After the last post, I feel the need to quote Monty Python here:
“And now for something completely different:”
Tucker and I haven’t spent a night away from our humble abode in almost six months. That’s a record for us—and not one I’m pleased with. We’re adventurers and wanderers. Home base is a lovely place to be, but it’s just a base. Our real home is the open road.
Usually it is the mountains and forests who call to me when I lie awake restless. But this time it was the ocean who called to me. I longed for the northern Californian coast with it’s dramatic cliffs and flowery bluffs.
But 48 hours wasn’t enough to drive the 300 miles north, enjoy a hike, and drive back. I had to settle for a compromise. One hundred a fifty miles north, southern California becomes northern California. At that critical juncture is the hike from Jalama Beach to Point Conception. It’s 11 miles out and back along a beach to a lighthouse. It was exactly what we needed. I packed a bag for Tuck and me, just in case our longest-hike-ever left me too tired to drive back at the end of the day.
Because we had to skirt the ocean the whole way there, the tide schedule was critical. High tide was conveniently at 9:30am before we arrived and low tide was 2:30pm, just about the time I expected to arrive at the lighthouse. The last thing I wanted was for us to be stranded on a beach, unable to get back because the tide came in. Most of the hikers who had done it on alltrails clocked it at 4-5 hours, so I gave us six, not being the fastest hikers (not the most in shape.) It was a walk at sea-level, but walking in deep sand is exhausting.
Road trips are fun for me to get out and see new beautiful spaces:
“And now for something completely different:”
Tucker and I haven’t spent a night away from our humble abode in almost six months. That’s a record for us—and not one I’m pleased with. We’re adventurers and wanderers. Home base is a lovely place to be, but it’s just a base. Our real home is the open road.
Usually it is the mountains and forests who call to me when I lie awake restless. But this time it was the ocean who called to me. I longed for the northern Californian coast with it’s dramatic cliffs and flowery bluffs.
But 48 hours wasn’t enough to drive the 300 miles north, enjoy a hike, and drive back. I had to settle for a compromise. One hundred a fifty miles north, southern California becomes northern California. At that critical juncture is the hike from Jalama Beach to Point Conception. It’s 11 miles out and back along a beach to a lighthouse. It was exactly what we needed. I packed a bag for Tuck and me, just in case our longest-hike-ever left me too tired to drive back at the end of the day.
Because we had to skirt the ocean the whole way there, the tide schedule was critical. High tide was conveniently at 9:30am before we arrived and low tide was 2:30pm, just about the time I expected to arrive at the lighthouse. The last thing I wanted was for us to be stranded on a beach, unable to get back because the tide came in. Most of the hikers who had done it on alltrails clocked it at 4-5 hours, so I gave us six, not being the fastest hikers (not the most in shape.) It was a walk at sea-level, but walking in deep sand is exhausting.
Road trips are fun for me to get out and see new beautiful spaces:
But Tucker adds another joyful experience for me: watching him watch the scenery.
The smile on his face started when he saw the ocean. Near Santa Barbara as we paralleled the crashing waves, Tucker cried and whined as if the ocean had been calling him too and he was finally able to respond.
And hour and a half later, after the road swung back inland, leaving us from the ocean, I can understand why Jamala is not crowded. I wonder how many people know about it, and those that do, if they risk the journey there. Taking a left off Highway 1 on a road with a “No outlet” sign at the beginning makes you question your judgement. The two-lane country road winds through hills and valleys for thirteen miles, narrowing like a mountain road. There are no pictures of this stretch as I needed both hands on the wheel to take the sudden tight turns and avoid careening off the cliffs into the sprawling valleys below.
The campsites were booked for the weekend, but there were still spaces for day-use folks like Tucker and me. People gathered around tents and RV’s and drank and ate. Kids played. Humans walked their excited canines on leashes through the parking lot.
