10 California Forests With Eerie Trails Made For Halloween
Some forests whisper. Others sigh. But these California trails mutter things that make your spine stand up straighter than it wants to.
Whether it’s redwoods arranged like cathedral spires or fog wrapping itself around your ankles like a confused cat, these hikes carry more than pine needles and quiet. They feel watched. Not in a horror movie way, more like being politely monitored by the landscape itself.
Bring sturdy shoes, dramatic thoughts, and a willingness to be unnerved. These trails weren’t made for cardio. They were made for stories.
1. Redwood National & State Parks, Lady Bird Johnson Grove
The trees here lean in like they’re eavesdropping. Light filters through as if it’s too shy to fully commit, leaving the forest half-glowing, half-brooding.
This looped trail near Orick isn’t long, but the atmosphere thickens with elevation. At over 1,000 feet, the grove gathers mist like gossip. Interpretive signs murmur facts, but the silence between them feels more honest.
Start early or late for best mood lighting. If a branch creaks, don’t turn around. Let the forest keep its secrets.
2. Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, Cathedral Trees/Karl Knapp Loop
The air smells like ancient wet books. Every step along the Karl Knapp Loop lands on something soft and breathing.
This trail stitches together cathedral trees and Fern Canyon vibes, but the silence isn’t empty. It’s expectant. Banana slugs slide by like punctuation. Ravens blink too knowingly.
Bring waterproof layers. One visitor claimed the fog made her weep, though she blamed allergies. The loop’s not hard, but it plays tricks with direction. Don’t trust your compass here. Trust the trees.
3. Humboldt Redwoods State Park, Avenue of the Giants/Founder’s & Rockefeller Loops
Avenue of the Giants is misnamed. It’s less of a road, more of a procession. Trees flank it like sentinels carved by mood.
The Founder’s Grove Loop is a quiet hymn. The Rockefeller Loop is moodier—less sermon, more séance. Both deliver hushed majesty and the sense that you should apologize for being made of soft, breakable things.
Trailheads are marked but not always obvious. Maps help, but intuition helps more. Visit in October when the shadows hold a little longer than expected.
4. Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve, Pioneer Nature Trail
Start at the Visitor Center and take a deep breath. The Pioneer Trail answers with a low-frequency murmur that never quite resolves.
Benches dot the path like polite invitations to overthink. Colonel Armstrong Tree anchors the loop with dignified rotundity. A cool, fern-heavy hush wraps the path, and spider webs shimmer like whispered warnings.
This reserve avoids drama. It prefers an internal panic. Short trail, moderate pace, emotional aftermath unknown. Early morning walks sometimes feel like auditions for a role you didn’t realize you were playing.
5. Calaveras Big Trees State Park, North & South Grove Trails
Sequoias here rise with the self-importance of opera singers. The North Grove Trail is the opening act, broad, well-groomed, tourist friendly. The South Grove leans into mood.
That second trail narrows, quiets, and forgets you exist halfway through. In fall, golden leaves drift like stage cues. The air turns crisper, the path softer. Every now and then, something snaps. Probably a twig. Possibly your resolve.
Restrooms are available at the trailhead. Cell signal is not. Time your visit to end near dusk, if you dare.
6. Big Basin Redwoods State Park, Redwood Loop
Fire changed this forest. It now walks the line between ghost and regrowth. Charred trunks rise like exclamation points in a landscape that no longer uses full sentences.
The Redwood Loop is one of the few open trails post-fire. Some signage survives. Other markers are merely moods. Burn scars are visible, but so is defiance, new growth clawing skyward.
Check conditions before visiting. Restoration work is ongoing. But if you like your hikes layered with memory, this trail smolders in all the right ways.
7. Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, Stout Memorial Grove
It begins with a drive through a tunnel of trees that narrows enough to doubt your vehicle’s width. The trailhead emerges like a dare.
Stout Grove isn’t long, but it behaves like a stage set waiting for actors who never arrive. Roots twist dramatically. Fog lingers at shin level. Sunlight peeks in through the canopy like it’s late for something.
Walk in silence. It’s the only fitting soundtrack. Footfalls vanish into moss. The trees here aren’t tall. They’re theatrical.
8. Donner Memorial State Park, Lakeside & Emigrant Trails
Frost licks the air by mid-October. Pine needles crunch underfoot like secrets too fragile to last winter.
The Lakeside Trail skims the edge of Donner Lake. The Emigrant Trail cuts deeper, quieter. There are plaques. There are memories. There is a tension between learning and looking away.
These aren’t haunting trails in the supernatural sense. They’re haunting in the “you remember them for years” sense. Bring a notebook. Or don’t. Some things are better carried in your spine than on paper.
9. Shasta-Trinity National Forest, Mount Shasta (Bunny Flat → Horse Camp)
The ground feels charged before your boots even hit dirt. Bunny Flat sounds like a cartoon. It isn’t.
This trail leads to Horse Camp, a stone lodge that seems to have grown out of volcanic whispers. Mount Shasta looms above, magnetic and silent. People come for spiritual alignment. Others come to stare at the peak until it blinks first.
Pack layers. Wind is common, stories more so. Trail etiquette: don’t ask strangers what they “feel.” Let them look weird in peace.
10. Los Padres National Forest (Santa Lucia Range), Vicente Flat/Cone Peak Area
Nothing here is normal. The drive up is a dare. The air thins into something vaguely mythic.
Cone Peak drops off steeply into the Pacific. The Vicente Flat Trail slices through chaparral and pine, then mood-swings into fog. Folklore sticks to the landscape, whispers of cloaked figures, time hiccups, mysterious blue lights.
No signs will confirm these tales. That’s not the point. What matters is how your footsteps start to sound less like walking and more like questions. Hike with humility. The mountain notices.