Arriving at the tiny parking lot (literally only 10 spots) with only six cars there, I knew we wouldn’t be fighting crowds. From the truck, I could not see the beach, ocean, or even a trail. Once out of the vehicle, I spotted a few trails that started just on the other side of the rope that acted as a parking barrier, so Tucker and I hopped over and started along the bluff.
Coming to the edge, I was overtaken by the panoramic vista. We stood atop a canyon ridge; down below there were a few people and dogs walking in the hollowed out canyon area. Above them, more trails led through the bluff, and beyond that, the sea. I was in awe, but pulled myself together to try to figure out how we could set foot on every inch of every path down below while not backtracking too much.
Tucker and I started down the path heading north on the first path I saw.
I went slowly, making sure he was on solid ground, and he overcame his fear. His fear had made me pause though, as he’s never frightened of anything. But I felt we could be safe, and we could feel safe as long as we didn’t look down until we were all the way up. I find it strange how hesitant I am now—even though being hesitant is actually more risky than just having the confidence to move forward swiftly.
Doubt is a dangerous thing.
Once up on the two foot wide sandy edge, I quickly scrambled to safety with Tucker ahead of me. Taking a moment to look down across the valley rather than down the way we came up, I was filled with awe at the beauty rather than dismay that I had risked our lives.