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Chris and I rode out the first winter storm of the 2008 season on the southern Oregon coast, Brookings to be exact.  We were three stories high and dry in our ocean-front room above the beach, watching huge waves and listening to the wind howl.

The hardest part was getting there—driving in the pouring rain, dodging falling rocks, not to mention other motorists.  I’m serious.  Rocks were pelting Highway 199 from thirty to fifty feet above.

If you’ve ever seen those signs, Watch for Rocks, they ain’t lying.  Though I don’t know what good looking up in the air does.  I think they mean we should be watching for them on the roadway.  Duh!

Speaking of which, we were lucky enough to get right behind this scooping vehicle for about five miles.  Watching it zig-zag all over the road like a rock-eating bug was kind of thrilling. Unbeknownst to us, though, we were headed for a mini-boulder pile strung across both lanes.

So everybody waited for a spell, while the scooper did its thing—very ably, I might add.  Bored and looking for something else to photograph, though, I happened to glance up and see this huge mass towering above our heads, ready to fall at any minute, I expect.  No pictures did our danger justice.

You see, folks, the first rain of the season finds cracks and fissures that are just waiting for that last thread of rocky togetherness to dissolve; which in turn causes rock slides on the roadway below— where we, the humble motorists, scurry about minding our own business.

It’s always a mess after the first storm, or, so I was told by a local lady, and I have no reason to doubt her small-town veracity.  Unlike some female politicians we all have come to know of late, her word had a ring of truth.

There were also curve improvement and bridge replacement delays on Highway 199, not to mention a nasty looking crash that our sure-footed Subaru just missed participating in.

By the looks of things, somebody had lost control of his car, rolling and gouging a trench in the highway for about 25 feet before smashing against the side of the mountain wall. Better to end up there, though, than the rocky Smith River bed a hundred feet below on the other side.

The ragged vehicle was pretty near the rock slide, but I don’t know if the obstruction caused the crash or not. The roads were dangerous enough without falling rocks.

Needless to say, Chris slowed down, after so many reminders of death and destruction.  For my part, I kept looking overhead for more of that falling rock stuff.

Here is the view of the Smith River gorge from the rock slide area where we had to wait for passage.  As you can see, it was very misty.

Speaking of which, we took a hike in the redwoods along the side of a tall hill near Brookings.  To get there, I had to drive on a sometimes muddy, birch lined, one-lane road for 4 miles, winding higher and higher into the mist.  No falling rocks or oncoming, thankfully.

The hike was steep in places, as the sign had warned us, but not really difficult. Gigantic redwoods were here and there, some of them still standing as they had for centuries, some in big pieces, some burned out but still green at the top.

This wasn’t the prettiest redwood hiking trail I’ve ever seen, but it was the only one where we encountered nothing but plant life and a single, humongous, shiny black bug or spider. ( I couldn’t tell which.)  The rest of the redwood groves are generally packed with foreigners.

Sequoia Sempervirens or the coastal redwoods we saw along the trail are the only representatives of their kind that live so far north. They like to hang close to the ocean for the moisturizing effect but don’t want to breathe a lot of salt. It’s more the fog drip along the coast that’s necessary for their well being.

For a question and answer format, You can follow this link to Ask the Redwood Doctor, Chris Brinegar (retired biology professor) for more info.  Dr. Brinegar has a unique perspective for offsetting your personal production of carbon dioxide, which he calculates at about 1600 tons per person, by the way.  If you have other burning redwood questions, he’s the man.

For a dryer approach, here’s a bit of what Wikipedia has to say: Sequoia sempervirens is the sole living species of the genus Sequoia in the cypress family Cupressaceae. Common names include Coast Redwood and California Redwood. It is a monoecious evergreen, meaning there are separate male and female reproductive organs on the same tree.  The life span is most impressive—multi millenniums (over 2000 years).

Coast Redwoods are the tallest trees in the world, reaching up to almost 400 feet in height.  Also impressive is the roundness factor, scientifically known as diameter at breast height —clocking in at 26 ft for the biggest ones.

The quietude of our hike was more eerie than relaxing.  Heavy mist added to the other worldliness.  Once, we stopped to watch a few huge, sparkling drips start hundreds of feet above our heads and fall from the tree tops. Perhaps you can imagine our faces pointed straight up to the sky waiting for drips to make landfall.  Whole seconds would elapse.  Chris tried to catch a couple in his mouth. He also took this proverbial looking-up-view of some tall timber.  Nice, huh.

Meanwhile, back in our motel on the beach the sky was clearing up. Patchy sun was replacing the storm, and there were many seagulls for Chris to play with.

All in all, the winter storm turned out to be not as intense as predicted.  I have this link you can follow for an update of what’s next for the West Coast.  Weather is getting easier to predict than anything else these days, especially the stock market.

Mount Shasta got its first topping in a while.  See how pretty the mountain looks!