As we started up over the sandy dune from pavement to beach, I saw an orange triangular object come bouncing over the dune. I didn’t know what it was and thought it was travelling unusually fast given that the wind wasn’t fierce. I turned and heard/felt a “thwap!” on my back. Huh. I continued waling until I heard a child yelling, “Wait! Lady! You saved my kite!”
I turned around to see an eight year old boy running toward me, and then looked up to see that there was indeed a kite above me. The boy fumbled with my backpack, and finally released the end of his kite from whatever it had gotten hooked on on my backpack.
For those that don’t believe all of life is in the timing, you’ve never inadvertently saved a boy’s kite by being in precisely the right place at exactly the right moment.
We crested the sand dune and before us was the glorious ocean under puffy clouds. A kiteboarder was coming for a landing, and Tucker seemed a little concerned at his awkward descent:
And hour and a half later, after the road swung back inland, leaving us from the ocean, I can understand why Jamala is not crowded. I wonder how many people know about it, and those that do, if they risk the journey there. Taking a left off Highway 1 on a road with a “No outlet” sign at the beginning makes you question your judgement. The two-lane country road winds through hills and valleys for thirteen miles, narrowing like a mountain road. There are no pictures of this stretch as I needed both hands on the wheel to take the sudden tight turns and avoid careening off the cliffs into the sprawling valleys below.
The campsites were booked for the weekend, but there were still spaces for day-use folks like Tucker and me. People gathered around tents and RV’s and drank and ate. Kids played. Humans walked their excited canines on leashes through the parking lot.
As we started up over the sandy dune from pavement to beach, I saw an orange triangular object come bouncing over the dune. I didn’t know what it was and thought it was travelling unusually fast given that the wind wasn’t fierce. I turned and heard/felt a “thwap!” on my back. Huh. I continued waling until I heard a child yelling, “Wait! Lady! You saved my kite!”
I turned around to see an eight year old boy running toward me, and then looked up to see that there was indeed a kite above me. The boy fumbled with my backpack, and finally released the end of his kite from whatever it had gotten hooked on on my backpack.
For those that don’t believe all of life is in the timing, you’ve never inadvertently saved a boy’s kite by being in precisely the right place at exactly the right moment.
We crested the sand dune and before us was the glorious ocean under puffy clouds. A kiteboarder was coming for a landing, and Tucker seemed a little concerned at his awkward descent:
“Nevermind. He’s fine.”
Unlike Fort Funston with dogs all off leash running about and really nothing else happening, this was a beach with people doing people things but who also happened to have dogs. It was delightful. People swam and surfed; further down people fished. Some people excavated fossils cliffside.
Most of the outcroppings on the beach weren’t rocks—yet. They were fallen trees in the fossilization stages, some with black tar on them. Whatever they were, they were fun to jump and stand on.
Once we went a mile south on the beach, where technically it’s no longer county park property, we had the beach to ourselves.
Emboldened by the privacy, Tucker practiced a few dances moves:
The wind was to our back on our southern journey. I only noticed its power when Tucker turned back and his ears took flight.
The ranger had said that we should see the lighthouse about a mile and a half away. The lighthouse stands on Coast Guard property so you’re not supposed to go all the way there. The bluffs above the beach were owned by cattle ranchers, but recently had been bought by the Nature Conservancy. It’s still trespassing to hike on the bluffs though, so we were to stick to the beach, which is perfectly fine, as there's plenty to sniff and see and explore.
About five miles in, we finally came to what I could only think was our end point. The rocky cliff jutted out into the ocean and with only an hour before low tide, the waves were still crashing five feet high onto the rocks. I didn’t see how we would be able to make around it—or over it. And if we had, how many minutes would we have before it was impossible to get back without being swept away to the sea? I still didn't see a lighthouse so we had to be at least a mile away.
So (since no one reads this blog anyway, I can say this), we took the road not-supposed-to-be-travelled. It was the path on the map, and the path that most people who had seen the lighthouse had certainly taken, given the photos they took.
