Dear Robin,
 We, Debra and Donald Wilkinson, are the couple from Washington D.C. that attended Bill Walton's Easter talk "It's not my fault". Deb and I have done a lot of traveling in our 6 years of marriage and it's normal for her to write a one or two page travelogue after one of our jaunts. She does it partly as a diary, partly to send to her relatives to ensure I haven't  "stolen her away" ,and partly to build a scrapbook of our  meanderings. Paris was worth 5pages. Disneyworld  rated 7.
This time she wrote 12 pages. I'm enclosing the whole document. Bill, Susanna, and Tracey are mentioned by name on page 4. Please tell them that they represented one of the highlights of a  remarkable trip. And thank you all again for a remarkable afternoon.    Don Wilkinson

April 14, 2006 California Dreamin’ Come True – Deb & Don’s Northcoast Meander

DCA/Reagan to Oakland Airport via Atlanta on Delta/Continental; we arrived very late on Friday, April 14 and collapsed at a La Quinta motel. Hey, a 3 hour time change is hard on us old folks.

 

Saturday, April 15

Not too early we picked up our rental car and set out. First came the San Francisco Oakland Bay Bridge. Not too shabby. They are still working on it after the 1989 earthquake that shook down the upper deck…the one we all saw on TV. Then we drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. Darn pretty bridge, that. Even on a gray rainy day. In fact the fog nestled on top of the surrounding headlands was quite attractive and seemed very appropriate. At Vista View overlook on the north side we got a nice view back at the bridge and the bay and had our picture taken between raindrops. In the center of this small park we were delighted to discover a familiar friend; a replica of the bronze that stands in the Navy Memorial in DC, The Lone Sailor. We greeted him cordially.

 

Shortly thereafter we embarked on State Road 1, the Shoreline Highway, our conduit to the Pacific Coast. SR 1 is 208 miles of coast hugging 2-lane bordered by countless acres of open rangeland and is largely kept in its natural condition due to the vast percentage of land that is state owned. I will mention here that Don did all of the driving on this trip. Beyond the normal hazards of traveling in a strange land, you will understand more as we go along why this was such an honorable feat. Immediately our senses came alive with new sights and smells and sounds. Most notable to begin with were the frequent eucalyptus groves lining the roadway. The scent was so powerful that Koala Don suggested we try the leaves to test their medicinal value, but I passed.

 

Our first actual stopping place was Muir Woods. If you believe a tree has beauty, this is where you make your pilgrimage. It is a cathedral, a holy site for the ultimate tree on this earth, Semper sempervivens. Soaring overhead, the Coast Redwood grows until the trunk cannot deliver moisture any higher, close to 400 feet. On this day of damp and drizzle, we enveloped ourselves in ponchos and hood, while the great trees opened themselves up to take in the life-giving wetness, to drink it in and soak it up. The forest dripped. All around everything was green or green covered. Moss and fern thrived. It may not have been the kind of weather we had hoped for, but it was certainly a chance to see the redwood forest at its best, wet and green and happy! We were just in time to catch a talk by John, a naturalist volunteer, who among other things answered my question about the redwoods that Mom and I had seen on Kauai. They were much younger there, but grow faster (and weaker) in the Hawaiian climate so are disproportionate in size to these giants that are hundreds of years old. On the way out of the park we got a hot dog and an Elf Owl carved out of redwood burl wood.

 

