It’s been an incredibly busy spring, with little time to get away and record nature sounds. But in late May, I took a break from house renovation and writing projects to escape to northern California. My goal was to try to capture sounds within the coastal redwoods. In the right conditions, these giant trees can reflect a lovely spaciousness reminiscent of the great cathedrals. I was hoping to capture some of the dawn chorus in these forests.
I started at Humboldt Redwoods State Park, camping at a campground off of highway 101, on the advice of a friend. Unfortunately for most of the trip, a strong storm off the coast was generating high winds in the area. The tall trees broke most of the wind, so there was very little at ground level, but also created a loud “whoosh” that sounded like a plane taking off. I tried to record the flutey evening song of the Swainson’s thrushes, but they could barely be heard above the wind.
The wind continued into the morning. I decided to hunt for more dog-friendly accommodations (California state parks are much less dog-friendly than some county parks). I headed west from Humboldt State Park toward Mattole Beach. Along the way, I stopped along the road to try to record some forest birds near a mountain pass, in a lovely forest of fir, pine, and a variety of deciduous trees. I had just set up the mics when an old hermit appeared, staring quizzically at the furry globes that cover my microphones. When I explained what they were, and made it clear I didn’t work for the government, we had a great conversation about the forest and its resident critters. He had left the Bay Area some 30-40 years earlier seeking peace and quiet. Then Humboldt County became a pot-growing mecca, and he found himself surrounded by wealth and rudeness speeding by on badly rutted roads. By the time we finished our conversation, the midday sun had quieted the birds, and I resumed my trip to the beach, armed with the hermit’s helpful advice on how to avoid getting run over by speeding pot growers.
The offshore storm was pounding Mattole Beach with near-gale force winds when I arrived. Shadow and I wandered the beach a bit, awestruck by the tremendous roar of the pounding waves on the sand.
There was too much wind and blowing sand to record on the beach itself, but the parking lot, situated above the dunes about 100 yards from the high tide line, was surrounded by raspberry brambles and small trees. I tucked my microphones behind the raspberries, and picked up the roar of the waves and a few bird twitters (you’ll need decent headphones to hear the low boom of the waves).
Mattole Beach is the northern terminus for the Lost Coast Trail, a 56-mile backpacking route through the King’s Range National Conservation Area. The trail follows the shore the whole way, in an area with no roads or structures. A few backpackers came and went from the trail head while we were there, and I can only imagine how tired they must have been of the wind and the roar of the pounding waves.
After a couple of hours at the beach, we turned back inland and headed for A.M. Wray County Park, on the Eel River. Redwoods were few and far between here, but there was a very diverse forest of fir, pine, oak, alder and a bunch of other things I couldn’t name. There was a denser understory, which invited in towhees and other sparrows. Shadow and I wandered the gravel bars of the Eel River, as the clouds from the storm started to approach. A red-shouldered hawk flew over, and just before it was too dark to see, a family of river otters emerged on the far bank, and quickly made their way downstream. I only had my cell phone on me, so didn’t get any photos that look convincingly like otter.
The wind persisted through the evening and the clouds held on to their rain. Just before dawn the wind let up a little, and I was able to record a bit of a dawn chorus, with black-headed grosbeaks, California and spotted towhees, juncos, woodpeckers, and a couple of kinds of warblers.
As the dawn chorus slowed down, it started to drizzle, so after a quick breakfast I hit the road again to do more exploring. I headed to Cape Mendicino as the clouds began to break, then went on to Ferndale for a cup of coffee. I found a wildlife refuge near the beach, and Shadow and I waded through some thick vegetation to get to the shore. We ate lunch while watching the waves then headed back to the car. I realized when we got there that we were both completely covered in ticks. I spent a few minutes trying to get as many off of both of us as I could, thankful that I remembered to apply Shadow’s tick medicine before we left Nevada.
We headed back inland, up the Van Duesen River to Van Duesen County Park. The campground was in the thick of the redwoods again, with varied thrushes ringing through the forest as I set up camp. The campground was bordered on one side by the river, with large cliffs on the far side. These reflected the sound of the river throughout the campground, but I’m learning it may be difficult to get recordings of coastal redwoods without the sound of water.
The night was very quiet, and sometime after midnight, the wind finally died. I listened for the sounds of owls in the forest, but only heard the whisper of the river. Shadow kept waking me up to scratch and shake off ticks, and I found it hard to sleep with ticks tap-dancing across my face. Shadow’s tick meds worked really well, not so much repelling the ticks, but killing any that tried to bite. His bed was littered with dead ticks in the morning. Luckily, ticks don’t care for me, so none bit me.
Varied thrushes, with their metallic, eerie call, greeted the dawn. It wasn’t quite the recording I’d hoped for, but not bad given the windy conditions.
After breakfast, we headed back toward Nevada, with a stop in the Lassen National Forest. But that’s a story for another day.