Racing with Giants

At the Humboldt Redwoods Marathon, the author finds that the great sequoias dwarf the body but lift the spirit

By Don Kardong
Special to TreeLink

Imagine the first European pioneers encountering the alien landscape of the American West. Magnificent peaks, unfathomable canyons, deserts sprawling blanched and pockmarked, geysers spouting like whales, riots of bison stampeding across infinite undulations of prairie. Each new vista must have gripped the imagination and challenged belief.

And yet in a land of constant surprise, the giant redwoods in northern California still must have astounded. Even a pilgrim accustomed to pondering the enigmas of creation must have stood transfixed at the base of an ancient redwood, marveling at its girth and gazing up like a ship's captain peering through the wrong end of the spyglass, not quite able to believe that these trees are living things rising halfway to heaven. Every new visitor must have stood this way--dwarfed, inspired, incredulous.

Just like I am. Except that I happen to be two-thirds of the way through the Humboldt Redwoods Marathon, and I've snuck behind one of these goliaths for a potty break.

I'm at the 16½-mile mark, in the middle of a section called the Rockefeller Forest, in honor of the magnate who helped preserve it. We could use a few more of the Rockefeller brand of fat cats these days, saviors instead of predators, since many of the last old-growth redwoods on private land once again are at risk of being turned into hot-tub decks and coffee tables.

This marathon, though, celebrates not victims but survivors, the giants who weren't cut off at their knotty knees. Both out-and-back sections on the Humboldt Redwoods course are splendid for viewing some of the most spectacular sequoias remaining on our planet. If forced to choose my favorite stretch, I'd pick this one along Bull Creek. A large field of half-marathoners no longer mixes with us, so it's as quiet, lonely and cool as it should be in primeval wilderness. I like those raucous big-city marathons with their crowds and sirens and thumping helicopters, but this, the antithesis of the urban race, is where my heart pumps with real joy.

And so I take a walking break, a potty break, a wondering break.

Look up, man, past the ground-hugging species, beyond the charred remnants of a fire that swept through here before Sir Francis Drake went exploring. Notice the deeply furrowed bark as it twists like the ridges of a licorice stick around the colossal trunk, winding the human eye way, way up to blue sky. Druids in England believed trees had spirits. Standing here, who would argue? Listen.

You there, the tree whispers, you are a mere speck of life, whizzing near my roots. You are a tiny pulse of activity through time. I'll still be here, standing massively and patiently when your moment is over. But, pointless as it may seem, you still have miles to go before you sleep. Back to work, biped.

The tower speaks the truth. Wonder leads to lassitude, and lassitude never helped any runner reach a marathon finish line very quickly. A moment later, I'm back on task, trotting up the roadway toward the final turnaround.

They're called Sequoia sempervirens--ever-living redwoods. But these trees actually never have enjoyed immortality, even before the lumberjacks showed up. Even a coastal giant, protected from human industry, coddled in a grove of its lofty peers and venerated for its majesty, must eventually face its fate. There comes a time when feebleness and gravity win, and the tree collapses in the dirt, ripping up roots and spraying rocks over nearby ferns. It makes a thunderous noise, whether anyone is there to hear it or not.

In fact, two of the most famous redwoods in Humboldt Redwoods State Park--the Dyerville Giant and the Flatiron Tree--now are lying in state, spread across hundreds of feet of forest real estate, stretched from the craters in which they once stood. And people aren't to blame this time. Instead, soggy soil, wind and the failing dynamics of biology pushing against physics are responsible.

So, yes, eventually they falter, stumble, collapse. But in the meantime--as much as 2,000 years' worth--they're survivors. The coastal redwood is one of only three species of the once-prolific redwood genus that weathered the last ice age. Every century or so, fires rip through the groves, incinerating needles, scorching bark and chewing holes through trunks--but somehow the big guys survive. Rivers bulge and overflow, drowning every other tree and plant in the floodplain, but the giants cope. In fact, they thrive, spinning new roots into the alluvial soil. Whatever the challenge, the redwoods battle back with stoic persistence.

They are wonderful role models. What better place to hold a marathon than among a crowd of these ideal fans, the kind who appreciate exactly what it means to hold your focus against collapse? They don't say much, but you know what they're thinking. They love this sport.