Wow. No seriously…WOW. Between Muir Woods and the next stop on our itinerary, Point Reyes, we were feeling our way back to SR 1 when we had an opportunity to exercise the serendipitous aspect of our trip. The idea where you start out meandering your way somewhere with the strict rule that either one of you can point out a sign and say “let’s stop there”. So this time I saw “Muir Beach Overlook” and it turned out to be an outrageously incredible view. Let me say now, if you’re not really appreciative of natural scenic beauty, don’t bother to read any further because that’s what it’s all about…and I intend to use every superlative known to man in order to describe what proved to be a truly beautiful part of the USA. It is hard and frustrating to express with words the scale, the majesty, the simple glorious beauty of a thing. Just try to tell someone about the prettiest sunset you’ve ever seen; the colors, the dimension, the changing shapes. It’s just impossible. But you can remember, so drink it in. Even good photographs don’t do the job. But they help you remember, they bring it clear again to your mind’s eye. For this they are worth the effort. And I took plenty! The stop at Muir Beach Overlook took us out on a cliff promontory via a small muddy footpath along the top of the crest. From the little space at the end you look straight down to the rocky shore far, far below and the distant waves rolling in. To the right and to the left extend dark gray rock cliffs contrasting with green sloping hills. There are buttercups and other colorful flowers and aromatic herbs all about and scattered pine trees here and there. It was hard to leave, but this was only the beginning of our coastal meander.

 

A reminder of a more uncertain past also exists on the hills above Muir Beach. During WWII there was a very real concern for the potential of a Japanese invasion of the United States. Here are the remnants of 4 Bay Area base end stations built into the slopes, part of the coastal defense system used to monitor the coastline. Think about the proximity to Japan; stations like these were also positioned in Alaska.

 

From here, SR 1 was a pure visual delight and a true physical challenge. This is the coast I came to see! The road followed as close to the edge of the continent as was possible. Where there was an ocean inlet, the road had to go inland and practically double back on itself to follow the edge and then back out the other side. Sometimes switchbacks were called for depending on how far down and up it had to go to get around these obstacles. It was most always curvy and winding as is the shore. In places, to the right was a vertical wall of rock and to the left was thin air with the ocean at the bottom. With all the recent rains, the pavement has suffered. There were spots where mud and rocks had very recently been pushed to the side and spots where water flowed across. Even worse were spots where the asphalt was broken and displaced with sections slumping off toward the sea. Frequent signs read “Flooded”, “Road Damage”, “One Lane Road”, “Work Area”, and “Slide Ahead”. We found out later that SR 1 had been closed to traffic up until two days ago as a result of the record rainfall. But what a spectacular place to build a road! Don pulled off when it was safe and I took pictures in every direction; Ocean, sky, cliffs, rocky shore, hills, nonstop beauty in every direction.

 

And then there comes a lighthouse: Point Reyes. When we stopped at Bear Valley visitor center we found out there was just time to get there and do the tour before their early closing time. So we drive the 45 minutes out onto the Point through cattle ranches with distant views of ocean on both sides. Then we park and walk the ½ mile up and around the rocky crag at the terminus. Then we look DOWN to see the lighthouse perched precariously 302 concrete steps below. (You can see the numbers on the risers only as you re-ascend telling you how many more steps you have to step up.) The light station is a cute little thing which gets its height from the cliff, and hence has unmatchable views to north and south along the coast. Richard, the ranger on duty inside, was impressed when Don knew the lens was a first order Fresnel and that there are 8 orders in all. Don was impressed that this lens is still in place in its station and still flashes 24 miles out to sea.

 

Before leaving Point Reyes National Seashore we had time for one more stop. It was Beach South and here we first encountered the Pacific Ocean up close and personal. Oh look, here is a comfortable driftwood log to sit on. At this place the beach is a long stretch of toasty brown sand. But the waves are what captivate. I can almost feel the swells. They grow. They crest. See the lighter color of blue when the daylight shines through the thinning wall of water. So big, so high, the wind blowing foam off their tops in gigantic plumes. I learned the word: spindrift. I swear I could spy the legendary white horses in the seafoam on the biggest waves. They crash. Then send gentle but powerful swooshes moving in curving arcs far up the beach. We watched a few people walking too close, jumping and running out of a particularly high wave’s reach. Is the sea trying to grab them? Entertaining itself? Having fun? Even with a gray sky the sea is always beautiful, always different, always alive! To the left, south, far off is the huge rock promontory where the lighthouse silently sits. See its flash. To the right, north, wave upon white wave breaking in never ending succession on the scalloped curves of the brown beach into the distance, then cliffs very far off. This is Beach South today.

