Wildlife Zone Ahead
Ahead, brake lights flashed and traffic slowed. A dozen cars edged the roadside. Everyone was looking in the same direction, toward a sundrenched meadow of golden coyote brush and French broom. Under the trees that separated the meadow from the roadway lingered a herd of dusty elk. Over 20 of the majestic animals fed in the dark shadows, indifferent to the snarl they were creating.

I was no better than the rest of the tourists and shouted at Kimi, "Look! Look!" Dodging oncoming vehicles, I negotiated a left turn onto a paved road that bisected the meadow. The sign read "Elk Meadows."

They had to be kidding. The place was called Elk Meadows and the animals were actually here?

Kimi's window was down. "How cool." Her face brightened with excitement.

She wanted to step out of the car and get closer like everyone else who had pulled to the roadside. I knew better. Elk are big and fast and not kind to paparazzi.

We slipped out of the Yukon but kept our distance. The elk did little more than graze cowlike and glanced occasionally at the traffic.

Old-Growth Forest
Soon it was time to go. The woodpecker had returned as I was again faced with parking the trailer in an unfamiliar campsite. Just south of Crescent City, we located the entry to Mill Creek Canyon. Just barely.

The Yukon's navigation system was of little use. The GPS depended on set roadways and permanent addresses. Del Norte Coastal Redwoods State Park's physical office was in town, which did us little good. Kimi was the first to see the road sign.

Del Norte covered 9,600 acres and was one of the first areas acquired by the state for forest preservation. Open from May through September, the camp was located in an expanse of second-growth redwoods and Douglas firs. Scattered amongst these were the remnants of the original redwood forest, enormous, bus-sized stumps cut 10-12 feet above the forest floor. The old-growth redwoods, some topping 300 feet, must have been awe-inspiring even to the most hardened lumberman.

Curiosity in Camp
To my relief, I centered the Jayco Ex-Port on the first try. Kimi congratulated me. "You don't think I can park?" I asked.

"Not after yesterday." She pushed open the door and climbed from the Yukon without looking back.

Soon a stick appeared in her hand and she was poking about the surrounding brush. Maybe it was seeing the elk; maybe she inherited the curiosity gene after all. Either way, I was pleased. Still, I kept verbal track of her as I unfolded our beds. "Don't go too far... Don't pick anything up."

Twilight was burnishing the treetops by the time I had chili and hotdogs simmering. As I cooked, Kimi continued to explore. Suddenly she dashed into the camper and grabbed one of our water bottles, an 18-ounce stainless steel Klean Kanteen. I stopped her at the door. "What's the water for?" I got a mischievous, don't-ask-so-I-won't-have-to-lie grin.

"I need the bottle," she said.
"For?"

"The lizard." She saw my parental frown, but inside, I beamed. If Dad were alive, he'd be beaming too.