Humboldt State University

Friday 9th January 2009

Amy and I had carefully timed our arrival in Arcata, a city about eight miles north of Eureka. Arcata is the home of Humboldt State University (HSU) - the northernmost campus of the Californian State University System - and HSU was due to host a concert by the jazz singer Bobby McFerrin on the 9th January. The human half of our duo is a great Bobby McFerrin fan and therefore entered town humming along to "Don't Worry, Be Happy". The canine half kept him on a long leash. But the best laid virtual plans of men and dogs ... and all that. The concert was cancelled due to ill-health and therefore I had to pretend it happened as I listened to one of his CD's on my MP3 player. A pretend concert on a pretend tour - how sad is that?

The cancellation did give us time to explore the campus. The present-day seven-and-a-half thousand student university developed out of the Humboldt State Normal School, a teacher training college established in 1913. It has a excellent reputation as a centre of learning - "Humboldt students are among the brightest and most unique students anywhere", trills the university brochure  - and as a centre for student activism and libertarian views. Architecturally, its most prominent feature is Founders Hall which dominates the local landscape. During the second-world war it was painted in camouflage so Japanese submarines could not use it as a navigation aid.

Today, the university is keen to entice anyone in its direction and I thought I might as well check out the opportunities for Amy (after all she keeps telling me what a clever dog she is). There's a Department of Wildlife Management, I say as I flick through the prospectus. She objects to this and indicates a degree programme in kinesiology as an alternative. "What the hell is kinesiology?" I ask as we walk out of town. I look it up in my dictionary. Ah, yes - exercise science!

LINKS:

Humboldt State University

KRFH - Radio Free Humboldt

Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge

Thursday 8th January 2009

Amy and I spent yesterday walking up the length of the Samoa Peninsular, enjoying the feel of sand under our feet and the sound of the crashing ocean in our ears. Manilla Beach was windswept, largely deserted and hugely beautiful and my dog and I walked on without a care in the world.  Towards the top of the peninsular the view is spoilt by a number of caravan parks - charmingly known by the locals as the Ghetto By The Sea - but I promised Amy that we would soon be returning to the delights of Mother Nature as we were approaching the northern dunes which form an integral part of the Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge. I read from the brochure, trying to transmit my excitement to Amy. "The coastal habitats conserved at Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge - from lush wetlands to fragile dunes and jutting seastacks - support an incredible wealth of plants, fish, and wildlife". By then we had reached the entrance to the Ma-le'l Dunes and my eyes focused on that dreadful phrase, "No Dogs Allowed". I tried to explain it to Amy : "it's in order to protect the fragile ecosystem and ensure that these rare creatures are safe". She gave me a look of contempt which clearly indicated that she understood the double-standards which us humans are capable of, and cocked a leg up at the bit of the sign which clearly stated that hunting and fishing were allowed! As I have probably said before, strange place this America.

LINKS:

Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge Website

Samoa Bridge and Indian Island

Tuesday 6th January 2009

Leaving the city of Eureka behind, Amy and I head along Highway 255 which effectively means transversing the mighty Samoa Bridge. Built in 1971, the bridge - or to be more exact, three bridges - provided a direct route from Eureka to the Samoa Peninsular and made the old Humboldt Bay Ferry service redundant. The bridges first of all links the mainland with Woodley Island, then Woodley Island with Indian Island, then Indian Island with the Peninsular.

Amy and I stopped off on Indian Island - or Duluwat Island as it was originally known - to pay a visit to the site of Tolowat village, the ancestral home of the Wiyot Indians. It was here in 1860 that a shocking massacre took place when a group of European settlers paddled over from the mainland and killed about one hundred Wiyot men, women and children. The tragic story of the massacre, of the slow decline of the tribe following the events of 1860, and of the attempts to preserve the sacred sites and the culture of the Wiyot people is told in full on the Wiyot Tribe website. Contributions are needed to help return parts of the island to the Wiyot people : a cause fully supported by these two virtual visitors.

LINKS

Wiyot Tribe Website

The Carson Mansion, Eureka

Monday 5th January 2009

Refreshed by our Christmas break, Amy and I stood on Waterfront Drive, Eureka, California, contemplating the three and a half thousand mile virtual journey ahead of us. It was quite an undertaking : we needed to press on, waste no further time, keep our four eyes on the grand objective. I tried to send a determined look in the direction of my dog, she scratched her ear the way she does when she has fleas. "Off we go then", I said aloud, facing north in the general direction of our next objective, the small town of McKinleyville. Amy yanked her head, the dog-lead, and my arm south. There was obviously somewhere she wanted to go first.