 

Our first day and I feel like we’ve accomplished our goal. Something I’ve had on my mental to-do list for so many years. It had been pushed to the back burner but was still there. All it took was Sherri asking us “What are you guys doing Easter weekend?” and Don saying to me “Let’s do it. Let’s do one of your dream vacations.” The reality of the Redwood forest and the northern California coast has already lived up to that dream of mine. Don calls it the day of the 4 wows; and says it was already worth the trip. I agree. Thanks also go to Sherri for providing us with a map and tour guidebook for the area.

 

As I described this route, SR 1, you can understand that there are not a lot of motels in the area. So we crossed east to the more traveled Highway 101 and found a place near Santa Rosa. The next morning, the visitor center there wasn’t open yet but we discovered a statue of Charlie Brown & Snoopy. Charles Shultz spent the later years of his life here.

 

Sunday, April 16

Via Route 12 through wide open land with vast open-range cattle and sheep ranches and some apple orchards we found our way back to SR 1 and the coast at Bodega Bay Headlands. Oh My. I would not have thought we could top yesterday’s dazzling views, but this place ranks even higher on the wow scale. From high above the water’s edge, there are Xtreme views on all sides. When we arrived there was a slight drizzle but it soon passed and we enjoyed a dry spell for our explorations along the cliff paths. On the final walk back to the car the rain started up lightly again. Perfect timing. The brightening gray of the sky set off the dark rock formations stretching along in either direction and rising in monolithic chunks just off shore. The subtle blues and soft grays of the ocean water were highlighted by the purest white of the wave tops. From the highest rocky head we looked down to watch Herring gulls and Guillemots flying below. Along a green length of trail we came across a memorial to those who lived and died by the sea; the outline of a ship set with casket sized marble stones. Halfway down a muddy trail to the beach, we were turned back where a bedroom-sized section of land from the top of the trail had slid down and become the bottom of the trail. Grass and mud relocated by water and gravity. Back up at the high point Don called Sherri on his cell phone to thank her for putting this great idea in motion. A couple from Petaluma, who had come to see if there were any whales still migrating (there weren’t), kindly took our picture. We drank in the magnificent panorama that was Bodega Bay and reluctantly continued on our way. Don declared it not Bodega, but absolutely Bodacious!

 

I am already running out of superlatives, but our next stop was the Sonoma Coast and it was indeed stunning. A very long sweep of rocky coastline, there was one outstanding arch rock against which every seventh wave or so made an especially humongous crashing splash. I was fascinated just watching it and then with trying to catch the climactic moments with my camera. I could have stayed there in awe all day but we had a tour to catch in Fort Ross State Historic Park.

 

Within days of the 100th anniversary of the big one, the 1906 earthquake which destroyed San Francisco among other things, we joined a local group for Ranger Bill Walton’s “now famous San Andreas Fault Line Walk and Talk aptly named ‘It’s Not My Fault’.” 

We carpooled with a friendly local named Stacey and our fellow passenger, Ilsa, in a group of about 15, 5 of whom were park employees. And believe me when I tell you how really captivating it is to have a geologist explain things while you are standing on the coast looking across to where the fault comes ashore or standing directly over the fault line itself. (Rita took our picture standing on a red line that Bill painted at one such spot.) He pointed out escarpments which are a result of land folding under pressure, sag ponds formed after the event, and the old and new Mill Creek that changed its course as a result of the last big shake-up. They all talked casually about being prepared, or not, for the next big one; prepared to live without utilities or other conveniences, for a while.

