This is one of our “park visitor” series – first person accounts of our parks, published with permission.
Last month, I walked up mysterious and beautiful Mt Davidson on a foggy day with a friend.
We entered through this gate, just to the left of the bus stop on Myra Way. I wondered why the gate had so many different locks on it.
We continued up the path and into the lovely forest.
In other parts of California – and even on the other side of this very mountain – the plants are dry and brown. The forest was damp and green and lush.
The nasturtiums bloomed in bright orange highlights in the misty forest.
Wild strawberries provided little pops of red.
Even though I know this forest, it felt like walking into a fairy-tale.
It was easy to understand how people in ages past thought forests might have enchanted deer or birds or other beings living in them.
As we climbed up, I could see Mount Davidson’s Cross among the trees.
We passed the vista point, where the Murdered Tree fell over last year. But the view was only of Karl the Fog, denser now.
The little plateau of the Cross was completely misty.
Someone was conducting a memorial ceremony of his own there, at the foot of the cross. A few people wandered around. For some reason, this picture reminds me of an Ingmar Bergman film.
Appropriately, forget-me-nots bloomed a light blue nearby.
As we made out way down from the cross, we found this little cave, where someone had erected tiny cairns of stones. It was half hidden by the Pacific Reed grass, the moisture-loving grass that grows like green hair over the rocks above the trail.
Here’s another picture to show the scale of the cave.
We wandered back down the trail, looking at the moss in the trees of the mist forest…
… and the epiphytes, like these ferns.
It was time to leave. In the words of Robert Frost: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep/ But I have promises to keep/ And miles to go before I sleep.”
But as long as this forest and I are around in San Francisco, I’ll be back.