chapter 26

Big Basin Redwoods State ParkShaheeda, the conscientious workaholic, left for Google to do justice to her pay cheque while Arpitha decided to stay back citing she had to catch up on some ‘pending work’ which, I strongly suspect, goes by the name ‘Amar’. Therefore, it was VK, Nizar and I who left the next morning, if you can call 11 am that, for Big Basin Redwoods State Park.‘It’s California’s oldest state park. Established in 1902,’ Nizar said as we clambered into the car for the hour-long drive. He fixed his coffee mug on the cup holder near his seat ritualistically before taking the steering. I really don’t know why he carries a monster mug of coffee on every journey, for I’ve never seen him take more than a sip from it. Maybe the proximity of caffeine is enough to give him the kick he needs to drive long hours with ease and zest.Our trip to High Cliff State Park in Wisconsin had given me a taste of America’s state parks, or the state of parks in America, but nothing prepared me for the majesty of this mind-blowing 18,000-acre park. Though there were other trees like oak, pine and fir, it was redwood, named so because of its reddish-brown bark, which overwhelmed us. The mammoth trees, some more than 2,000 years old and over 300 feet tall, grow here because the combination of summer fog, moderate temperature and winter rainfall is perfect for them. If you want to know just how insignificant you are, spend some time at Big Basin.Once Nizar parked the car opposite the Visitor Center, we set off on the short trail, home to some of the tallest and widest old growth redwoods, our spontaneous noises of appreciation startling the bird population around. We walked into the quiet and sedate forest, sometimes together, sometimes in single file, but never straying outside the trail. We often stopped to examine and gush over some tree or place that demanded special attention, like a sawn-off section of an ancient redwood that had tags to indicate growth rings from the tree’s birth in 544 ad to modern landmark dates. What excited us was the reference to India. The tag said, ‘544—tree sprouted in California. Chess played in India.’ Here was a tree just planted in California, and in India people were pitting their wits against each other at chess. Excellent.There were giant trees named ‘Mother of the Forest’ and ‘Father of the Forest’, though labelled offspring weren’t anywhere in sight. Feminists will rejoice to know that the mother, at 293 feet, was taller than the father, a mere 251-footer. Trees with huge hollows invited us to step in and I learnt later that the hollows were caused by fires. Early settlers found them a convenient place to house their geese and other domestic animals, thereby giving the hollows the name, ‘goose-pens’.While on the subject of fires, we were shocked and saddened when we heard about the horrific destruction in Big Basin caused by the CZU Lightning August Complex fire in 2020. Big Basin was not a stranger to fires—the low-intensity fires actually kept the forest healthy—and redwood trees with their thick, flame-resistant bark are equipped to withstand them, but this one was a conflagration apart.It burnt down the Visitor’s Center and other historic buildings, extending over all the 18,000 acres of the park. Environmental experts believe that this fire followed the same path of the most destructive fire before this—the 1904 blaze—creeping along the same ridges and pathways as it moved through the park and the mountains. But though the redwood trees burned their hearts out, most of them have survived and green stems have been spotted protruding from the tree trunks, proving the veracity of the second part of their scientific name, ‘sequoia sempervirens’, meaning ‘ever living’. The cleaning and re-building process is on and experts believe the resilient forest will in time regain its past glory, with a marked increase in the number of goose-pen trees.Not being clairvoyant, we were clueless about the devastation awaiting the forest whose refreshing sights and sounds we were soaking in. We came across a clearing among the trees that looked like a sylvan amphitheatre with unsophisticated but solid wooden benches around. Who knows, it might have been the scene of a stirring dramatic performance of King Lear or Julius Caesar in the past.It was a great trek, and we enjoyed the walk so much we didn’t realise how much distance we had covered. We switched from a small trek to a longer uphill one, and other than meeting a couple intent on not reaching the bottom earlier than expected, we met no other human. It was only us and nature. There were any number of small wooden bridges to cross, some with dead trees doubling as bridges, though there wasn’t much water in some of the brooks. Rather disappointing, that.Nizar had a fascinating metal walking stick with him—fascinating because it had a compass on top. ‘Great walking stick,’ I said, examining the compass with curiosity.‘Not a walking stick, please,’ he implored. ‘Makes me feel old. This is a hiking pole.’ He said he generally found it hard to keep his balance and stay upright during descents, so a walking stick, sorry, a hiking pole, is a good prop and prevents a fall.‘It’s best to descend sideways,’ VK offered expert advice that he immediately demonstrated. ‘Helps you keep your balance.’‘Ha, that’d only help me fall sideways,’ Nizar quipped.When we returned to the starting point and checked the board, we found we had actually done a moderate trek and that, combined with the first shorter one, meant we had walked a total of 9 miles—not bad at all. We took a look at the famous Auto tree with a hollow into which people had driven their cars in the past, before we prepared to leave.We were getting into the car when a woman approached Nizar and asked for a lift for her husband, Chris. ‘Sure,’ said Nizar.Chris soon appeared and flashed a half smile at all of us before climbing into the front seat. He had an interesting story to relate. He was one of the ‘Boat People’ we had heard so much about. He had left Vietnam as a boy of fourteen, spent two weeks on a boat, was rescued and then spent six months in an Australian refugee camp. He was then taken to California and resettled.America had welcomed him and he embraced America with a passion. He became a computer engineer and was working with Cisco in San Jose. Though he had married a South Asian woman, the family was, like Nizar, uber-American. One of his kids was in college, but had taken the year off to explore the country with her partner. They were all out on a trek and had left one of their cars at a park over 20 kms away and walked to Big Basin. Crazy, very American family, we thought. Imagine spending your holidays trekking and sleeping in the open, when you could have stayed at home and read or watched movies. And probably got on each other’s nerves. They intended to trek back but he needed to get something from his car.VK asked him about the journey out of Vietnam. ‘I hardly remember,’ he shrugged. ‘And, frankly, I don’t want to’. He had never tried to trace any of his relatives in Vietnam. ‘Nothing to be gained by revisiting the past,’ he commented.Well! In a world focused on identity and roots and all sorts of complicated, often narcissistic, attempts to discover one and uncover the other, here was a truly free bird. Chris had embraced the work ethic of his adopted land as well as its mores on relaxing and recreation. He thanked Nizar profusely when he realised that Nizar had discreetly changed his planned route to drop him very close to where his car was parked.That evening was our last in San Jose and we played cards and dined with a tinge of sadness. We were going to miss Nizar and Shaheeda who had made us feel so much at home. Nizar’s generosity and thoughtfulness continued till the last for he came to our room with a monster suitcase to take to Neenah.‘But this is too huge,’ I protested.‘Try stuffing all your shopping into the suitcases you had brought,’ he gave a knowing grin.I didn’t even try; I was appalled when I began pulling out from the cupboards a never-ending collection of fat, shapeless carry bags. The giant suitcase got filled in no time.‘Here’s a gift for you,’ Nizar handed something to VK.‘Wow, a walking stick,’ VK enthused. Nizar grimaced.‘A hiking pole,’ I quickly corrected VK who reiterated, ‘A walking stick, of course. What hiking, viking pole?’ I’m glad he’s not in the diplomatic service.