redwood forest. No matter how many times you read about it or see it in pictures, it will still take your breath away. Your mind will shut down, unable to comprehend anything of this stature, and for several minutes you will stand there, lost for words and awestruck. You will wonder how anything on earth could be so magnificent. It has been my good fortune to have gazed upon many of the world's great panoramas-Grand Canyon, Machu Picchu, Iguazu Falls-and each is dazzling in its own right. But for sheer impact, the view and cathedral-like silence of a grove of giant redwoods compares with any. Coastal redwoods of northern California grow within a few miles of the world's largest ocean and spend much of their lives shrouded in fog as a result. For the photographer this is mostly a good thing. It not only adds a sense of mystery to the forest, but it softens the light and reduces glare in the godbeams of this underworld. But this is ridiculous! The fog is everywhere, threaded among the trees, adrift on meadows, and rising like steam from the asphalt. It reminds me of pea soup, so thick I can part it or play with it, which I am in no mood to do. I feel damp and dispirited but take solace in knowing that all fog must lift sometime, even this one. But when? The path is slippery from condensation, but the air feels clean and refreshing. I shuffle cautiously forward, ever deeper into the gloomy silence. All I hear are my own muffled footsteps and the sound of dewdrops falling like light rain. Visibility in this white world is measured in inches. And then a miracle in the woods. The fog parts ever so slightly from above, admitting a golden beam through the trees, to the forest floor. And then it is like a theatre curtain being drawn apart. I force myself not to shout as I comprehend the surroundings. My eyes are pulled upward, along the beam, and I can see I am enveloped by the world's tallest trees as they reach to the giddying heights of heaven. A collective sigh of "Jeesus!" echoes from up and down the trail. I just thought I was alone.

© Danny Kimberlin 2015