Waking up Christmas morning with my boy cuddled up beside me, and the sound of the ocean brought a smile to my face. And that was before I turned my head and realized I had a view of the sea from there, lying down in my bed.

Now that’s a Christmas to awaken to.

The night before the sea was shrouded in darkness except for the white caps of the waves that magically appeared and crashed into the void every few moments.

​In the morning light, we got to see ocean, beach, and bluff in all its beauty.

And our morning walk was much more interesting than our usual walk around the neighborhood block.

​Usually I try to hike first thing in the morning while families with children have breakfast and open stockings. But this morning, I felt no such rush. The hike I had chosen was an eight minute drive away, at the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve in Cambria.

It was listed as a four mile, hour and a half walkabout, but it was a park that I could take any number of trails on, making the walk as short as long as I wished.
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We spent two hours on the preserve, walking up the meadow, through trees of butterflies, and back down to the bluff.

There were dirt-packed trails and boardwalks.

And all the while, the waves crashed, the birds sang, and we took enjoyed the simple stroll on a California Christmas, definitely nothing like I grew up with in Massachusetts.

When we looped back around to where our trusty steed was enjoying a rest in an upscale neighborhood, we headed north to visit the elephant seals.

The kind woman who Tucker greeted at Dinosaur Caves Park told us pups had been born recently and we should check them out. There were indeed some youngin’s in the mix.

We even bumped into another canine guest of the Cavalier with her people who Tucker had met earlier that morning, and they said hello again.

I spied the lighthouse up the coast and thought we’d give it a whirl to get closer, but a sign at the closed and chain-locked gate stated it was open only by appointment. So we headed south again, and I took a quick right where a blue sign indicated “vista” to see what vista we would behold.

Being able to see the lighthouse from afar is actually sometimes a more interesting view than being upclose. Wide shots are just as import as two shots and close ups.

We walked down the path past the parking area and we found the elephant seals who preferred to not be stared at while sleeping.

They kept a low profile, and Tucker didn’t even notice them until one of the snorted.

Then we then headed south for one more bluff stroll, just down the street from the hotel.

We got in a good walk but it but when we reached the washout, we turn around. I was getting hungry anyway, so we headed back to the hotel to scrounge up some food.

At the mini-market, the only thing I got was a bag of popcorn and this beauty:

Sadly, I didn't get any money from it, but I felt like a winner just looking at the smiley pittie. Pitbulls have come a long way PR-wise in the decade Tucker has walked the earth.

Back in our room, I had a snack while Tucker opened his gifts.

I set down the pile and let him dive in to choose one. Then I picked up the rest so he could immerse himself into one toy at a time. Once his attention lagged on it, I set the pile down again for him to choose again.

He had quite the view while playing with new toys.

And an hour later, many gifts had been opened and a few destroyed (or just beheaded)…

And he peacefully fell asleep on his toys like a toddler under the tree at 9am Christmas morning.

That was the instagram photo: the close-up. I realized this is how social media is. People pick and choose the details, but without context, without the opening wide shot. So, for clarity, here’s the wide shot:

​Life is messy, and so is Tucker. And I love them both not despite it, but because of it.

When Tucker awoke, I made him his favorite dinner and then we headed down to the firepits on the bluff.

Tucker and I enjoyed the warmth, the view, and the sounds, but very few people were out and about. We walked along the bluff, we stopped in the lobby so Tucker could get a biscuit, and returned to the room where I started a fire in the fireplace, poured a glass of wine and turned on the TV.

Since cutting the cord, I’ve missed turning on a TV and just watching what’s on; no decision to make from millions of “content” necessary. I was delighted to turn on the TV and there on the screen was a movie I haven’t watched in its entirety since probably the turn of the century: It’s a Wonderful Life.  Having only missed the first few minutes, I put down the remote, heated a slice of pizza in the fireplace, and watched the movie as Tucker snoozed in front of me.

At a commercial break, Tucker opted to change to the bed, and there he was, as always, right beside me. No matter what transpires on Christmas Day, it’s a joy because he’s right here with me.

The next morning we took our time leaving.

​Tucker did his Yoga on the balcony.

Then he showed off his skills at checkers.

And tried his paw at chess.

We took some photos by the sea.

And an obligatory Christmas tree photo in the lobby (Tucker was anxiously awaiting the biscuits he knew the hotel staff had behind the desk).

