Fern Canyon

The heat wave has hit the valleys of the Coastal Range, and Benbow is very warm.  Deciding that coastal trips were a better idea, today Liz and I explored Fern Canyon along Little River.  Where once the property included a section of land down to the center of the river, now of course it is all parkland, the old road is a trail, and the vegetation remains as lush as my memories of the beauty from fifty to sixty years ago.

Five finger ferns carpet any areas where springs drip glimmers of water, out-competing the sword fern, carrot fern, and lace ferns that abound.  We once hiked down to this section of the canyon, dropping off from the first flat near the old rough-hewn eastern State Park boundary marker, and would zig zag down the steep hill along trails carved out in the late 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps.  When my Grandfather "J.W." first bought the land, he and my grandmother would carry water up the steep hill to the old house, along what was then undoubtedly a fairly newish trail.  The hand-dug well by the house had fallen in, and water was a premium, so the trek up-and-down the steep hillside, zig-zagging along, was just what one had to do.  It wasn't until after my Grandfather's death that my folks became friends with the Mendosas and were able to fill large metal milk cans with water from the spigot behind the market.

Fifteen or so years later in the early fifties, when I first have a memory of walking it, the trail was masked by fallen redwood needles, but where animals used it as a track, it looked as if it had just been built.  I was a small child when my Grandmother would take my brother and me down the hill to fish in Little River. After trekking down the steep hill, we would have to get across Little River to the south side where the road ran. I remember how icy cold the water was as we took off our shoes and waded across, trying to avoid the thorny berries and stinging nettles.  We would walk along the road--then a paved driving road--to a nearby stone bridge where we generally dangled our lines free from the stinging nettles that were creekside through much of the riparian zone.  We caught small, six inch steelhead, then hauled them back up the hill and "Bigma" would fry them up for dinner.  They could be munched, bones and all, much like fried surfish. 

I am sure that remnants of the zig-zagging trail can still be found on the hill, now belonging to the Park.  That section of land leading to Little River was sold to them by Lincoln and Velva in the late 1950s, since the two both thought it should not be in private hands, but belong to the Park. 

The old CCC bridges are gone, replaced by salmon-friendly arched wooden bridges, and the paved road has narrowed to half its size.  Still, the trail is full of surprises around every corner, and the beauty is beyond words.  Whether Liz is holding a "branch" back for the next person (or maybe a bit bigger than a branch)



or we are walking past small little springs that trickle through the stones and ferns into the creek....

...Little River's Fern Canyon Trail is not to be missed!  Those of us who hiked down to Little River over the years will find the canyon very familiar, and the memories will be as fresh as yesterday.