You seem to be shrinking. You’re hiking through dense Northern California greenery, passing from a dirt path to an elevated walkway. And the trees are getting taller.
Somewhere nearby, a bird calls and Mill Creek burbles. But those elements are only bit players in this drama. The main attractions rise up around you in daunting clusters: redwoods, implausibly tall, imponderably old and, until recently, a secret.
This is the Grove of Titans, a roughly three-acre patch of parkland near the California-Oregon border that holds some of the planet’s tallest trees. To enter, you step on to the three-mile Mill Creek Trail, newly rerouted and ready for summer visitors. For a writer from Southern California, this place isn’t just wetter. It seems to operate on different principles of time and size, too.
