Those California tourism ads finally got to me. My time in Oregon was up, and the Golden State was calling. I think I had seen a total of 7 cycle tourists in my time leading up to Cali. It was definitely under ten. I had high hopes for the cycling lifestyle in California.
2/13
The week would start off true to the post’s title. At 5:30 am I awoke to hear my hosts getting a pretty early start to their day. For the next hour or two I lay in a state of exhausted confusion, trying to let Neil Young lull me back to sleep with a little Harvest Moon.
Finally I did resign myself to the day’s beginning and got to my preparations. Following a breakfast with my hosts, I got my stuff together and prepared to put Oregon behind me. Before taking off, Jim showed me his handcrafted fishing vessel, a true embodiment of craftsmanship. I left my Oregon bike route map with the Clark’s, knowing that it would do me no good in my next step. I had just conquered the 358 miles of Highway 101 in Oregon. To put my next challenge into perspective, the California crossing would require me to cover somewhere around two times that mileage. The flip side of that coin is that those hundreds of miles would be varied, owing to California’s incredible diversity of habitats. And habitat diversity directly translates to bird diversity, which excites me big time.
I arrived at the gateway to this birder’s mecca before 10 am. For the majority of the commuters on the road, it was just another routine border crossing on a 45 degree and overcast Thursday morning. The drivers rolling by hardly even acknowledged the change. But for me, it was a monumental moment. I had just crossed through the entirety of a state, from border to border, completely under my own power. I mean I’ve never even been in a car in the state of Oregon! I’m still in denial.
Still, the much awaited moment was a bit underwhelming, probably due to the morning’s mere 5 mile ride and the fact that I was the only one celebrating. That is until two synchronous Pacific Wrens sounded off as I completed my first pedal turns in the Golden State. They would stamp their fate as the first California bird for me on the year.
It has been nearly five years since I’d been in California, having only visited LA in the summer of ‘15 when my sister worked out there. Entering into this part of the state was quite different. I had always had this idea that California was basically overcrowded, but I was entering into a pretty rural region, even more so that the sleepy stretches of Oregon that I was leaving. The sparseness of civilization in this part of the state would offer its own challenges during my first few weeks in the state.
I rode onwards, as there was no suitable space to stop and enjoy my Californian arrival. The agricultural inspection station didn’t look particularly inviting.
I did not expect much of a change from crossing an artificially designated boundary, but the transition was more abrupt than I expected. The shoulder was cluttered and not nearly as well maintained as it was in Oregon. Agriculture spanned out before me in a non-stimulating panorama, the stench compensating for the sensory letdown. Turning off the highway to follow a detour, I heard Spanish being spoken openly for the first time in a while. I was a bit conflicted right off the bat. Already I missed Oregon, but I was also excited for this brave new land. By some interpretations, I had just left the Pacific Northwest by entering into California. By others, I was still in Cascadia and therefore still in the PNW. By all means I was in a whirlwind of in-betweens.
En route to my Warmshowers stay in Crescent City, the landscape changed abruptly form extensive pastureland to neighborhoods framed by young Redwoods. What a privilege the residents of this town have to live their lives alongside such remarkable beings.
Gerry and Trudy met me like true hosting veterans, and they encouraged me to do whatever I needed to while they went about their business. I fought off the real opportunity to rest and seized the day, striking off on a bird run in the last few fading hours of daylight. It’s one of the things that I appreciate most about this lifestyle: I may be comfortable in another’s home, but it is, after all, their home. If faced with an alternative, I opt to go explore.
I backtracked to the agricultural expanse on the uni and then set off on an ambitious bird walk. My wandering feet took me to the Alexandre Farm, where I hoped to add something from the recently reported selection of interesting species. I arrived to the dairy proper to find clouds of blackbirds and ducks astir in a state of chaos. Out of this confusion appeared my number one target for the outing: a Ferruginous Hawk. It was as if I had wished this pristine being into existence. It felt like it appeared out of thin air.
