A hunk of freshly cut redwood carried by offshore currents washed up just south of San Francisco. To one writer it seemed to be an omen from the world's ancient forests, whether in Indonesia, Brazil or California's North Coast, where people are struggling to preserve trees as best they can. PNS correspondent Rasa Gustaitis is a writer who lives in San Francisco.

PACIFICA, CA. -- The waves off the San Francisco coast had been huge for days, leaving all kinds of wreckage on the beach. I should not have been surprised to see a hunk of redwood -- offshore currents occasionally bring logs down from the North Coast. Yet the sight brought a strange feeling of unease.

It was a thick slice from a very big tree, recently cut. The heartwood was a deep salmon orange, with rough saw marks across it. My first thought was of salvage -- how to get this beautiful piece up the sea cliff. But that was a cover thought, to hide the odd anxiety.

On this particular morning, a brown haze lay over the coastal hills and the ocean, more like smoke than fog, reminding me of the deadly smoke over Indonesia where forests are burning to clear the way for corporate farms. This slice of tree, that smoke, spoke of violence committed against the wilderness in places most of us have never seen.

About 300 miles north of San Francisco, in the Headwaters' Forest, ancient trees are being logged -- and will continue to fall until winter rains make the forests impassable to heavy machinery. In late September, thousands of people gathered in a meadow near that forest to speak, sing, pray, and walk in defense of the trees.

Today, there are people hiding in the old groves, ready to risk their lives to save the largest unprotected remnants of the forests that once extended over two thirds of the state.

The Headwaters Forest survived up to 1985 in part because the Pacific Lumber Co., which owned the property, logged in relatively conservative fashion. Then the Maxxam Corporation, lured by so much valuable "standing timber," took over Pacific Lumber in a hostile buyout financed by high interest debt -- and accelerated logging to pay that interest.

But Maxxam ran head-on into the forest protection movement. People have been fighting to save California redwoods for many years and on many fronts -- in the trees, in the courts, in state legislatures, and in Congress.

California's North Coast is remote from the centers of power. The nearest big city, San Francisco, is more than five hours' drive away. The only nearby airport is often fogged in. And North Coast events rarely make news outside the region unless they are violent or a lot of people are arrested.

Earth First! made headlines when it drove spikes into the trees to stop loggers, but that tactic has long since given way to gentler civil disobedience and a policy of inclusiveness. Forest defenders have also stressed the need to restore forests and streams, bringing back salmon runs and making the timber industry sustainable. Tourism is a growing segment of the region's economy. It makes no sense economically to keep cutting ancient trees.

Last year, about 900 people were peacefully arrested for trespassing at a Headwaters rally on a road outside a lumber mill. (There would have been many more but the police ran out of handcuffs.) This helped raise the issue to a level that caught Congress' attention and a deal evolved to protect 7,500 acres of the 60,000 acre forest that would involve federal and state funds. But the deal is controversial, would preserve only part of the forest, and is far from a done deal.

This year's rally got scant attention. Judi Bari, a guiding light of the movement, was dead of cancer. Some people felt the pending deal would work, and that the fight for Headwaters was taking time and attention from endangered trees elsewhere. Organizers could not get a firm site for the rally until the last minute. Nevertheless, about 4,000 people showed up -- about the same number as last year.

There were no mass arrests -- county authorities had refused to cooperate with protesters this year -- just hours of songs and speeches, then a procession past the wrecks of seven homes destroyed by a recent mud slide. These homes were just below a clearcut, and the owners are suing Maxxam.

Arrests and violence make news, songs and processions seldom do. I went to the 1996 Headwaters rally not expecting to find anything new or particularly interesting, but it quickly became obvious that this was a major movement. It was intense, but not angry, more a church meeting than a protest. I heard new songs, songs that most of the people around me seemed to know.

I went away feeling free of a cynicsm that had encrusted my spirit, grateful to all these people who were defending the forests.

This year I went again, but for a different reason. I went because in tropical rainforests in Southeast Asia and Brazil, and temperate rainforests in the Pacific Northwest people are struggling to protect the living forests as best they can. And because Nelson Mandela said in his inaugural speech, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

I thought about all this as I walked to the end of the beach on the morning I saw the washed-up redwood. I decided to salvage it -- it would make me feel better, something like rescuing an oil slicked bird, though I know the act makes little difference.

But the hunk of redwood was gone. The tide had risen and taken it away -- an ephemeral message.