Well all right, that's a stretch. More likely, the first marathon held along this patch of tourist turf sprang not from an understanding of redwood psychology, but rather from that simple notion that motivates runners everywhere: What a cool place! Let's run here.

The name of the first person to jog in the redwood groves is not recorded. A native, most likely, pursuing game along needle-strewn paths. The first marathon, though, was the famed Avenue of the Giants, launched in 1972 by the Six Rivers Running Club of nearby Eureka. Runners from all over the West soon were flocking to the northern California coast each spring to marathon in the shaded, spirit-lifting redwood groves.

Avenue of the Giants grew quickly, and by the end of the decade, participation began to outstrip local resources. A limit of 2,000 entrants was instituted after the 1978 race, and a second marathon, Humboldt Redwoods, was launched in the fall of the following year. Today, both events continue: Avenue of the Giants in the spring and Humboldt Redwoods in the fall. Both cover the same loops of road, but in opposite directions.

Because interest in these two marathons waned during the mid-'80s, organizers added companion events to bolster attendance. Avenue of the Giants now includes a 10-K, and Humboldt Redwoods a half-marathon. As a result, when I drive down from Eureka on race morning, the parade of traffic belies the 300-or-so marathon entries. The total field, including the half, comprises nearly 1,500.

It's a foggy morning, which isn't surprising. After all, the coastal climate of reliable fog and rain allows the big trees to flourish. But as I reach the rocky Dyerville Bar parking area at the confluence of the Eel River and Bull Creek, the sequoias along the mountain ridge are clawing open a hole in the blue sky. It will be a sunny day, too warm for marathoning except under the massive canopy of the redwoods, where it will remain refreshingly air-conditioned throughout the race.

The marathon and half-marathon both start at 9 a.m. at the Dyerville Bridge, and a herd of runners soon are scrambling for elbow room on the narrow road. The sight of hundreds of humans scurrying like a panic of squirrels beneath the sequoias is wonderful, but I try not to get swept up in the excitement of the shorter race, attempting to focus instead on the towering wooden spectators. Patience, they advise. Plenty of time.

Next to the road I'm running on is Founders Grove, named in honor of the men who formed the Save the Redwoods League back in 1918, beginning a process that rescued thousands of acres of old-growth forest from logging. Even today, the league continues to buy and donate land to protect the redwoods.

It's impossible to fully appreciate what would have been lost without their efforts, but walking a short loop through Founders Grove will give you an idea. Soak in what you see. Mosey around the fallen giants, awed by the size of their trunks and the explosion of interlaced roots at their bases. Notice that even as they rot, they nourish seedlings. But more importantly, look up where the living redwood columns support the roof of this natural cathedral, where sunlight flickers in different shades of green in the arches of the canopy.

A second trail loop passes the Mahan Plaque, named for Laura Perrott Mahan and James P. Mahan, pioneers of the Save the Redwoods League. After Mrs. Mahan discovered in November 1924 that logging was taking place here, she and her husband stopped the cutting with a court order and by physically placing themselves in the loggers' way. Their impassioned tactics sound similar to those of the radical group Earth First!, located farther north along the highway. One of its members was killed last year by a felled redwood, and another has been nesting for more than a year on a platform in a 200-foot tree that the Pacific Lumber Company seems determined to cut.

Fanatics and goofballs? Maybe. But next to the Mahan Plaque sits a stump that looks to be about 12 feet across. Without the Mahans and their ilk, these days we might be running Avenue of the Great Big Stumps or the Humboldt Big Stumps marathons.

Out on the roadway near Founders Grove, I'm just beginning to enjoy the fruits of the Mahans' recalcitrance. A single runner, presumably nursing a tight muscle, has stopped to lean against a redwood in the classic calf-stretch pose. I've seen this routine a thousand times, but never against a 200-foot column of timber. Push, baby, push!

At 5 miles, I pass the park's visitor center and race headquarters. Outside the gift shop is a section of tree that fell in 1987, with markers counting rings backward to the sapling's birth in 1148. The tree was already a titan when Columbus sailed.

Just before 12 miles, I discover a great way to appreciate the incredible scale of these trees. The sun shines directly at my back, so I'm running next to a redwood's shadow along the edge of the pavement. It takes a long, long time for me to reach its apex.

