Most of our adventures involve sweeping landscapes or the peace and solitude of the forest. But every now and again our journeys focus on friends. It just happens that in this case, the sweeping landscape is still a feature.
This weekend, Tucker and I headed north over the bay bridge. Our friend wrote a book, and since it was inspired by the sea, we went to the beach to read it aloud and discuss editing. Since there was no chair for Tucker to sit in during our meeting, he chose to sit on the log.
This weekend, Tucker and I headed north over the bay bridge. Our friend wrote a book, and since it was inspired by the sea, we went to the beach to read it aloud and discuss editing. Since there was no chair for Tucker to sit in during our meeting, he chose to sit on the log.
Tucker had a long leash, allowing him to sift through sand, roll around in the seaweed and take in the ocean air. Instead, he had to be in the middle of it—as he is with all things.
After a productive and fun editorial meeting, Tuck and I headed north to the solitude of the forest. However, we weren’t alone in our quest to be alone. With no parking left at the trailhead, and only precarious “spots” on the side of the cliff, I chose to head back down the mountain a bit and take a trail less travelled.
Not as forest-y as I would of liked, but it was still some time in nature. One of the many things I love about the Bay Area is how quickly one can get from the beaches to the trees. And even from our vantage point among the treetops, we still spied water.
From ocean to mountain and across the bay: all in a day when you’re in San Francisco.
It didn’t feel as if we had gotten our true nature fix for the weekend, so the next day we headed south to find solitude. I really wanted to hike to Castle Rock, but being a state park, my faithful companion was not allowed. And so I, too, missed out. We are a package deal; I only go where he goes.
We paid the $10 to park at Castle Rock because there wasn't any free street parking, but rather than follow the people up the western trail to the forest reminiscent of a fairyland with gnarled trees and amazing rock formations, we crossed over Skyline Blvd to where we were allowed: the east side.
I don’t know what we missed out on being on the east side, but we did have our own unique experience where we were welcomed. Once I was out of sight of the cars and pavement, I was in a place like no other I had experienced on the Peninsula. The rocks and trees had grown together throughout the centuries and stood in a still frame of their life dance together.
We paid the $10 to park at Castle Rock because there wasn't any free street parking, but rather than follow the people up the western trail to the forest reminiscent of a fairyland with gnarled trees and amazing rock formations, we crossed over Skyline Blvd to where we were allowed: the east side.
I don’t know what we missed out on being on the east side, but we did have our own unique experience where we were welcomed. Once I was out of sight of the cars and pavement, I was in a place like no other I had experienced on the Peninsula. The rocks and trees had grown together throughout the centuries and stood in a still frame of their life dance together.
I can’t say which came first: the rock or the tree, but clearly they are forever bonded.
The Skyline Trail which runs alongside Skyline Blvd (which, incidentally, rides along the San Andreas fault line) seems to be a place of coming together—plates of the earth, rock and vegetation… perhaps even sea and mountain.
I wondered why one trailhead was called Seagraves.
It probably is an uninteresting tale of some guy in the 1800’s who decided to slap his name on a parcel of land. But looking at some of the rock formations, I wondered if perhaps this was an actual sea grave. I could certainly imagine it underwater, the tides eroding the rocks, and coral and seaweed growing up around the sediment.
Further up the trail, the path led us away from the road, but turning back, we could see the mountain ridges beyond, knowing just on the other side was the edge of the land, and miles upon miles of ocean beyond.
We walked almost seven miles among the trees on leaf-strewn pathways, and by rocks of magical dimensions.
On our return, as the sun was starting her descent to the horizon, I stopped to take in that which we had sought: solitude. I realized as I stood there that although I used the word “solitude” for my goal, it wasn't an accurate description of what I sought nor accomplished. What I needed, and what I got, was to be surrounded by Nature. And in Nature, you are never alone. Nature is not devoid of life, but rather, teeming with it in a myriad of unique and magical forms.
Whether it’s in the woods, on the bluffs, along the mountains ridge, or walking at the sea’s edge, Tucker and I are not trying to disengage from the world; we’re yearning to reconnect to the universe.
Whether it’s in the woods, on the bluffs, along the mountains ridge, or walking at the sea’s edge, Tucker and I are not trying to disengage from the world; we’re yearning to reconnect to the universe.
Only here, without the noise of fellow man, can we hear Nature sing; we feel the soft earth under our feet, the gentle breeze on our skin, and see the sun shining, its rays dancing through the treetops and the clouds sweeping overhead. As small as we are in the grand scheme of things, here, we recognize we are part of it all. And as we take it all in--the vision of beauty, the scent of the earth, the sensation of the wind through our hair, and breath of life that fills us--it all becomes a part of us.
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