About 4 miles along, the trail rose high on the flanks of Kings Mountain, and into the clouds. This was a new forest. Grave markers in the form of massive charred and rotting stumps served as reminders of the fires that devasted the Tillamook Forest some 60 years ago. The size of those mature trees was glorious, and left me anxious to see their return. But there is no rushing a forest. This won't truly come back until long after I'm gone. And will it burn again? Perhaps. Probably. I was just witness to a small slice of the cycle.