Tucker and I don’t have any real true holiday traditions for Christmas because we never know where in the world we will be. The only thing that is consistent is that we begin Christmas morning with a hike. I consider Nature to be my church, so it is my version of church service.
I usually head to the woods, and the redwoods is of course my favorite. However, being far from their natural habitat, and knowing that no other woods would give me equal pleasure, I opted to expand my church service to the sea.
We had done just about every beach and bluff around the 100 mile range away. Since it was a holiday, I thought we may be able to travel just a little bit further given even less traffic on Christmas morning. Pismo Beach looked to have the craggy outcroppings and dramatic cliffs I love, so at 180 miles away, we packed up and headed north beyond our usual beach and bluff haunts.
The hikes at Pismo were mainly beach walks, and most reviewers said that north of the campground featured RVs and roads and wasn’t anything to write home about. I wanted to check out the Monarch Grove, which seems like the half way point from south to north, so rather than starting at the Monarch Grove, I started at the southern point of the hike and headed north to the Monarch Grove figuring we could go further if it seemed interesting. But it wasn’t what I expected. Mainly because I had arrived not at Pismo Beach, but at Oceano Dunes.
Surprisingly, the booth to the California state park was actually manned (or, I should say wo-manned). I was a tad confused because the parking lot to the right was not after the booth, and there didn’t seem anywhere to go once I passed the booth. She saw the confusion on my face.
“Sorry, where do I park?” I asked.
“It’s $5 if you want to park on the beach, otherwise you can park right there,” she said pointing at the paved lot on the other side of the fence. “That’s free.”
“Why would I want to park on the beach?” I mumbled, thinking I had asked it internally, and thanked her, telling her the paved parking lot was just fine. It wasn’t that $5 was too much to spend; I just didn’t think taking my two-wheel drive truck onto sand was something I needed nor wanted to do.
The paved lot only held a couple dozen cars, and there were plenty of empty spots.
I had expected a bluff based on the photos people had posted, but perhaps that was in the north campground. Here, Oceano Dunes was aptly named.
I usually head to the woods, and the redwoods is of course my favorite. However, being far from their natural habitat, and knowing that no other woods would give me equal pleasure, I opted to expand my church service to the sea.
We had done just about every beach and bluff around the 100 mile range away. Since it was a holiday, I thought we may be able to travel just a little bit further given even less traffic on Christmas morning. Pismo Beach looked to have the craggy outcroppings and dramatic cliffs I love, so at 180 miles away, we packed up and headed north beyond our usual beach and bluff haunts.
The hikes at Pismo were mainly beach walks, and most reviewers said that north of the campground featured RVs and roads and wasn’t anything to write home about. I wanted to check out the Monarch Grove, which seems like the half way point from south to north, so rather than starting at the Monarch Grove, I started at the southern point of the hike and headed north to the Monarch Grove figuring we could go further if it seemed interesting. But it wasn’t what I expected. Mainly because I had arrived not at Pismo Beach, but at Oceano Dunes.
Surprisingly, the booth to the California state park was actually manned (or, I should say wo-manned). I was a tad confused because the parking lot to the right was not after the booth, and there didn’t seem anywhere to go once I passed the booth. She saw the confusion on my face.
“Sorry, where do I park?” I asked.
“It’s $5 if you want to park on the beach, otherwise you can park right there,” she said pointing at the paved lot on the other side of the fence. “That’s free.”
“Why would I want to park on the beach?” I mumbled, thinking I had asked it internally, and thanked her, telling her the paved parking lot was just fine. It wasn’t that $5 was too much to spend; I just didn’t think taking my two-wheel drive truck onto sand was something I needed nor wanted to do.
The paved lot only held a couple dozen cars, and there were plenty of empty spots.
I had expected a bluff based on the photos people had posted, but perhaps that was in the north campground. Here, Oceano Dunes was aptly named.
From the compacted sand beach, we walked toward the ridgeline and discovered that it wasn’t a cliff but of course, a dune.
Thereby, the hike north wasn’t actually along a bluff, but through sand dunes. Each foot fall took us upwards of 6 inches deep in sand. I imagine it was rougher for Tucker who had less surface area to stay afloat. We both needed snowshoes.
A mile in, Tucker had had enough. He just came to a full stop and lied down in the sand.
I have to say, it wasn’t a bad place to be stranded with all the beauty around us. I sat down as well, and took in our surroundings while we both rested. The sand was powder soft, and almost dusty as I lifted it up and let it fall back onto the ground. I dug a little in, and felt the cool sands invigorate my fingers. Always Go Where the Dog Takes You, even if it’s stopping for a spell—you won’t be disappointed.
It was another mile and a half to the Monarch Grove, and while I enjoyed the beauty of the dunes, I was relieved for Tucker to hit solid ground again. He had to take a couple more breaks before we hit the pier, and I was worried I might wear him out before Christmas Day was even a quarter over.