It came as a bit of a surprise when she took me a few blocks south to the historic Carson Mansion : she is not usually so keen on architectural monuments. But I couldn't fault her choice. Carson Mansion may be a bit Disneyesque, a bit like a Gothic Filmset, but it is well worth a visit. Built in the 1880s as a family home for the timber magnate William Carson, the wood-framed, mongrel-styled, eighteen room villa is a monument to possibilities of Douglas Fir. You get the feeling that William Carson approached the construction of his home in a similar way to that which Iron-Mad Wilkinson approached the fabrication of his cast-iron gravestone back in eighteenth century England.

The mansion stayed in the Carson family until 1950 when it was bought by the Ingomar Club which, according to its website, "serves a dual mission of the restoration and preservation of the unique historical building and grounds of the Carson Mansion, while providing fine dining and social experiences for its members". Unfortunately one of the ways it preserves the building is by keeping people - and especially dogs - out of the grounds, so we were unable to do anything but look on from afar. But it created an interesting diversion - a good start to the new year.

LINKS :

North Coast Journal : Carson Mansion, The Inside Story.

The Ingomar Club, Eureka

Week 43 : Eureka To McKinleyville

Refreshed by a Christmas holiday at home, Alan Burnett and his dog Amy re-start their mammoth virtual walk from Los Angeles to New York. This week they leave the Northern Californian city of Eureka behind them and head north to McKinleyville.

Week 42 : Fortuna To Humboldt Bay

Amy and I are walking with renewed spirit in our steps : we are heading back to the Pacific Ocean. We walked through the outskirts of Fortuna, feeling sure that we could smell the salt of the sea. As we walked alongside the Eel River we gazed into the distance, trying to see the point where river meets ocean. But what we saw was a bridge and what we smelt was ice cream! 

The bridge was Fernbridge which is the lowest crossing point of the Eel River and a listed National Historic Monument. When the 1,320 foot bridge was built in 1911, it was referred to as the world's largest all concrete span. It has worn well over the last century and stands out from the carpet of green fields and forests that surround it. The green fields provide a home for dairy cattle and these, in turn, provide the raw material for the Ferndale Dairy which produces ice-cream for a large area of Northern California. The local dairy farming industry is a legacy of Danish settlers who came to the area in the 1870s .  They established a number of local co-operative creameries which quickly gained a reputation for both quality and innovation.

 

Ferndale City, which Amy and I could see in the distance, south of the River, became known as Cream City. I entertained Amy as we walked along by reading to her a list of notable innovations the local Creamerey had been responsible for : the introduction of the first butter wrapping and cutting machines, the first milk tank trucks and the first cow testing programme in California.  Amy gave me one of those looks which implies that I have crossed the concrete bridge between harmless eccentricity and raving madness.

Fernbridge - as distinct from Ferndale City - is a tiny place with a population of just 59 souls. As its website says - blink and you will miss it. That may be the case if you are speeding north along Redwood Highway in your gas-guzzling SUV, it is not the case if you are a footsore man and his pawsore dog walking from Los Angeles to New York. There was a nice little wooden store where I had a beer and a little wooden bear where Amy had a wee.

We went on our way, and soon the aroma of ice-cream was replaced by that of cheese. We reached the town of Loleta. "Just a vowel shift away from temptation", I said to Amy but my literary joke fell on flat ears (well, actually, remarkably hairy, long, terrier ears). The small town of Loleta is the home of the Loleta Cheese Factory which ships its famous cheese throughout the world. Amy and I took a tour of the factory and Amy - who enjoys a bit of cheese as mach as the next dog - did a big tasting performance which seemed to please everyone and resulted in her being given even more cheese. Eventually I had to drag her away and we headed west out of town. I was anxious to see the ocean.

The back tracks north-west of Loleta cut through the low-lying, swampy estuary country and eventually merge into the sand-dunes. It was then, towards the end of the week, that Amy and I heard the crash of the waves once more and we knew that after far too many weeks, we were about to be re-united with the ocean. We walked to the very end of the promontory that forms the southern barrier to Humboldt Bay. Across the still waters we could see the City of Eureka, our destination. The problem was, how to get there? There were no boats, no way to cross the water and to retrace our steps would add another three or four days. We were tired and wanting our Christmas break. I looked down at Amy and she looked up at me. "What the hell, I said, it's a virtual journey after all. Let's fly!".

