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Sea to Summit: Schoolhouse Peak By Hollie Ernest
getout@northcoastjournal.com
I
woke up later than I meant to, which has been the case for most of my days on this earth. I’m always trying to squeeze too much into a day but I’d rather have the bucket overflow than be sitting still, wondering what to do. Even when I’ve been without a job, I’ve always got so much to do. In the words of my fellow Tennesseean, the great Dolly Parton, “I wake up with new dreams every day .... The second my feet hit the floor, I’m awake. I’m like, hurry, hurry. I just love life. And I feel like we ain’t got but a certain amount of time anyway. I want to make the most of all of it.” It was the Monday after a weekend spent backpacking with friends and I needed to work on my book, but my discipline was wavering. When dawn broke with sunshine and no fog, I decided to drive north. It would be an impromptu solo day trip with me and my road bike, a 44-mile out-and-back to Schoolhouse Peak for another Sea-to-Summit mission. I parked at Freshwater Lagoon and watched the windswept clouds play tag above the shoreline with my toes in the water. It was sunny, then not, then sunny again. I started pedaling up the steep switchbacks on Bald Hills Road, heart pumping hard. I had ridden this ascent just over a week prior and enjoyed the familiarity. Each switchback has its own landmarks of leaves and plants. The trailer and RV traffic increased, and I cursed myself for my late start. My legs burned as I stood out of the saddle and up through the fog I climbed, quads still sore from backpacking, but overall feeling good. Past Ladybird Johnson Grove, I emerged into the tawny and amber August hills and felt ecstatic to be alive. I just kept moving forward and let my mind wander. The pandemic, marginalization, evolution, the Yurok Tribe whose land this is, the invasive harding grass (Phalaris aquatica) that dominates parts of these hills and the California fescue (Festuca californica) that is the underdog in that fight. As usual, the ride up took longer than expected, the khaki ribbon of road unfurling for what looked like forever in front of me. I had to walk the last bit on loose gravel up to the official summit, the
NORTH COAST JOURNAL • Thursday, Dec. 2, 2021 • northcoastjournal.com
fire lookout tower on Schoolhouse Peak at 3,096 feet. The fire tower A view from the Schoolhouse Peak summit. Photo by Hollie Ernest was constructed in 1941 and has incredible panoramic views of between humans and fire, “Fire, smoke, Redwood National Park and beyond. It’s water temperatures, fish, people, forests: been modified and modernized from its we’re all the same, aren’t we? We’re all original wooden structure, and now has suffering simultaneously from too much tall metal walls leading up to an enclosed fire and not enough of it. The paradox is tower. soul-bending.” I let my mind wander furI sat out of the wind below the tower ther along the path of fire management as and ate my snacks, gazing out to the east. I pedaled in the opposite direction of the Even from ground level I could see the smoke and flames back towards the huSalmon and Red Cap fires. The Salmon mid, salty air of the coast. To my left were Mountain fire started on July 27, 2020, two meadows that were burned strategically in short days after I had stood on the moun2019 and will continue to be burned when tain’s mighty flanks. The man stationed at appropriate, when conditions allow. To my the Schoolhouse lookout told me the fires right, to the north, the forest was thick were merging and stood at 2,700 acres. with second-growth conifers. That felt large at the time, but we knew it The rolling hills on the return journey would spread rapidly and get much larger seemed to multiply, and my heavy legs in that steep terrain. By the end of August, argued with my brain over whether this it became known as the Red Salmon Comwas possible. Down shady switchbacks plex and reached over 20,000 acres. It kept on rough roads, the air cooled down and burning into November, reaching 145,000 I was enveloped in shadowy redwoods acres, and stretched from its start in the once again. Back at my car, I said goodbye Trinity Alps Wilderness to the Klamath, Six to the crashing surf and hurried home, Rivers and Shasta-Trinity National forests. wanting a nap but lacking the time. Dolly’s It burned near Hoopa Valley, Willow words, “hurry, hurry,” cursed me as I hastily Creek, Salyer, Denny, Forks of Salmon, made dinner for two friends who were Orleans and Cecilville. coming over for an outdoor, socially disAs I stared at the smoke in the distance, tanced dinner. I made burgers and charred I couldn’t help but wonder if these fires poblanos stuffed with corn risotto. In would not be so severe or intense if we’d my frenzy, I almost burned the burgers, had more “good fire,” in the past decades. but once the guests arrived, we got lost Sometimes natural and more often prein conversation, catching up on lives and scribed, these are low-intensity fires that adventures. The hurry melted into the riclear out the underbrush and reduce the sotto. We squeezed in the last of the day’s fuel load without setting an entire forest sun around a backyard fire, spent a few ablaze. The practice is traditional among more minutes watching the stars come local Native tribes. Our ecosystems have out and let a few things overflow into the evolved with fire and continue to need it bucket for tomorrow. ● as part of a cycle. Natural fires have been part of this cycle for centuries but after Hollie Ernest (she/her) is a botanist 100 years or more of fire suppression, fuel and forestry technician on hiatus from loads in our forests have built up to create an international bike tour. She is writing quite the precarious brush pile. a book about her travels, gardening Lenya Quinn-Davidson, our Area Fire and exploring the corners of Northern Advisor, wrote on the Fire-Adapted California. Follow her on Instagram @ Communities blog about the relationship Hollie_holly.