The next few minutes were like a dream sequence as the bird provided 360 degree low-level views before landing for extended study. I was blown away by the incredible lifer looks, and this moment registers very high on my lifer moments. I watched as his majesty relocated to a distant treetop, ousting a Peregrine Falcon from its throne and revealing the raptor hierarchy.
I was probably still drooling from the experience when a younger dude pulled up in a truck and asked what I was looking at. He gave me a card, began a friendly conversation, and revealed himself as a man in charge, this being his family’s farm. His name was Christian, and he grew up on this veritable wildlife wonderland in what seemed like a sort of Hallmark existence. I was instantly impressed by the sense of stewardship and regard that he and his family had for the land. I’ve snatched their mission statement from their website:
“We believe our God-given talents are to be stewards of the land. We dedicate ourselves to operating a profitable sustaining business by our commitment to holistic farming practices, lush green pastures, animal welfare and environmental stewardship. Our unique approach is unlike other farms and our cool, coastal climate and pastures cannot be matched. The result is nutrient dense milk, meat and eggs.”
I really dig their spiritual and environmentally-aware approach to running a viable business. They have a philosophy that guides their way of doing things, and it really shows in the integrity of the whole. Plus they are more than happy to share in their great fortune, which may be the most admirable part of the operation. Christian was very welcoming to me personally and told me that they enjoy seeing birders around and hearing the latest sightings. I’m a self-proclaimed birder and have no problem admitting that we have a lot of baggage and sometimes cross lines that shouldn’t be crossed. This firsthand experience leads me to appreciate their open-door, transparent ways even more. Their website even has a hyperlink to the farm’s eBird hotspot. We need more businesses like this in the world!
At some point in the conversation, White Oak Pastures in Bluffton, GA came up. I was shocked to hear Christian describe this renowned Bald Eagle sanctuary and organic farm operation as a sort of east coast equivalent to the Alexandre Family Farm. Success stories truly stick out in this small world.
So thanks for the life bird Alexandre Family, and thank you for being stewards of the land who gladly share in your bounty!
Darkness set in fast as I made my way back towards the suburbs with three new yearbirds under my belt. I had just seen more bird species in one place than I had previously seen in all of California.
The evening brought an energizing vegetarian meal and an overdue Pink Floyd listening session.
2/14
Valentine’s Day began as a cool and crisp morning. Under brisk conditions, I made my way out of town, aware of the daunting uphill that lay ahead. Before long I was on foot, appreciating the transition from mixed Douglas Fir woods to Redwoods in a much more intimate way than that of the motorists whizzing by.
Although 101’s steady traffic did not exactly compliment the Redwood viewing experience, I was nonetheless blown away by these towering behemoths. For whatever reason seeing these trees is expletive-evoking. It’s like the only words that come to mind in response to being in their company are curse words that carry weight. I’m pretty sure even a nun would let some cuss words slip in these circumstances.
Although being in the Redwoods is quite the unique and fortunate experience, one must not forget the remarkable nature of all living things. Practically everyone has access to little miracles of the natural world in their backyards, even if they don’t happen to be among the world’s largest organisms.
So these trees are an incredible natural wonder, but in the words of my cycling friend Brian Squire, “beauty is all around.” So get out in the world in take it in! You don’t have to be at a national monument to make amazing discoveries. And often times the most impactful sightings and experiences are found in unassuming places, when your expectations are low and the experience is not overly hyped-up by the fanfare of others.
The trees that I was viewing in particular are Coast Redwoods. They represent the only extant species in their genus, and their range is entirely confined to the Northern California (and southern Oregon) coast. They are incredibly long-lived, and specimens of these species do constitute some of the tallest trees on our planet. They are truly remarkable, which makes me less surprised that they are also endangered. It seems like people often have a tendency to mismanage exceptional things. One key threat to their continued existence is fire suppression. Like other communities dominated by conifers, the Coastal Redwood forest evolved with frequent fire, a natural force that limits competition and prepares the soil’s surface for regeneration of Redwood seedlings.