 

And don’t forget the astounding beauty all around us in the form of hilly ranchland, rocky coastline, and redwood forest. The helpful rangers pointed out poison oak and a huge bay tree at one stopover. We even saw some wildlife; deer, ducks, vultures, wild turkeys, alligator lizards, and a wild pig. And at the end of it were refreshments…Susanna had baked two large slabs of bread representing the continental and oceanic tectonic plates with olives, chick peas, and figs as rocks and boulders, poppy seed, pesto and cheese as various geologic layers! Now that’s a one of a kind experience and I’m delighted that Don discovered it (on the internet) and managed to get us involved. Finally, after seeing more than a few cows perched on steep rocky hillsides, we asked Stacey if they ever fall off. She said “only the old ones”: ) and she wasn’t kidding.

 

It was 4:00 by the time we headed north again from Fort Ross. SR 1 continued to please as we stopped at turnouts along the way while the road literally hugged the edge of the state. Some rocky crags out in the water seen from a certain angle reveal archways or openings. Some beaches far below were black sand and some were light. All the while Don took the continuous twists and turns in stride. North of Gualala there was a section of one-lane road with a traffic light set up due to the fact that the outer (southbound) lane was more or less GONE. Along the next section we had the heaviest rain of the day but the sun kept trying to peek out. Then just south of Point Arena the sun appeared and, you guessed it, “Cue the rainbow!” How perfect can you get? And of course when the sun shines, the ocean changes color dramatically; a whole new setting, a whole new perspective. We found lodging and booked 2 nights at the Ebb Tide Lodge in Fort Bragg and by recommendation had a pleasant dinner at the Old Coast Hotel Bar & Grill where our waitress helpfully drew us a map so that we could find nearby Point Cabrillo lighthouse tomorrow, a site that I had somehow missed during our planning process.

 

Monday, April 17

Our first order of the day was a pre-booked trip on the Skunk Train, so named because the old time engines could be smelled before they could be seen. The ride was curtailed due to the partial collapse of their tunnel (a good enough reason in my mind) and the steam engine was off duty giving way to the 1955 diesel, but we curbed our minor disappointment and managed to enjoy the ride. On the way out we passed through 2nd growth redwood forest where the mighty trees had been clear-cut for lumber in the 1920’s. Most astounding were the 15 foot tall stumps with “family circles” of young redwoods growing from them, each youngster about 5-7 feet in diameter. Part of the way we followed alongside Pudding Creek, a small and sluggish waterway, and saw an osprey on its nest and a turtle on a log. Would you believe this train brakes for turtles? Indeed. Finally, in a small meadow just short of the tunnel, we were served a barbeque lunch and shared out picnic table with a couple from Virginia who were making a coast trip somewhat similar to our own. It was great to have a pleasant sunny day to ride in the open car, and this weather continued for the remainder of our trip; quite an incredible blessing since the whole area has been experiencing nothing but rain since September! We were also glad to be just a little bit ahead of the summer crowds.

 

On a side note, before boarding our train we had explored the depot gift shops where we managed to find a beautiful art piece; a molded resin ocean wave of multiple shades of blue with the white crest formed into the heads and forelegs of pure white horses with wild flying manes! As you all know I am not a big shopper, but I saw it in the window even before the store opened and knew we had to have it.

 

Point Cabrillo Lighthouse is located at Caspar Headlands State Beach Reserve just 4 miles south from Fort Bragg and well worth backtracking a bit. The ½ mile walk (why do they always tell you its ½ half mile walk anywhere you go?) was pleasant with the bright clear blue sky and a cool breeze. Though a sign warned of mountain lions, we were not worried on such a day as this. The lighthouse building is shaped something like an old schoolhouse or church, but with a brilliant red roof and a 3rd order beacon in the tower instead of a bell in the steeple. You can’t climb the small tower in this one, but there were displays inside the other part and the surrounding level acreage of the cliff-top provided a wonderful place to walk around for a while and get every angle available of the seaside scene. A deep inlet close by had a resident seal that popped his head up and bobbed in the swells periodically. I will admit the ½ mile walk back seemed longer, being uphill, but luckily we had time for a respite at the motel before proceeding to Glass Beach.