Tucker and I climbed up the path, and hoped we would find a quick path back down to the beach. Unfortunately, the road took us away from the cliff and deeper into the Nature Conservancy’s land. (Dear Nature Conservancy, please create a legitimate route for those us wanting to see the lighthouse to go up onto the bluff and back down again to the beach so we don’t traipse through the land you’re conserving. Thank you!)
If humans didn’t exist would Nature be so beautiful? Of course it would. The natural state of the world is beautiful, even the spaces where the only domesticated ones to experience it are cows and the few ranch hands who patrol every now and again.
So (since no one reads this blog anyway, I can say this), we took the road not-supposed-to-be-travelled. It was the path on the map, and the path that most people who had seen the lighthouse had certainly taken, given the photos they took.
Tucker and I climbed up the path, and hoped we would find a quick path back down to the beach. Unfortunately, the road took us away from the cliff and deeper into the Nature Conservancy’s land. (Dear Nature Conservancy, please create a legitimate route for those us wanting to see the lighthouse to go up onto the bluff and back down again to the beach so we don’t traipse through the land you’re conserving. Thank you!)
If humans didn’t exist would Nature be so beautiful? Of course it would. The natural state of the world is beautiful, even the spaces where the only domesticated ones to experience it are cows and the few ranch hands who patrol every now and again.
The small path and the surrounding flora made me think that we had truly been transported to northern California.
The path led us through the bluff’s stunning landscape to a paved road. Up ahead there were buildings. And a sign:
When I was told it was owned by the Coast Guard, I assumed it was a working lighthouse, not an abandoned property. So despite the sign, Tucker and I kept walking. I mean, there was no gate to open or fence to climb. Perhaps we didn't see the sign.
Side query: Why does every abandoned government property look like the zombie apocalypse just happened?
Side query: Why does every abandoned government property look like the zombie apocalypse just happened?
We walked on, still not seeing the lighthouse—or even the ocean since the road went uphill.
Finally, at the top of the hill, next to an abandoned building with a satellite dish on it, and under the hum of the wind through the electrical wires, I looked over the wall and finally found that which we walked for:
Finally, at the top of the hill, next to an abandoned building with a satellite dish on it, and under the hum of the wind through the electrical wires, I looked over the wall and finally found that which we walked for:
The lighthouse at Point Conception.
I recalled some photos online of people on the stairs, but at this juncture, I wasn’t going down with the obvious consequence of having to walk all the way back up again. I wasn’t tired from walking six miles, but my leg muscles were getting delayed in their response for movement that I requested. We still had five and a half miles to get back and the wind was starting its offensive against us. I thought it was battling with us only because we were high on the bluffs.
I recalled some photos online of people on the stairs, but at this juncture, I wasn’t going down with the obvious consequence of having to walk all the way back up again. I wasn’t tired from walking six miles, but my leg muscles were getting delayed in their response for movement that I requested. We still had five and a half miles to get back and the wind was starting its offensive against us. I thought it was battling with us only because we were high on the bluffs.
But back on the beach, the wind was no less. And now that we faced the wind, I realized just how lucky we had been to have tailwind on the way down. I urged Tucker to close his eyes every time large gusts came through, and I can only hope he did. I got a facial: sand slamming into your face at 15mph for two hours is an excellent natural exfoliant.
I spied an old toppled sea wall to take a break behind and get out of the wind. My alltrails app had stopped recording (I guess the wind was too much for it too), so my best guess is that we were about nine miles in when we finally took a break. Tucker definitely needed it:
However, the flies were too much. I didn’t see any seaweed or ocean vomit that the flies seem to love to hover about, but they loved Tucker. It took a couple of tries and a promise to stop again soon to get Tucker up while we looked for a better resting place.
Three-quarters of a mile later, we found one. Still a little windy, but no flies.
And an excellent view—if his eyes were open.
Three-quarters of a mile later, we found one. Still a little windy, but no flies.
And an excellent view—if his eyes were open.