We bid our basecamp farewell and stopped off for lunch in Cambria proper, at Redwood Cafe—because I do so love the redwoods. There were no redwood trees, but the food was good and Tucker got an all-he-can-drink water bowl and love from the staff.

Then I fueled up with a mocha at the local coffee house. Tucker was disappointed to learn that unlike the resort, this business did not give out treats to dogs.

Then we headed south, and upon seeing the behemoth that I had been entranced with  on Christmas Eve, I had to stop. The wide shot made such an impact on me, I needed to get a close up.

I figured it couldn’t be hard to find the beach. Just head west toward the rock and eventually there would be a parking lot.

I was surprisingly right.
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We climbed over the dune and walked along the beach, but the recent rains had made a river down the center of the beach, impassable without getting socks and shoes submerged.

So we walked back to the parking lot, over the bridge, and up onto the dunes for a closer look.

I walked in reverence of this massive being and its little swirly tail poking up next to it as Tucker sniffed the air and beach, wanting to chase down every new scent.

We could have stayed there all day, but Tuck needed a nap, so we hopped back into the truck, and I chauffeured my boy back to Southern California.

We got one more Christmas surprise due to our meandering through the day: the bright full moon rising over the eastern mountains.

Christmas Day wasn’t a destination, a goal, or a moment. It was a journey, a small portion of the grander journey Tucker and I are on together. I am so grateful to be on this crazy ride of life with Tucker, who is a gift I get to enjoy every moment of every day of the year.

While we can’t have Christmas getaways every weekend, we can infuse adventure into every day. Tucker has so much joy and love to spread in the world, and it’s my job, my duty, to see that it does that. And he does that best when he’s on an adventure, meeting new people, exploring new places, and living life to the fullest.

I am hopeful that the new year brings with it many opportunities for roadtrips and journeys, film crews for Tucker to care for, wilds to explore, and urban adventures to be had.

Life isn’t what happens to you; you make your life, just as you create your traditions, by being open to and then grabbing hold of the opportunities that come your way.

Our life and our traditions may not be ordinary, but they are ours, authentic to us, my canine partner and me.

May you all create beloved traditions that suit you and and live a life all year round that you build from love and adventure and kindness. When in doubt of which way to go, just look to the end of your leash and follow: your dog will never lead you astray.

Tucker and I have a Christmas tradition of not having any traditions aside from a hike, my equivalent of church service in the temple I feel most at home: nature. In the last decade, we’ve spent four winter holidays at our home base in Southern California and five elsewhere in the country. This year, I really wished to be elsewhere, having spent two whole years at our basecamp either working in town or not working at all during The Year Hollywood Imploded.

So with three days left till Christmas, no hike within an hour really speaking to me, and limited funds due to the afore-mentioned industry implosion, I decided to look beyond a day trip, but not so far as to warrant a week of hotel stays I could not afford.

And I found it:

Christmas in Cambria.

I was surprised to learn this is not, in fact, the title of a Hallmark movie.

Just 200 miles up the California coast between Santa Barbara and Monterrey, Tucker and I had driven by but had never stayed. Home to Heart Castle (in San Simeon, just 5 miles north of Cambria), I had never gone since dogs are not allowed on the tours and I only go to places my entire family is welcome.

But we weren’t going for the architecture made by man anyway; we were going to explore Mother Nature’s artwork in galleries Tucker is invited to explore.

Cavalier Oceanfront Resort offered the most economical dog-friendly, ocean view accommodations, so I booked two nights in a room with a fireplace, a balcony Tuck and I could enjoy outdoors, and views to the ocean and coastline.
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But first, we had to get there. Having the entirety of Christmas Eve for the three or four hours drive, we made the journey the destination with multiple stops along the way, the first being our local coffee house.

We made a brief stop at Dinosaur Caves Park to check out some cool rocks just north of Pismo Bay where we had been on Christmas in 2020. Looking southward, I spied the little cove we found behind a hotel on that trip.

To the north in Dinosaur Caves Park were rocks reminiscent of the Oregon coastline.

And Tucker, drawn to people who need him, hopped up on the bench to return a greeting a woman had given him.

I asked her if she had a dog and she said she had had to say goodbye to her constant companion just three months ago. It was her first Christmas without him, so this moment meant a lot to her.

Sometimes I wonder if Tucker is a medium, or if all dogs are in some way. Maybe they can sense that a person’s heart is reaching out to the other side, seeking their dog. Or maybe Tuck can see the spectre of their dog beside them and in his interaction with the person, he shares a message from the dog beyond.