 

Don was skeptical when I insisted that we visit a dumpsite left over from the 1950’s but that’s exactly what the beaches of Glass Beach are. Most all of the metals and plastics and such have long since been removed, leaving millions of clear, brown, and green fragments of glass worn into small smooth shapes by many years of rolling around in the waves. Beach number 1 was reached when we followed a woman who was carrying a basket to collect glass and seemed to know where she was going. It was a shadowy hidden cove with lots of rocks and largish chunks of glass and a waterfall formed from a drainage pipe. Luckily I asked the woman to take our picture and she asked if we had been to the “far beach”… Beach number 2 was ½ mile farther along and at first appeared inaccessible. But I hollered to some young ladies already down there, and was kindly directed to the least dangerous of the descending paths (one girl even offered me a helping hand). Holy smokes, the mother lode! This beach was bigger and broader and completely and literally covered with smaller multi-colored smoothed glass shards. I am saying the top 1½ inches of the beach was purely glass pieces (about dime sized) and below that was mixed with pebbles and below that at some point I suspect was only pebbles and rock. So picture the area of beach that was within reach of the last wave…see the wet tints glisten in the sunlight angling in from the west? And yes, I scooped up a sack-full as if they were priceless jewels. Even then, we were not prepared for the scene that greeted us at Beach number 3. Not nearly as much glass here, but we climbed up and walked north to get a better view of the extensive rocky coastline and were astounded at the expanse that lay before us. An offshore wind heightened the effect by enlarging every wave that made its way toward us in roll after roll after roll. The enormous breakers kept us spellbound for quite some time whether we were sitting on a handy log or exploring rocky edges and tide pools or photographing the activity of this dynamic stretch of ocean. Don declared it the most spectacular and panoramic dumpsite he had ever seen and moved it to the absolute top of his wow list, where Glass Beach remained through the remainder of our Northcoast meander. I declared it utterly fantastic!

 

One major element that makes these northern California beaches different, that makes them energetic, that makes them beautiful, is the big black offshore rocks. Not quite islands, they are still sizable and force the powerful waves to behave in wondrous ways. Crashing up and washing over and cascading down, they interact. One farther out and just below the waterline may only be recognized by watching a giant geyser-like vertical explosion of white water appearing only intermittently when the largest of the large waves approach and make eminent contact.

 

Only hunger finally pulled us away after we exchanged portrait taking courtesies with a couple from Washington State. Dinner was ribs and local Dungeness crab cakes at Honours Restaurant, recommended by the glass artist we met at the gift shop, who made the wall lamps in this dining room. The food was good and we had quite an extensive conversation with the owners, partly because we were their only patrons at the time.

 

Tuesday, April 18

I get up every morning and clean the sea salt spray off of our eyeglasses. Maybe that’s why they think they have so much fog here; their glasses are coated with salt : ) But the fog in the hills was real on this early morning as we again drove northward along SR 1. As the sun casually rose from behind the wooded hills to our right, the ocean below and to our left was still shrouded in the deep purple of predawn. Imagine the delicate angles at work here; at a certain precise point, which lasts only a few moments, the sunlight finally reaches over the top the edge of the cliff and just barely touches the highest peaks of the incoming waves and those breaking crests are ignited! They turn the most brilliant luminescent white you could ever imagine and are set against the still deep purples and blues of the surrounding sea!!

 

As the road veered away from the coast, it entered the wooded hills and became even twistier, if that is possible. Imagine one of those train sets with plastic track. It’s as if you used up all of the straight pieces laying road in Illinois and only a pile of curved ones was left and you had to lay them end to end, endlessly, to make SR 1. The fog effects also changed. We switchbacked up until we were above the fog, and eventually found a turnout where we could a good look at the scene (and pictures). Streaks of white clouds alternated with clear areas showing dark green treetops of the redwood forest. Soon our beloved SR 1 gives way to the newer and wider US 101 where the big semi trucks loaded with logs and lumber become a common sight. After 25 miles or so we shifted from the freeway to a section of old Highway 101 in Humboldt Redwoods State Park called The Avenue of the Giants. What is neat here is that the road seems small and secondary to the massive trees along it. The pavement wends around and very closely between the trunks of “the largest remaining stand of virgin redwoods in the world”. Of course at this close range, I can’t get a whole tree in one picture and I learn it’s good to get a car in the shot for scale. Otherwise no one will believe the size of these trees.

