Having toured most of the Fort Bragg seaside area, day two was one destination only: Mendocino.
Mendocino was settled by some New Englanders who had come out with a logging company. With a population of less than 1000 even today, it certainly could have been a New England town—except for the vast Pacific Ocean bordering two sides of it.
Mendocino was settled by some New Englanders who had come out with a logging company. With a population of less than 1000 even today, it certainly could have been a New England town—except for the vast Pacific Ocean bordering two sides of it.
It may have seemed familiar to me not just because it is reminiscent of New England but the opening of Murder, She Wrote is right here. The theme song still plays in my head, some thirty five years later.
Tucker and I walked up and down the road (one of five east-west streets in the entire town proper), referencing my alltrails map, trying to find the start of the Mendocino Headlands trail. I walked down a dirt driveway to a parking lot and found two people carrying supplies from their car to the meeting room of a church (lots of churches—just like New England.) I asked if they could direct me where to go, and the man said he’d show me after he put down his supplies. His gregarious Anatolian Shepherd was lumbering about, and Tucker made fast friends with her—as he does with all the canine locals. She seemed excited to show Tucker the trail she herself often spent her days on.
The gentleman and his dog walked us through the back field, and there, sure enough, was a narrow trail that I never would have found for fear of trespassing.
The trail led out to the cliff’s edge where through trees, we could see the beaches below.
Tucker and I walked up and down the road (one of five east-west streets in the entire town proper), referencing my alltrails map, trying to find the start of the Mendocino Headlands trail. I walked down a dirt driveway to a parking lot and found two people carrying supplies from their car to the meeting room of a church (lots of churches—just like New England.) I asked if they could direct me where to go, and the man said he’d show me after he put down his supplies. His gregarious Anatolian Shepherd was lumbering about, and Tucker made fast friends with her—as he does with all the canine locals. She seemed excited to show Tucker the trail she herself often spent her days on.
The gentleman and his dog walked us through the back field, and there, sure enough, was a narrow trail that I never would have found for fear of trespassing.
The trail led out to the cliff’s edge where through trees, we could see the beaches below.
Further down the trail, the trees fell away and we got a more open view of the cove.
Open or from within a cliff's small forest, the view was beautiful.
We walked down onto the rocks to be closer to the sea.
Then came back up to view the stunning artwork the ocean had made in the earth.
I can see why it’s photographed so much. Every angle was beauty.
Stumbling upon a trail that led down to a grassy knoll, I sat down with Tucker, feeling as if I was in Ireland--or what I imagine Ireland to be like, never having been.
This hidden oasis with our two raven friends seemed worlds away.
The sea had once covered this little plateau, as was evident from the wall’s chambers.
Water washed away the earth, creating tunnels. I wondered what sea life must have been like when once this was all under water.
I then wondered what life was like now, growing up here in a town whose population didn’t even top 900 people. The sea’s edge right here, on the cliff, a border that could not be crossed.
The few shops and restaurants catered to the tourists, like many new England towns, and but I couldn’t see myself enjoying a life here. Tucker and I traversed the entire town in less than a day. Although touted as dog friendly, I only found two shops that Tucker was welcome. I couldn’t find enough to do to fill a day, let alone a lifetime.
Don't get me wrong: this place is stunning--some of Mother Nature's finest artwork. But since art is always about personal taste, I have to come clean and say that Fort Bragg’s dramatic rocks and cliffsides appealed to me more. It is more rugged, unpolished; it is a place to not only enjoy looking at nature, but engage in it. Here, I could look out at the sea all day. But in Fort Bragg, I could get up close, walk through it, dance in it, and find the little bit of unkempt nature that is beauty in itself.
But I am still grateful to have had a chance to explore this particular coastal work of art. Nature is diverse in her genres, and I appreciate all the medias she works in. It's just that some of her pieces I feel more connected to than others.
Tucker and I bid farewell to the Californian New England town and headed back north For our final night, we watched the sunset from our little beach and then sat beside the fire again.
Day one was bustling and active; day two was like walking through an art museum. Day three would be whatever adventures we could find along our route. We would leave the sea behind, thankful for getting to experience its beauty, and head east, back to Nature's art gallery where I feel most at home: the redwood forest.
But I am still grateful to have had a chance to explore this particular coastal work of art. Nature is diverse in her genres, and I appreciate all the medias she works in. It's just that some of her pieces I feel more connected to than others.
Tucker and I bid farewell to the Californian New England town and headed back north For our final night, we watched the sunset from our little beach and then sat beside the fire again.
Day one was bustling and active; day two was like walking through an art museum. Day three would be whatever adventures we could find along our route. We would leave the sea behind, thankful for getting to experience its beauty, and head east, back to Nature's art gallery where I feel most at home: the redwood forest.
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