Week 41 : Pepperwood To Fortuna

Amy and I were walking again, leaving the tiny settlement of Pepperwood in Humboldt County, Northern California behind and heading for Fortuna. In reality it has been weeks since we last took part in our mammoth trek from Los Angeles to New York City, but Amy - my soft-coated wheaten terrier - and myself inhabit a virtual world and are undertaking a virtual journey. So we can pick up where we left off, ignore the increasing gloom of the West Yorkshire streets and stride out once again in sunny California. 

We were walking along the Avenue of the Giants, through mile after mile of majestic Redwood forests. For some weeks now we had been following the course of the Eel River as it sashayed its way towards the Pacific Ocean. The river was only a few hundred yards away from where Amy and I walked, but those tall trees masked its location and gave the impression that we we in the midst of an impenetrable forest. A few hundred yards in the opposite direction was Highway 101, but that again was hidden behind lines of massive trees. Amy, like any half-decent dog, liked trees. I could take them or leave them. I could work up almost as much enthusiasm for a tree once it had been processed into a decent-sized coffee table or a solid and respectable bar stool, than I could seeing it in its natural state. This attitude angered Amy no end and she decided I needed a lesson in environmental responsibility. So, as we passed the tiny settlement of Stafford, I was taken on a brief diversion to meet Luna. 

Luna is a tree: a very famous tree. Between 1997 and 1999, this 600 year old 180 foot tall Redwood was the home of the environmental campaigner Julia Butterfly Hill. She had taken up residence in its upper branches in an attempt to save it from the loggers of the Pacific Lumber Company who wanted to turn it into coffee tables and bar stools. Her campaign attracted nationwide attention, she became famous. Songs were written about her and films were made of her. And after 738 days of tree-sitting Luna was saved.

It was a classic story of the individual set against the corporate giant, conscience versus profit. A few miles further along the road, I got a taste of the scale of the corporate giant as I entered the company town of Scotia, home of PALCO - the Pacific Lumber Company. Scotia was founded in 1863 and from the very beginning was a lumber town. Some of the early loggers came from Nova Scotia and decided to name to town to remind them of their northern homeland. Throught the nineteenth and much of the twentieth centuries, the town expanded in line with the importance of the logging industry. If you had visited Scotia thirty years ago you would have found a thriving company town where the scent of sawdust perfumed each new day. Visit Scotia now and you will find a company town coming to terms with bankruptcy. The once-mighty PALCO filed for bankruptcy in January 2007 and the fate of the company - and to a certain extent the town - is currently in the hands of the American courts. By contrast, Julia Butterfly Hill is thriving.

Just north of Scotia you cross the Eel River and enter the so-called "Warm-Hearted City" of Rio Dell. Whereas Scotia is declining, Rio Dell is still thriving and the bankrupt lumber town has made an application to merge with its northern neighbour. Compared to many of the places we have been to in recent weeks, Rio Dell is quite a substantial settlement with paved streets, coffee shops, burger bars and a brace of churches. Amy stopped for a sniff and I stopped for a beer before we once again headed north. Just before crossing the ever-twisting Eel River we took a brief detour to explore the famous Scotia Bluffs fossil fields. Fossils of all sorts of things have been found here, I explained to Amy, including turtles, starfish and even the odd whale bone. Initially she seemed quite enthusiastic about a spot of fossil hunting but once she realised that the creatures in question had turned to stone many centuries ago, she grew weary of the task and refused to carry on digging. That's the trouble with Wheaten Terriers, they have a short attention span.

The final part of our walk took us along the wide expanse of Highway 101 - flanked now by fields and scrub land rather than by forests - towards the city of Fortuna. The original name for Fortuna was "Slide" but such a name didn't fit in with the ambitions of its nineteenth century inhabitants so it was changed to Fortuna. Since then, in a further exercise in spin, it has tried to persuade the rest of the world that it is really called "Sunny Fortuna : The Friendly City" which is all very well but carries just a hint of protesting too much. There is nothing that the 10,497 citizens of Fortuna like more than a good festival and therefore the pint-sized city plays host to an Annual Rodeo, a Civil War Festival, a river canoe race, and - most spectacular of all - an Annual AutoXpo, "a car show fueled by vintage rock 'n' roll, pink poodle skirts, white bobby socks, sunglasses and cool cars that are hot!" Amy turned her nose up in disgust at such a spectacle, but I thought that it sounded like good fun. Unfortunately we were four months too late. To console ourselves we stopped off at the Fortuna branch of MacDonalds. Amy was far more impressed with that.