By Louie Ferrera

We gradually make our way along the bluffs, a slow snake, we slither and wind. Limantour Beach gradually dissolves, consumed by the march of fog until it is engulfed in a cocoon of pure white. The trail describes a wide S as it makes its way upward and away from the coast. The transition from coastal to forest habitat is abrupt and we find ourselves walking along a narrow path through a dense and mysterious forest of mostly poplar trees and tangled underbrush. It’s late afternoon but the canopy is so thick that it appears to be evening. A dark, slow moving creek, its surface speckled with bright green splotches of duck weed, runs to our left along the edge of the trees. It’s as silent as a dream and completely still. We spot a small solitary bird flitting among the lowest branches of a tree just off the trail. Olive green with a suggestion of yellow dusting its breast, dark wing bars, white eye rings and a flat crest that sweeps slightly backwards tells me that this is a Pacific Slope flycatcher, a secretive bird of the forest that’s more often heard than seen. We’re granted a minute or so of its time, an eternity in birding, before it disappears into the impenetrable trees. The appearance of this bird feels like a blessing. There’s an unfathomable mystery to this spot. Our progress slows to a crawl. We don’t speak. I breathe in the deep green aromas that surround us and try to take it all in.

We continue on, the trees thin slightly and that’s where the flowers appear. These are a type of lily, with several six-petal blossoms running alongside a tall, thin stalk. The brilliant red/orange color of these flowers makes them literally vibrate against the green of the surrounding forest. Around a bend, the creek crosses the trail and runs beneath a makeshift metal plate bridge. All around are cattails, fuzzy brown hot dogs atop dense, sword-like foliage. A breeze suddenly kicks up and gives voice to these plants. A rustle and swish breaks the silence, the forest spirits speak. Just as quickly, it’s quiet once again.

As we emerge from the trees into a more open section of the trail we hear a strange and unfamiliar sound, like a cross between a braying donkey and a creaky metal gate. At that moment we look about a quarter of a mile into the distance and notice several large tule elk, well know residents of Point Reyes, grazing on a hillside. This strange sound continues intermittently for a few more minutes until we put two and two together: these are elk that we’re hearing. The brush is very dense along the right side of the trail but we can tell that there are also elk directly below us where the trail slopes downward.

The trail ends just beyond where our car is parked. We run into a starry eyed group of college freshmen, out here on  a pre-semester team building retreat. Judging by the smiles on their faces I can tell they have been touched by the magic of Point Reyes. We chat up the group leader for a few minutes, he’s a friendly young man with dreadlocks spilling out from under a backwards baseball cap. This is his first visit here and he too appears to be dazzled by the experience.

Over the course of the past forty years, I’ve spent countless hours exploring the vast wilderness of Point Reyes National Seashore just north of San Francisco in West Marin County. I always come here with no expectations, open to any and all possibilities that may present themselves. There’s deep magic here and a positive energy that permeates the air like a force field. While at Point Reyes I can feel the timeless wisdom of its many plants and animals, the towering trees, the gently flowing creeks, and the roar and whisper of the mighty Pacific. There is much to learn here and many corners of this wilderness that I’ve yet to explore. Every time I’m here, I come away with a deep sense of  fulfillment, aways yearning for more.