Sitting here was what this walk was about. I had wanted to stop at the lighthouse, but it was far too blustery to enjoy it. I had thought I might even lose my phone when I took the picture.
So here, now, we stopped so we could enjoy the moment. I sat and watched the pelicans, listened to the ocean, and felt the warmth of the sun on my face.
This was our adventure. This was the kind of thing we needed to do every day off. This is what working is for—to have the time and money to have adventures. This one only cost $13 plus the price of gas.
After our break, we continued northward, exploring areas that hadn't been there on our southward journey. Now that the tide was out, Tucker thought he found grass.
Sea lawn (aka seaweed) was all it was, but he seemed to like to stand there in the ocean, catching the scents in the breeze.
We took in the scene on our way back. Even though we had walked this path before, we had not seen it from this perspective. Sometimes you have to remember that: where you aren't is the the place you see, but the space you inhabit and experience the world from, and that makes all the difference.
We took in the scene on our way back. Even though we had walked this path before, we had not seen it from this perspective. Sometimes you have to remember that: where you aren't is the the place you see, but the space you inhabit and experience the world from, and that makes all the difference.
We made it back, my legs fighting my commands to get through the deep sand dunes to the parking lot. Even after all that, when a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel came running out of a campsite (ironically, the one right next to the “Dogs must be kept on leash” sign), Tucker wagged his tail and seemed ready to make friends. I thought for sure he’d be too tired to deal with a social little social dog, but he rallied. I guess his ten minute nap on the beach had rejuvenated him.
Tucker napped for another hour in car until we arrived at my second spot of adventure for us. Being the start of summer, and only a mile off course of our drive home, how could I not stop here?
Tucker napped for another hour in car until we arrived at my second spot of adventure for us. Being the start of summer, and only a mile off course of our drive home, how could I not stop here?
I had mistakenly thought it was a vineyard. Reading up on all the dog-friendly wineries in central California, I had gotten this one confused with another. It was just a tasting room on the little main strip in Summerland, California. Only one other dog was on the balcony seating, and Tucker wished to say hello, but the dog’s human didn’t care to have us engage.
Tucker allowed me a moment to sit and sip a glass of wine, but soon wanted more than just a spot on the floor.
Tucker allowed me a moment to sit and sip a glass of wine, but soon wanted more than just a spot on the floor.
He tried to climb into the chair. The rules were posted quite clearly on the balcony: “No paws on furniture.” Granted, we had ignored other signs today, but this one would be quite obvious if we didn’t heed it.
Tucker was not pleased and felt it very un-dog friendly of the place. How uncivilized to not allow him in a proper chair.
Tucker was not pleased and felt it very un-dog friendly of the place. How uncivilized to not allow him in a proper chair.
I asked him to try to make the best of it while I enjoyed my glass of wine. It's hard to really enjoy yourself though when your companion is dramatically sighing and resituating his rump every thirty seconds trying to get comfortable.
We soon headed out and were back at our place before night fully darkened the skies.
Within twelve hours, we had driven up part of the coast of California, walked 11 miles along the beach, visited a lighthouse, trespassed on two different properties to get there, met a few dogs, saved a child’s kite, climbed on fossilizing trees, got sand in our hair & fur, took in the clean ocean air, enjoyed a glass of vino at a winery, and drove back down the coast with the sun setting behind us.
I suppose we don’t necessarily have to be away from home overnight to have adventures.
Don’t worry about waiting up for us; we might very well be home before dark.
We soon headed out and were back at our place before night fully darkened the skies.
Within twelve hours, we had driven up part of the coast of California, walked 11 miles along the beach, visited a lighthouse, trespassed on two different properties to get there, met a few dogs, saved a child’s kite, climbed on fossilizing trees, got sand in our hair & fur, took in the clean ocean air, enjoyed a glass of vino at a winery, and drove back down the coast with the sun setting behind us.
I suppose we don’t necessarily have to be away from home overnight to have adventures.
Don’t worry about waiting up for us; we might very well be home before dark.
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