I wanted to use this account as a learning opportunity to get a handle on the Redwoods and their related species, as I was unclear on how many species the term “Redwood” referred to and what the distributions of the species look like. I was surprised to find the answer to be pretty simple. There are only two other “Redwoods”: the Giant Sequoia and the Dawn Redwood. Giant Sequoias are confined to the western slope of the Cascade mountain range in California and are noted as being the most massive trees on Earth. Like their coastal cousins, these guys are highly fire adapted and in danger of extinction. The Dawn Redwood, although a cosmopolitan species at one time in Earth’s history, is presently confined to just a few groves in China. Interestingly enough, it was initially described as a fossil and only later discovered to exist in the present day, making it a Lazarus species. It’s history is not unlike the Ginkgo, which despite existing in widespread plantings, was only recently discovered in native habitat.
After hiking up to the apex of this Redwood dome, it was time to descend a 6-7% grade that also happened to be an active work-zone with steady traffic. Amid this harrowing experience that required extreme focus, some bros offered me a brewski. Like a noob I refused with the typical weight excuse and rode on, pushing against the fatigue of six back-to-back moving days that was falling upon me like a lead blanket.
I rolled into Klamath delirious and starving. My only resolution lay in rest and food.
2/15
I continued my stay in the charming Ravenwood Motel in Klamath. Although not much was going on in town, I was really content to spend an off day in this little alcove of human population. Despite featuring a casino as a main attraction, Klamath felt clean and idyllic, with a nice main drag, bike lanes, and parks occupied by energetic kids.
2/16
I was in for it on this one. A pretty shitty day from the start. I just had to choose a rainy day for a moving day. Apparently I’d gotten too comfortable and complacent with this glamorous weather, so the return of the rain hit hard. I was forgetting the reality of my undertaking, of less-than-ideal weather and discomfort, but today would offer a bit of a refresher.
I was on foot a good bit to begin, which was a real blow to the energy reserves when combined with the sullen gloom that drizzled around me.
I did get to ride through some more impressive Redwoods before the road spit me out to Orick. In looking at the map, I had planned to stay at a motel in town, but the motel owner in Klamath had seriously advised me not to stay there. The Google reviews were another strike against the option.
Seeing the place in person was the final straw, and I walked off thinking hell to the nah nah. Frankly this town was just downright scary and dirty, which was a surprising feeling for what has been otherwise pleasant stretch of road.
So begrudgingly I moved on, burdened by the feeling of having plans that were unsettled. I had hoped to use Orick as a base from which to bird Humboldt Lagoons State Park, but was now forced to incorporate a drive-by visit to this hotspot in route to a refuge for the night.
The drizzling rain continued as I diverted from 101 to try for the bird of interest here: Evening Grosbeak. My birder sense was telling me that I had a low probability of crossing paths with this one, so I grabbed a quick snack as I planned my next move in the parking lot.
It wasn’t until later that I saw on eBird that there was also a highly desirable Yellow-billed Loon hanging out in one of the lagoons. Although the probability of actually finding that arctic bird, had I known about it, was low, it was still kind of a bitter feeling. In hindsight, camping gear would have been very helpful in this situation. I have since outfitted my rig with camping equipment, and it has totally revolutionized my operation.
Anyway, back to the account of my day from hell. In studying the map, I realized that a thin sand spit connected the State Park to the town of Big Lagoon further south. I could just walk along this beach and bypass a bit of 101, which I was struggling riding anyway.
People eyed me as I made my way with the uni out to the beach. Their puzzled looks should have been red flags to my decision, but I continued on, headstrong as ever. What I had not noticed on Google Maps was a rock outcropping that butted up against the ocean and guarded the sand spit destination. Some dudes advised that I could make it through if I really hurried; the tide was rushing in quick.
