off the pavement / By Judy Hodgson

Civil Disobedience

The Eureka-Arcata trail exists, if you want it

(Nov. 8, 2007)  It was Sunday, a clear and warmish fall day, sun sitting low in the sky, with no wind even on the coast — a perfect day for civil disobedience.

It all started some months ago with a letter to the Journal from one Benjamin Garlick. He’s pushing 40 now, but I knew him as a slightly nerdy kid growing up in Fieldbrook. He ended up going to UC Davis before he began making his name and fortune in computer programming in the Silicon Valley. (If his name is familiar, his dad is retired HSU geology prof Don Garlick, who writes the Journal ’s science column.)

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Benjamin, who lives in Trinidad part of the year with his own young family, said what we need to get a trail open from Arcata to Eureka is creativity and a little community action. He suggested some Kinetic Sculpture artists create a human-powered trolley, with a bike rack on the back and adorned with a Flatmo-mural, to ferry people back and forth between towns — running on the existing tracks.

Last Friday at a neighborhood potluck in Fieldbrook, a plan of action was hatched: Let’s just start using the trail. It’s a public right-of-way, isn’t it? It belongs to us. Even though my fellow potluckers are “of a certain age” (read: over 60), we are all strong walkers and have even been known to jump on bikes to peddle into Arcata for a Los Bagels breakfast — a 25-mile round trip at least. We could hike to Eureka. What is it anyway? Seven miles?

There were many enthusiasts that evening (after several glasses of wine) who thought it was a great idea, but come Sunday the group dwindled to three — all women, I noticed. No matter. It was a start. We parked down by the Arcata Marsh and set out armed with blackberry clippers and leather gloves. We were determined to walk on the railroad right-of-way itself, not the road and not on the well-maintained marsh trail that was 30 yards to the west of us. We cut and pulled vegetation blocking our path for about 20 minutes as we slowly made our way south. We skirted around a particularly substantial patch of wax myrtle trees that were actually growing up through the rotting railroad ties! We thought we were prepared, but blackberries tore through our lightweight pants and all three of us at one time or another tripped on the snaking berry vines.

More aggravating were the marsh walkers with their dogs who breezed by us on their trail, waving and cheering us on.

“Great idea! We need a trail to Eureka! Way to go! Good luck!”

Easy for them to say. My ankles were bleeding.

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