The redwoods have no idea that Washington is mired in political chaos.
A week into the government shutdown, C-SPAN remains on the air, planes are taking off at SFO, and we still have to pay federal withholding taxes. But in Marin County, Muir Woods National Monument (opens in new tab), with its towering groves of coast redwood trees, is closed. Specifically, the visitor center, ranger station, and restrooms are shuttered indefinitely (opens in new tab). The trees, however, are unbothered.
In recent years, the old-growth forest has become so overcrowded that the National Park Service implemented a reservation system (opens in new tab) to prevent traffic and parking from becoming unmanageable. But pros know there has always been a back door: hiking from Pantoll Campground (opens in new tab) in Mt. Tamalpais State Park, 3.5 miles in each direction.
So, we decided to leverage political gridlock to our own advantage and enjoy, in near solitude, a bucolic redwood glade that records 1 million annual visitors.
Before heading out to the Marin Headlands, I first called the ranger station, but no one answered. Next, I called a local tour company that specializes in transporting large groups there. A rep told me they were obeying the closure even before the Park Service sent an email reminder that Muir Woods is off-limits. He wasn’t positive that access to the grove is feasible but said it might be worth a shot. It stood to reason that if the ranger station were closed, there would be no one on duty.
My colleague, video editor Alicia Cocchi, and I met up early Tuesday at the Pantoll parking lot, less than an hour’s drive north of the city, to find out for ourselves. A permit to park for the day costs $8, paid in cash or through a QR code. A group of California Conservation Corps workers was doing stretches in a circle in the parking lot. They were the last human beings we saw for four hours.
We set off on the Bootjack Trail, and it turned out to be the most beautiful morning I’ve experienced in months. There was no breeze. Apart from the occasional helicopter — the Blue Angels may be canceled, but Fleet Week (opens in new tab) is on — the only sounds were the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.
Mt. Tam State Park’s Bootjack Trail is strenuous; hikers should be prepared for lots of steep sections, and vertical rebar presents a tripping hazard. But the physical effort was more than worth it, as the forest shifted from redwood to oak to bay laurel and back again. We found swallowtail butterflies, chocolate-barked manzanita, and clover leaves as big as a human palm. And though there were posted warnings about aggressive wasps, we didn’t encounter a single one.
Above all else, the redwood stands were idyllic in the slanting morning light. You don’t have to venture into Muir Woods to see any, as the Bootjack Trail has plenty. As you enter the stands, the ground turns soft underfoot from years of accumulated bristles, and the light softens even further, a function of the redwoods’ dusty, brittle bark. Winding along Redwood Creek, we entered a state of near-bliss. What had I been so stressed about the day before? By that point, I couldn’t remember.
We arrived at the destination, the boundary between the state park and federal property. There were no rangers or volunteers. The only thing keeping trespassers out was a yellow link chain and a sandwich board saying not to enter “due to a lapse in appropriations.” All around us stood the silent redwoods, mossy and enormous.
The wording of the sign felt dutiful and half-sincere, almost like a coy invitation. Just about every National Park Service employee I’ve ever met — and I’ve set foot in every national park in the Lower 48 — seems thrilled for visitors to experience America’s beauty. Surely Muir Woods’ furloughed workers are no different. Given the circumstances, they might even cheer on two determined interlopers for striking a tiny blow against bureaucratic madness by trekking to see the tallest trees on Earth. It goes without saying that we’d stay on the trail, pack out everything we’d packed in, and generally be cool, knowing that if we got injured, it would be on us to figure it out.
But, after making our way about 50 feet past the sign, we decided to turn around. If we hadn’t passed a bunch of redwoods already, if it hadn’t been hours since we’d last seen anyone, or if I hadn’t watched that damn Jane Goodall episode of “Famous Last Words (opens in new tab)” on Netflix the night before, I might have plowed ahead.
Instead, we let the trees be. After 10 more minutes appreciating our impossible solitude in such a stunning setting, we turned around and began the arduous, two-hour climb back up the slope of Mt. Tam. The temperature rose by almost 20 degrees. We came upon a middle-aged couple taking a breather on a boulder and asked if they’d snuck into Muir Woods.
“It’s closed,” the man said. “Seems like it’d be a good idea, but …” he trailed off. I knew exactly how he felt.
At Pantoll Campground, I asked the ranger what might happen if anyone were caught in the verboten forest. Apparently, a federal worker is wandering around down there to keep an eye on things, and they’d messaged the state park staff to discourage people from entering. “You’d probably get some heat from them,” the ranger said, “but you’re not going to get arrested.”
Did we wuss out? Most definitely. But I also think we did the right thing. I don’t want to be grouped among the jerks who use shutdowns as opportunities to get too close to a geyser or stomp across a delicate ecosystem for a selfie. The redwoods are sublime, but they’re also imperiled (opens in new tab), and maybe they could use the break. They’ll still be there when this is over.