The next 5 miles are the most pleasant of the course--cool, silent, isolated from human activity and thick with giants. This 10,000-acre grove was preserved, thanks to a tour given to John D. Rockefeller Jr. by officials from Save the Redwoods League. Suitably impressed, Rockefeller made a pair of million-dollar donations toward its purchase.

Shortly after my break at 16½ miles, the lead runner, Michael Lynes, passes me in the other direction toward the finish. Lynes will complete his marathon in 2:38:46.

I'm not striving for my best marathon time this morning, but I'm impressed by how fast other contenders are running on a course that is hillier than most and wonderfully more distracting. I've talked to several people who have set personal bests here, and the 2:17:43 of legendary Eureka marathoner Bill "Mad Dog" Scobey in 1973 seems especially noteworthy. Must have been the clean, cool air, or maybe those appreciative, bark-covered fans.

In fact, after the turnaround when I reach this spot again 40 minutes later, I begin to savor the palliative effects of a sequoia grove on marathon fatigue. I typically bonk at this point in a race, but today I feel light, uplifted. Europeans built stone cathedrals to elevate their hearts and minds toward heaven. I revel in the same sensation running through an ancient, monumental redwood grove.

After the race, I'll return to this spot to admire one of the most famous sights in the park--Giant Tree. Having a circumference of 363 feet and an enormous crown, Giant Tree is judged to be the king of the coastal redwoods. They don't grow any bigger before they fall.

As I head into the final 4 miles of the marathon, I feel a blister on one toe, an aching neuroma in my left foot, a cramp in my left calf, and a couple of sputtering hamstrings.

Do redwoods feel fatigue and pain before they succumb? If they do, they aren't admitting it. Today, they simply stand in mute witness of human effort. Their confidence inspires, mile after mile. I will not collapse today. Despite my nagging pains, I feel strong all the way to the finish.

Afterward, when the last runner has crossed the line and the finish chutes disappear, I stand in the Dyerville Bar parking lot, relishing the end of this lovely day. Wind whirs in the treetops, and the redwoods sway slightly in the waning afternoon sun. No wonder runners keep coming back here, year after year.

I drive back up the road for a final look. I want to remember exactly what these gigantic trees look like, what they feel like, how they overwhelm my imagination. And what they have to say, too. I listen.

Nicely done, biped. Time to soak your roots.

If You Go . . .

Remember, you have the option of doing a marathon at two different times of the year on this magnificent course. The Avenue of the Giants Marathon happens in the spring, and the Humboldt Redwoods Marathon takes place in the fall.

Getting Entered

The 29th Avenue of the Giants Marathon and 10-K occur on May 7, 2000. To enter, send a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) to Gaylou Gilchrist, c/o The Avenue, 281 Hidden Valley Rd., Bayside, CA 95524. Or call (707) 443-1226, or visit www.humboldt1.com/~avenue.

The 22nd Humboldt Redwoods Marathon and Half-Marathon will take place on October 15, 2000. To enter, send a SASE to HRM, Box 4989, Arcata, CA 95518. You also can call (707) 443-1220, fax (707) 443-2553, or e-mail spowers@northcoast.com.

Getting There

Both marathons start on Dyerville Bridge just north of Weott, which is 45 miles south of Eureka and 200 miles north of San Francisco on Highway 101.

Getting a Room

About 15 miles up Highway 101 from Weott is the Victorian-style Scotia Inn in Scotia (100 Main St., 707-764-5683). Or just south of Weott in Myers Flat is the Myers Flat Country Inn (1213 Avenue of the Giants, 707-943-3259). North of the start in Redcrest is the Redcrest Motor Inn (26459 Avenue of the Giants, 707-722-4208). For more options, including camping, call the Eureka Chamber of Commerce at (800) 356-6381. Getting Fed

In Eureka, try the moderately priced Samoa Cookhouse (1 Cookhouse Rd., 707-442-1659), a 100-year-old logging cookhouse converted into a restaurant and logging museum. Diners help themselves from large platters set out on long tables. Also affordable but a bit more elegant is The Benbow Inn (445 Lake Benbow Dr., 707-923-2124) in Garberville. For sandwiches and burgers, try the Knight's Restaurant (12866 Avenue of the Giants, 707-943-3411) in Myers Flat.

(Reported by permission of Runner's World magazine copyright 1999 Rodale Press Inc., All rights reserved)