There was a wooden plank bridge for a bit of the walk on the way to the Monarch Grove, but once we started seeing more people, we hopped off and and took to the sands. It wasn’t dune-like this time, and we made the walk with ease along the golf course boundary.
As we approached the switchback up the tiny hill to the Monarch Grove, a man walking down said without prompting, “In years past there were butterflies everywhere. But you can only see a few flying around today.”
Thanks to his words, I had zero expectations. The website had photos of butterflies hanging off trees like bunches of bananas; now I was aware to not expect that. Perhaps the butterflies were being socially distant too. Only a few flew up near the tree-tops.
As we approached the switchback up the tiny hill to the Monarch Grove, a man walking down said without prompting, “In years past there were butterflies everywhere. But you can only see a few flying around today.”
Thanks to his words, I had zero expectations. The website had photos of butterflies hanging off trees like bunches of bananas; now I was aware to not expect that. Perhaps the butterflies were being socially distant too. Only a few flew up near the tree-tops.
We took our photo at the Monarch Grove sign just to prove while monarchs might not have been there, Tucker and I had been.
Walking back across the dunes didn’t seem like an option given Tucker’s and my fitness level. So we meandered over to the beach side of the park and took a seat upon the dune to watch the beachgoers. (I watched, Tucker napped.)
The northern end didn’t look any more different than what we had already experienced, so I figured we’d walk back along the beach where the sand was compact enough for us walk on without difficulty.
It was, after all, compact enough for cars. Now that it was later in the day, I finally grasped the “parking on the beach” concept. People drove on and just parked right there at the waves, got out and went swimming, or had a picnic, or played a game.
Tucker and I walked southward, for the most part staying out of the way of the tire tracks that seemed to determine an unofficial roadway for motorists.
Tide was low, so in the compact sand there were pieces of sea debris strewn about: shells, rocks, seaweed… and surprisingly, I found two full sand dollars.
I generally don’t take anything from nature. I leave every pine cone, every stone, every shell right where Nature placed it in her art exhibit. But for some reason, I was compelled to take these two. There were plenty of them smashed in across the tide line, but these two, found a few yards apart, were whole.
Tide was low, so in the compact sand there were pieces of sea debris strewn about: shells, rocks, seaweed… and surprisingly, I found two full sand dollars.
I generally don’t take anything from nature. I leave every pine cone, every stone, every shell right where Nature placed it in her art exhibit. But for some reason, I was compelled to take these two. There were plenty of them smashed in across the tide line, but these two, found a few yards apart, were whole.
It wasn’t until I got back to the truck that I learned exactly what sand dollars are: sea urchins. And I also learned that it’s illegal to take them if they’re alive. A moment of panic struck me as I frantically tried to determine if I had mistakenly kidnapped two very much alive sea urchins.
From the descriptions online and the white beings in front of me, the panic ceased as I concluded these were indeed dead.
In all my life, having seen sand dollars for sale in shops and I think there was one in parent’s house (I have a vague recollection of shaking one and hearing the little pieces inside), I guess I always considered them to be fossils. Or shells. Or rock. I never thought of them as skeletons or just a deceased body.
Looking at videos of alive ones, I also concluded that I had never seen one not dead. I had never seen a deep purple, fuzzy-bottomed sea urchin making its way across the sand. I was relieved to not have damaged the eco-system but still felt guilty for taking something from the beach. I couldn’t take them back now. It seemed too late, sitting in the truck, the two sand dollars in my center console cup holders. I tried to rid myself of the guilt, and be delighted with the magic that I had actually found them.
Turning my attention to an encore hike, I searched a little online for those dramatic cliffs and rocky beaches I had yearned to see this Christmas Day and had not seen thus far.
A quick search brought up a walk along the cliffs only a few miles north, so Tucker took a quick nap while I drove us from the beach to… well… another beach.
The parking lot wasn’t for the beach but for some cliffside tennis courts. There was a path behind the adjacent hotel that seemed to be where we could find walk along and gaze out over the cliffs. I figured we’d do a quick a walk, and then hop back in, my fix taken care of, and we’d be done.
The sightline was exactly what I had been after today.
From the descriptions online and the white beings in front of me, the panic ceased as I concluded these were indeed dead.
In all my life, having seen sand dollars for sale in shops and I think there was one in parent’s house (I have a vague recollection of shaking one and hearing the little pieces inside), I guess I always considered them to be fossils. Or shells. Or rock. I never thought of them as skeletons or just a deceased body.
Looking at videos of alive ones, I also concluded that I had never seen one not dead. I had never seen a deep purple, fuzzy-bottomed sea urchin making its way across the sand. I was relieved to not have damaged the eco-system but still felt guilty for taking something from the beach. I couldn’t take them back now. It seemed too late, sitting in the truck, the two sand dollars in my center console cup holders. I tried to rid myself of the guilt, and be delighted with the magic that I had actually found them.
