When you’re craving that deep, soul-stirring connection with nature—the kind that strips away the noise and leaves only wonder—you go to the woods. And among all the forests, the Redwoods offer one of the most extraordinary places to experience that sense of awe.
We tucked ourselves away at the Trinidad Inn, a charming rustic cabin nestled just far enough off the path to feel like a secret. Morning light filtered through towering trees, and the hush of the forest was broken only by the occasional birdsong or the distant rush of waves from nearby Trinidad State Beach. Coffee on the porch here feels like a ritual—like you’re being granted an audience with something ancient.
After settling in, we turned our attention to what had truly drawn us there: the Redwoods themselves.
There’s nothing that prepares you for the first time you stand beneath these living skyscrapers. It’s not just their size—it’s the silence they command. A cathedral made not by hands, but by time itself. We wandered beneath their canopy in a kind of reverent awe, dwarfed by trees that have watched centuries come and go. The scent of damp earth and redwood needles was intoxicating.
As we walked, we couldn’t help but stop and marvel at the redwood burls—those wild, knotted growths twisting from the trunks like nature’s own abstract sculptures. Some were as large as small cars, others delicate and alien-looking, like something out of a dream. Each one holds the potential for life, capable of growing entirely new trees, which makes them as mysterious as they are beautiful. It’s as if the trees wear their stories on their bark, every burl a strange and wonderful artifact of survival and adaptation.
Looking up, we were stunned to learn that life doesn’t just thrive at ground level. High in the branches, thick mats of fallen needles—called duff—accumulate over centuries and form entire miniature ecosystems. Soil forms in the canopy. Ferns take root. Mosses flourish. And incredibly, salamanders live their whole lives up there, never once touching the forest floor. It’s a hidden world in the treetops, quietly thriving above us, and it deepened our awe for just how intricate and unexpected these forests really are.
One of the highlights of our trip was Fern Canyon, a surreal, narrow gorge cloaked in prehistoric green. Yes, this is the Fern Canyon from Jurassic Park, and standing there, with water trickling through our boots and moss-draped walls rising around us, we wouldn’t have been surprised to see a dinosaur peek around the corner. It’s a short hike, but getting there was its own adventure.
The road in was rough, riddled with ruts and several stream crossings that would challenge even a high-clearance SUV. We, however, were in a rented Mustang convertible. Each crossing was a gamble—shoes off, slow crawl, laughter mixed with nervous silence as water pushed around the wheels. By the time we reached the trailhead, the car was splattered and steaming, but we had made it. And that sense of having earned the journey only made the canyon more magical.
Each bend in the canyon walls revealed more of this ancient world, reminding us how old and enduring the natural world can be.
Another unforgettable encounter came with the elk.
Majestic. Massive. Mysterious. We saw them grazing at dawn, emerging like ghosts from the mist, antlers silhouetted against the pale light. Later, a herd lounged in an open meadow, unbothered by our presence, exuding a kind of ancient calm. Watching them felt like a privilege—a powerful moment of recognition that this land belongs to them, not to us, and that we are merely visitors here, with a responsibility to respect and protect what is not ours.
If you’ve never been to Redwoods National and State Parks, add it to your list—not someday, but soon. Aside from what we explored, the area is also home to sweeping coastal views, tidepools brimming with life, and scenic drives like the Avenue of the Giants. There’s also kayaking, stargazing, and rich Native American history if you’re up for diving deeper.
But even if all you do is stand quietly beneath a redwood, you’ll find something in yourself shift. You’ll leave changed.