My brilliant idea quickly became real as I scrambled through a rockfield amid an angrily approaching tide. I had to make separate trips to carry my uni and pack across the obstacle. Waves mercilessly crashed upon myself and my gear as my head projected terrible visions of deadly sneaker waves whisking me out to sea.
It was a dicey move, but I did survive the pinch-point gauntlet. My taillight, however, did not fare so well. The rest of the way to my return to roads was about as I expected: sandy and slow-going. It was after 4 by the time I ruefully laid eyes on 101 once more.
I made it to Patrick’s Point and put the pedal down, driven by a desire to find a place to stay at the rapidly ending day.
I stuck with it for the five miles into Trinidad. It’s hard to downplay the difference between arriving triumphant on the wheel and walking in dejected, defeated, and demoralized. Riding in on the uni does wonders to boost my morale.
At the motel that I settled upon, a search for a water hose ensued. The unplanned second baptism of the uni mandated a hosing-off.
2/17
I continued my ride on the poorly-maintained Patrick’s Point road. It was great offroading practice. I enjoyed the technicality, favoring these short-term challenges with rapid gratification as opposed to the more permanent challenges of long distance unicycling.
Today’s destination was Arcata. The approach was made amid crowds of people enjoying the nice president’s day weather on their local bike paths.
A cooperative White-tailed Kite provided lifer views as it hovered compulsively over someone’s yard. The adrenaline from the lifer was still flowing when I descended to a river valley and spotted something that would cause me to question my understanding of North American birdlife. A frenzy of medium sized birds caught my attention from the corner of my eye. As I dug through my backpack to fish out my binoculars, I tried to figure out what species the image conjured. Birders become pretty good at interpreting the parts of a scene to reach the epitome that is identification. We rapidly digest visual and auditory clues, drawing on the size/shape/color of the bird, location, and habitat to produce a likely culprit. But with these birds in question, my mind’s output was essentially blank. The possibilities of Ibis, exotic birds, or free-range poultry were unsatisfactory.
So when the moment came that my binoculars magnified the image and brought some clarification to the mystery at hand, I was left perplexed. I could instantly see that these birds were Long-billed Curlews, a ridiculous shorebird with an insect-like proboscis and penchant for remote terrain. One of those birds that gave me hell in Seaside, Oregon was a member of this species. Now 132 of these meticulous marvels occupied a normal looking field in a foraging frenzy. They were working through the field like blackbirds. My world was turned upside down. My only experience with this species was just months ago in coastal Georgia where it is practically a necessity to take a boat trip to a remote sandbar to get views at one.
I managed to collect myself enough to ride onwards in a state of minor shock. It wasn’t long before I rode past Humboldt State and into Arcata. After checking into a motel, I had a burger at a retro joint. This town has a real Athens feel: cool and collegey.
I made the most of the afternoon by birding the renowned Arcata Marsh and adding ten more yearbirds.
2/18
My stomach was killing me all day, but I needed this day in Arcata to be productive. I headed on foot to an eBird hotspot out of town in the agricultural expanse that stretched out towards the ocean. Among several new yearbirds encountered here was a Prairie Falcon, a real score and compensation for another failed Northern Shrike attempt.
In the afternoon, I finally made the decisive move to purchase camping gear in town.
2/19
The first thing that I had to take care of this morning was a visit to the post office. In order to make space for my camping gear addition, I had to mail my scope off for repairs and an additional package of crap home.
Gear I dropped:
Gear I picked up:
I figured it would be a good idea to relocate just a few miles south of town to a campsite that appeared on my adventurecycling map for a camping trail run. That way I could familiarize myself with the equipment under good conditions and remain within rideable distance of town if something was amiss. Instantly I noticed that the new rig was lighter and easier to mount. My modifications had resulted in a net loss to weight.
That night I was camping!
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Hey it’s my first post of the month! Sorry for the delay, but I’m just coming off of a multi-day birding frenzy with bike birding aficionado Dorian Anderson in San Francisco, if you can believe that.
