Reunion Number Twenty-One Poem by Bill Galvin

Fern Canyon, Prairie Creek Redwoods Park, NorCal

This afternoon, I drove a couple miles down 101
From the Lost Man Creek area,
To arrive at Davison Road, which begins
At a meadow for grazing elk (I saw a small herd) .
From there it is a four dirt miles to the coast,
And four more along the coast to Fern Canyon.

Reading various descriptions of this unique place,
I realized yesterday that we had been there.
Hard to forget fifty foot high walls covered with
Ferns and vines, in a canyon only thirty feet wide.
Another wow moment of natural splendor.
But I did forget the eight miles of bad road in.
Climbing, winding, dipping, blind hairpin turns;
And, oh, the potholes! But, it’s gorgeous;
Driving thru second-growth redwoods.
The ranger warned those not in SUVs
That there are two stream crossings.
The Camry made it all right after I scouted
Entry and exit points; the water wasn’t the issue;
I hit bottom on the steep up slopes.
One guy in a Mini or Micro Cooper didn’t risk it.
Remember back in ’90 when you suggested
We buy an SUV, since I was always taking
The Celica off road? I got that 4 Runner
And two months later we drove it to Alaska
From Massachusetts… 11,000 miles round trip.
3 months old and truck is already out of warranty.
Oh well, still lasted 12 years,200,000 miles.
So, a reader might ask, why a Camry on this trip?
A bad New England winter, and Deb’s loving sister,
Who helped me give care to Deb in her final months,
Had her truck turn into salvage before her very eyes;
So I left my later 4 Runner with her,
So she could see over our record setting snow banks,
While I got reused to travel in a low down sedan.
(Didn’t know I’d need to do stream crossings.)

Arriving at the end is a parking lot;
Then a quarter mile foot trail to the canyon
Where a stream runs from side to side
Or divides two or three times, on its way
To the ocean several hundred yards away.

Your feet get wet here; not many know that
Judging by their footwear.
You cannot make every crossing on logs,
But it’s only a few inches deep most areas,
And in trying to stay dry, people slip off wet logs,
Step on the wrong rocks, and forget that they
Cannot stretch as far as when they were younger.
The most fun was had by an 8 year-old
Who did not avoid any water, in up to his knees.
Like I told his grandfather,
“Once you’re wet, you can’t get any wetter”.
It reminded me of our weekend backpack hike
Halfway up Mt. Washington early on in the 70s.
The rain was supposed to clear; but,
Setting up a wet tent, having rain all night,
Packing wet equipment, we decided to head down.
A mile into the descent we were soaked all through,
So, no more need to avoid wet branches,
No more using log crossings at streams;
Just slog on thru; can’t get any wetter.

Anyway, my boots today still step lightly and rightly,
And I have no issues; my walking stick,
Which I made from a maple sapling in Maine,
Way back in 1991, and has been with us, and me,
In all beauteous places from East to West to Alaska,
Supplies that needed 3-point stance for some places.
Other hikers rue not having one.
I don’t go all the way up the canyon,
Stopping at a bunch of downed tree trunks
Stretching the full width of the narrow ravine;
One is redwood,4-5 feet in diameter;
Broken in two by one canyon wall, as it fell in.
Looking unhandsome and grotesque,
It blocks passage, without some effort,
To all but the stream, which flowed under one corner.
Other trekkers clamber over this huge log,
Leaving it worn, gray, and dirty.

It begins to rain, and it looks like I’m last one here.

From a distance, and up close, these logs are not pretty.
I imagine you might say, “How ugly. They should remove it.”
I’d say, “Not possible; and why would they? It’s natural.”
“Well, I don’t want to sit here.” So, I sit there.
I’m toying with you, like I always did. Tweaking you a bit.
So, of course, to rub it in, I good-naturedly submit
Some of you lovely locks to the fast flowing waters.
I imagine a “Yuck” from your playful spirit;
But, you’d soon see a wonderful rafting ride
Down a memorable gorge of greenery
To the Pacific Ocean close by.

This one was fun; eh, Babe?

(“All right. I guess so.”)

4-23-2015 (Fortuna, CA)