By Louie Ferrera
Here at Riverfront Park, the Russian River carries small pieces of the forest with it on its slow journey to the sea. Leaves, twigs, bits of fluff, bird feathers and who knows what else. The river’s main current flows close to the bank opposite me in an unending ribbon of forest detritus. The flow is lazy today, not exactly summer lazy but it’s getting there. Summer is magic and I can feel its approach in the warm breeze blowing upriver. Today is hot but not too hot. It’s a Goldilocks temperature, you know the story. The polarized lenses of my sunglasses allow me to clearly see the rocks and sand at the bottom of the river and to also make out the subtle gradations of color as they move from light green near the shore to an increasingly deeper shade of green at the center of the river. It’s that shade of green: soothing and peaceful and evocative, a deep green trickle of emotions.
When a breeze kicks up the mint green leaves of willow trees reveal their lighter undersides in a shimmering show of light and color. A solitary turkey vulture rides the thermals, it dips and dives in and out of my view. A Great Blue Heron, looking quite prehistoric, heads my way only to abruptly change course and fly back into the forest. Its otherworldly squawk is a cross between that of a duck and a crow. An occasional blip breaks the silence as some mysterious fish briefly pops to the surface in search of its next meal. I’ve seen no ducks and no otters, just the river and the trees and a few cliff swallows doing their devil-may-care corkscrew dance above me. This narrow, rocky beach, just downriver from the “bend where otters play” has such gentle energy. It feels timeless here, my own private slice of paradise. This spot is easily accessible to boaters floating downriver but you’ve got to know where the hidden trail from Riverfront is in order to get here on foot. The entrance to the trail is overgrown with poison oak, blackberry vines and thimbleberry. Today I nearly missed the trail even though I’ve been here many, many times. At this time of year it is all but invisible to the uninitiated. As soon as I arrive, off went my clothes and into the river I plunged. What a baptism! Refreshing and invigorating, my mind and body were instantly renewed. I had no towel but didn’t need one. There’s nothing quite like air drying in a warm almost-summer breeze. I see three pairs of boaters approaching and the dream state I’ve been in for the past hour has ended. With the spell broken it’s time for me to move on.
On the hike back to my car I enter the forest and have transitioned into a different type of silence. Whereas the river silence is sparkly and filled with light and air, in here it’s much different. The light that filters through the canopy of towering second growth redwoods and bay laurel trees is green and dappled. The air is still, the sound deadened. It’s warm and womblike. There’s a primeval and unknowable quality to this patch of forest above the river. The late afternoon shafts of sunlight slant through the trees like golden spotlights, creating an alpenglow on the trunks of the redwoods. It’s mesmerizing and I just sit and breathe it all in. The Earth is beginning to exhale as another day draws to a close.
