Article

by Traci Hukill

July 28, 2013—I woke up on a Saturday morning having dreamed about huckleberries. As it happened, my husband had had a huckleberry visitation too, in the form of a couple of Facebook posts. How could we possibly clean bathrooms or pull weeds when the gods had spoken to us like this? Two hours later we had officially blown off all domestic duties and hit the road in search of the shiny purple-black berries found beneath the redwood trees.

Huckleberries play a special role in our couple’s mythology. For one thing, people have been mistakenly pronouncing my name “Huckle” since I can remember. For another, my husband lived 17 glorious (he never fails to remind me) years in Missoula, Montana, where huckleberries spill into town like a great purple tide in late summer, filling pies, pastries, even shakes with sweet but piquant pea-sized bursts of blueberry-like flavor edged with tartness. And on a particularly memorable hike in Big Basin many years ago, we stopped in a huckleberry thicket to gather a handful of the little berries for our cereal the next morning. I swooned over my new guy’s knowledge of all things useful and good.

Back to our Saturday, an open day beckoned. Where to go? There was really only one place: back to Big Basin, where they’ve named a campground and a creek after our quarry.

Read Foraging for Spring Trail Snacks

The park was as busy as you’d expect on a Saturday in late July. We parked a quarter-mile from headquarters, maps in hand, and aimed for a trail close to Huckleberry Creek (we are quite the sleuths). After walking part of the Redwood Trail with its colossal trees and stopping for a few slurps of the best-tasting water in the world from the Andrew P. Hill water fountain, we crossed milky-hued Opal Creek on a footbridge and set out up Sunset Trail. We encountered several groups and families down by the creek, but up the hillside the crowd thinned rapidly until we were only seeing people every 10 minutes or so.

Huckleberry bushes lined the trail on both sides, some 10 feet tall, their delicate foliage glowing spring green in the dappled sunlight. A member of the heath family, huckleberries are related to blueberries and cranberries and thrive in acidic soil; the redwood forest must be perfect for them. The ones we have here (Vaccinium ovatum) are evergreen. The leaves are dark green and glossy on top and lighter beneath, with finely serrated edges. The berries, which start out red, darken to a very deep purple with time. Until they’re truly ripe, huckleberries taste tart, like unripe blackberries. The berry season runs from late July through early September.

Here’s something to remember: state parks authorities frown upon harvesting anything from the parks (even firewood). So don’t be thinking you’re going to open up a huckleberry pie shop based on a foray here. Besides that, they don’t grow in great profusion. It’s a few here and a few there—just enough for one to occasionally fall into your mouth through no fault of your own. Pick them all, however, and the birds would never forgive you.

Truth be told, we took more photos than samples of huckleberries on our outing. Mostly we just reveled in the mile-long walk up to Middle Ridge Fire Road, the jaunt on the fire road over to Howard King Trail (with a stop-off at an unmarked high point that rewarded us with a remarkable commemorative bench), and the meander back down. A lazy day for the dog days of summer—and perfect for us huckleberry hounds.