Turning my attention to an encore hike, I searched a little online for those dramatic cliffs and rocky beaches I had yearned to see this Christmas Day and had not seen thus far.
A quick search brought up a walk along the cliffs only a few miles north, so Tucker took a quick nap while I drove us from the beach to… well… another beach.
The parking lot wasn’t for the beach but for some cliffside tennis courts. There was a path behind the adjacent hotel that seemed to be where we could find walk along and gaze out over the cliffs. I figured we’d do a quick a walk, and then hop back in, my fix taken care of, and we’d be done.
The sightline was exactly what I had been after today.
Tucker had look through bars to see it, but he didn’t seem to mind.
We even saw some interesting rock formations on this side of the fence.
I let Tuck sit in the hotel chairs too… cause, why not? He sits in chairs everywhere else.
And then, to my surprise, as we came to the end of the fence, I noticed a set of stairs with a “Beach Access” sign next to it. Tucker and I approached, and while it was a bit of a ways down, I didn’t think we’d have a hard time getting up later.
So down we went.
And there it was: the cove and dramatic cliffs, and amazing rock formations time and water had created.
So down we went.
And there it was: the cove and dramatic cliffs, and amazing rock formations time and water had created.
Tucker had a rough time on the sands. Unlike Pismo’s powdery soft sand, this was hard and completely covered in shells and rocks. After his five mile walk, his feet were already sore. I tried to find some sand sans sharp pebbles and shells, so we could walk along the water’s edge.
We were able to find some smooth rocks to walk upon and explore.
I saw a bit of sand that didn’t look too rocky and headed up the beach to sit on some rocks and just be still a few moments.
Tucker took this moment to rest as well, happy to be off his feet for a little while.
I took in the sea, the cove, the sun, the rocks, and my precious little boy resting. Time is all we really have here, to enjoy, to love, to be. The three hour drive wasn’t wasted time. It was time with my dog, and the experience of driving up the coast. And it was time to see more of this planet with my best boy.
We stayed for a spell, walked about, and then as sunset would soon be coming, we trekked back to our trusty steed for the three hour ride home. Those three hours were for talking to family and friends, wishing them a Merry Christmas, hearing about their Christmas Day (which, for most on the east coast, was coming to a close), and reconnecting with humans again.
Disengaging from humans to be in nature is what I need to recharge. Being isolated has been difficult this year as I love being away from humans—but only in nature. Being alone in my own house in the city… that doesn’t feel right. That’s for social time. But once in nature, the lack of humans puts life in perspective. Both Tucker and I enjoy people (Tucker probably more so because he gets belly rubs and treats from them, whereas it would be weird if I did) but we need balance too-away from humans to remember what life is all about.
Disengaging from humans to be in nature is what I need to recharge. Being isolated has been difficult this year as I love being away from humans—but only in nature. Being alone in my own house in the city… that doesn’t feel right. That’s for social time. But once in nature, the lack of humans puts life in perspective. Both Tucker and I enjoy people (Tucker probably more so because he gets belly rubs and treats from them, whereas it would be weird if I did) but we need balance too-away from humans to remember what life is all about.
When we returned, I cleaned off the sand dollars, and set them down on the counter just to make sure they wouldn’t suddenly walk away. While Tucker had his Christmas Dinner, I set out his gifts and fired up the heater in the fireplace.
I made sure to get in our 2020 Christmas photo, which Tucker kindly obliged wearing a scarf.
Usually I only have Tucker open one or two gifts to play with the toys, and then the rest he gets throughout the next few weeks. But instead this time, I just let him have at it.
So about ten minutes after this was taken…
I made sure to get in our 2020 Christmas photo, which Tucker kindly obliged wearing a scarf.
Usually I only have Tucker open one or two gifts to play with the toys, and then the rest he gets throughout the next few weeks. But instead this time, I just let him have at it.
So about ten minutes after this was taken…
This was our living room:
(Shirt is care of his Aunt Carolina, who also got him a turtleneck sweater for his winter travels… and so he could fit in at any beatnik poetry reading he might be attending in the near future.)
I still contend dogs shouldn’t wear clothes—unless it’s for practical reasons (ie, a raincoat, or in this case a sweater if it’s cold). Tucker didn’t seem to mind, but he’s used to putting up with my shenanigans while he’s enjoying some other activity—like destroying his new toys, ripping open bags of treats, and hiding his presents under wrapping paper and shredding paper again.
Intrinsically, no one day is any more special than another. It is us who assign meaning to a day, and it is us who create and manifest the magic that make it special. Venturing in the dunes, driving along the coast, and ripping open gifts doesn’t need to be done just on December 25th. We could do it any day or every day. But doing it on Christmas, as the year comes to a close is just a reminder that we can do that. We can infuse magic into every day. We can make any and every moment special. Life is one day at a time, and while this year has made each day blend together and those special activities be less frequent, this Christmas is proof that every day is special when I get to spend it with my boy.
Merry Christmas one and all. May you all find magic in your every day.
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