My 7-year-old daughter's eyes widened with excitement as we crossed the parking lot and approached the colossal statues of Paul Bunyan and his massive companion, Babe the Blue Ox. A small, nervous hand slipped into mine. From somewhere, but certainly not from Paul's lips, an amplified voice crackled forth asking her name. Her grip tightened. "Kimi," she answered. The legendary lumberjack welcomed her. "Well, hey there Kimi. Have you been on the trail yet?"

We had finally arrived at the Trees of Mystery, the famed tourist attraction nestled in Northern California's magnificent coastal redwood forests. Our trek to these ancient groves was Kimi's first camping trip. For me, it was an overdue return.

Dad's Old Caprice
Forty years ago I stood in this same spot holding my father's hand and probably looking just as awe-struck. In truth, these schmaltzy statues look to be constructed of cardboard and papier-mâché, but to a 7-year-old, they are things of wonder.

Four decades isn't much time compared to the 2,000-year lifespan of a redwood tree. Yet, when I last traveled this far north on the Redwood Highway, I was in the backseat of my dad's cream-colored Chevrolet Caprice wagon, and if memory serves, the camping trailer we were towing was a borrowed Nimrod all-canvas popup. No amenities there. It was little more than an Army tent on skinny wheels.

Kimi and I made our pilgrimage in an GMC's new Yukon 2-Mod gas/electric hybrid, Detroit's response to rocketing fuel prices. Hitched to the bumper was Jayco's new Feather Ex-Port, a compact camping trailer with expandable sleeping space. The technological differences between my father's rig and mine seemed light-years apart instead of a mere generation.

Visiting these redwoods in a hybrid vehicle and a lightweight trailer was deliberate. I wanted my daughter to experience the same carefree joys of camping that I did back then, but it is a different world, a different time. In 1968 my Dad worried little about fuel mileage or the environment. Gasoline averaged 35 cents a gallon, and global warming was a theory. Today, hardly a sentence rattles out of Kimi's head that doesn't touch upon some aspect of the environment, be it recycling, conservation, or my wasteful use of so many Starbucks coffee cups.

A New Age
My daughter's generation is primed to save the planet, but what they know of it is limited to colorful school books and National Geographic broadcast in high-definition. She has never heard raccoons breaking into the ice chest outside the trailer, and she thought I was joking when I explained that campers have to hide their toothpaste in bear boxes. It's that disconnect I was hoping to change in a few days.

Before she could raise concerns about the two of us riding in a fullsize, eight-passenger SUV, I pointed out that it was the hybrid version of GMC's successful Yukon. Powered by a Vortec 6.0L V-8, the Yukon was capable of producing 332 hp and 367 lb-ft of tow-essential torque, yet the two-wheel-drive model had an EPA rating of 21 mpg city, 22 highway. The four-wheel-drive model managed 20/20 mpg. What better way to venture into the wilderness than in a vehicle designed to sip fossil fuel?

The fuel-efficiency improvement over a standard two-wheel-drive Yukon (14 mpg city, 19 highway) was attained by various methods. Under optimum conditions, when the vehicle cruises on level roads at a continuous speed, the fuel system switched from feeding all eight cylinders to serving only four.

Going Hybrid
The advanced electric hybrid system came into play when the acceleration was light and speeds were moderate. That was when the Yukon was tapping into its 300V Energy Storage System to drive its two transmission-housed electric motors. The system's battery pack was located under the center seats but went unnoticed in the roomy interior. The "Auto Stop" feature was a true fuel-saver, as the system shut down the engine when the truck was at idle. Only a touch of the accelerator was required to reengage the V-8.

To discourage the possibility of boredom in the backseat, I decided to slice our 350-mile trip into smaller stretches. Along California State Highway 101, I knew there would be places to investigate, things to break up the monotony once we counted every out-of-state license plate north of the 40th Parallel.