We bid the woman a merry holiday as she left to meet up with her daughter who was driving up from Pasadena, and Tucker and I continued heading north to Cambria, where the woman once lived with her dog.

Sometimes it truly does feel like we’re being guided to right where we need to be.

Thirty miles from our destination of the resort, we stopped for a trail I had tagged the night before: Black Rock Trail.
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As we came into Morro Bay, I wondered how I could have ever missed this. We had driven the coast before, Tucker and me. And I had even done it alone. But how had I missed this California version of Haystack Rock?

The trail was not to the rock, but to the views of the rock. We were aiming for wide shots now; we'd do close-ups later.

We started off at a campground, and once we found our way out of the parking lot of RV’s, we ended up in a sloping meadow with peek-a-boo views of the mountains beyond.

The trail up, steeper than I had anticipated, wove through meadow and forest. And eventually we even crossed… the parking lot. The parking lot I could have driven to, so as to only need to walk up the last few yards to the summit.

​But that’s not how Tucker and I roll.
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And it was the steepest section anyway, so it’s not like we would have avoided the hardest part; we just would have missed the stroll upwards and incredible views along the way.

At the top, we could look east or west. West drew my attention more due to the rock, this enormous bulb of energy pulsating from the bay.

But the eastern view was also powerful: layer upon layer of mountains.

And to the south, both mountain and water met sky.

I considered staying for sunset, but thought it best to head to get back to the base of the mountain before dark. The descent was just as beautiful.

Everywhere we turned, we experienced yet another stunning visual.

We were still miles away from where we would bed down for the night, the place chosen for its outdoor firepits along the bluff where I hoped we could get some social time in.
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There was much adventure ahead, but it didn’t mean our holiday hadn’t begun. It started that morning when we backed out of the driveway and hit the road. 

Whether it's a mountain summit or an overnight lodging, our goal isn't to reach a particular destination; our goal is to fully experience every moment of the journey. And the journey of Christmas in Cambria was just beginning.

With mid-winter only weeks away, the weather finally cooled enough for Tucker and me to get out on the trails of Southern California. We don’t do well over 75 degrees in the sun, so we don't venture much around our immediate basecamp.

Besides weather, geography plays a part in our seasonal adventures. Most hikes in the Angeles Forest are canyon hikes, meaning one has to drop a thousand feet in elevation from the trailhead and then muster their way backup at the end. I prefer to do my hardest hiking at the start, not the finish. But with the roads running along the ridgeline, there aren’t many choices.

Mount Lowe looked promising. There was no immediate drop, but there was some incline to vast vistas of the mountains.
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In only half an hour’s drive, we were at the trailhead, learning about the railway that once ran through here.

The ledges are steep; I don’t think I’d trust a train on this mountain in earthquake country. I barely trusted myself.

The path was a bit rocky for Tucker, and certainly not something I’d try on a summer day.

The only real shade came at the tunnel, something unusual for our wilderness hikes. We find stairs aplenty, but never a tunnel.

On the other side was more of the wilds.

The path did dip a little, but not enough to make me worry I wouldn’t get back up later.
Some of the moutainsides of the switchbacks provided shade as well.

At the summit, we found the National Forest had placed more information about the spot.

It’s fascinating to me that a hundred and a half years ago, people came up here all the time. They built cabins in the canyons and left the Los Angeles basin for the wilderness on a regular basis.

But I suppose much of the Los Angeles basin was also wild at the time. Or at least farmland. There was no real to “get away”; this was just part of home. My trusty steed had only gone 29 miles to get here. A horse probably clocked fewer miles, although it would have been a full day’s ride. But that’s just what life was then: you took the time to enjoy the world around you.

The views, even today, are magnificent.

So much is still untouched by human hands, mainly due to the extreme inclines and rough terrain. Nature’s biggest defense against humans is just making it hard to get there. We’re a pretty lazy species on the whole these days.

The only evidence of humans is the radio and cell phone towers along the peaks (and old telescopes to look at the mountains with).

And the houses in the far distance, beneath the clouds, indicate civilization, an area large and flat enough for a settlement.

But if you look in the right direction, you’ll find only nature.

And that’s what we always come for: Nature.

If we’re not called away for another job soon, we hope the winter is long so we my climb out of the valley and touch the sky in this Forest of Angels as often as possible.