 

After a little misdirection and a hunt for a gas station, we found Founders Grove which I had decided was as good a place as any for a little nature hike. It was a ½ mile loop trail (there’s that ½ mile deal again). The trail guidebook to the numbered stations described the age and size of various redwoods within including the Dyerville Giant which was certified as the “Champion” Coast Redwood measured at 370 feet tall and 17 feet in diameter before it fell on March 24, 1991. Yes precisely on March 24th as heard by someone living a mile away…it seems to have made a rather large crashing sound: )

 

The forest trail was rather dark and cool so we were glad to get back out in the sun as we emerged back onto US 101 and continued north and eventually back to the coast at Eureka. (There was one interim stop at Chapman’s Gem & Mineral Shop & Museum where I found a Moroccan fossil heart dish to add to our heart collection.) But this was a different coast altogether than the one we left. Here is Humboldt Bay with its lowland pasture perimeter and its calm waters with boats of all sizes and sorts safely moored. Here is a bigger town than we had been frequenting lately with busy streets and shopping malls. But we soon got away from the hustle and bustle by stepping into the past, first via the Samoa Cookhouse, a vintage lumber camp eatery serving one full course menu (your only choice is how MUCH you eat) served family style.

 

On the way to our next time capsule, we stopped to see Fishermen’s Memorial and discovered an adorable little lighthouse in the parking lot called Table Bluff. A wooden Paul Bunyan and a great deal of living history greeted us at the Blue Ox Millworks Historical Park. Although most of the grounds look as though they were long ago abandoned, this is a functioning business specializing in “using Victorian era tools to make gingerbread ornamentations” for new buildings as well as restorations. Since it was a fascinating tour to me, you can imagine how entranced Don was when our guide demonstrated some of the authentic antique woodworking machines (one of them is being sought after by the Smithsonian). One cut pickets and one was a foot powered jigsaw. There was also a rotating lathe as long as the room, working at shaping a column for the Governor’s mansion while the pile of sawdust in the middle of the floor was growing massive. The people here also work at keeping the old methods alive. Particularly important are the “secret” formulas for stains, varnishes, paints, and glues. A sign at the Craftsman’s Apothecary display: “When you know the ingredients in your stains they’re easier to manipulate. One can dance with their craft instead of just slathering varnish on it.” A sentiment appreciated by anyone who loves wood and loves working with it.

 

With that it was time to turn the car around and drive south. We had planned on going to Yosemite but a ranger warned us that much of it was closed since there was still 50 inches of snow in that vicinity. Our revised itinerary was to take us back down the coast on SR 1 rather than inland on US 101 so we planned another night in Fort Bragg. But first we had to put some miles behind us. Between Leggett and Rockport Don again took on the section with the most twists and turns and curves and coils and bends and switchbacks we ever did see! And this twice in the same day. Our evening in Fort Bragg was scheduled around the sun setting on Glass Beach number 3. So we took a room at the Chelsea Inn, grabbed some snacks at a nearby convenience store (surprise, Don grabbed ice cream), and headed for our front row log on the beach. Before the main event, there was time to relax or explore, time to enjoy and experience again these ocean sights and sounds we love so much. Plus, this time there were 3 harbor seals lounging on an offshore rock, an added bonus. The wind was considerably calmer and thus the waves were smaller than the last time; but again, the sea is always different, always beautiful, always changing. We watched this now gradual change as the sun slowly lowered in the almost clear blue sky and the sky turned golden and then orangish and soft purple with a few mere wisps of white cloud to aid us in our distance perception as gulls winged past in the foreground. Yes, I took pictures but this was one of those times when “you had to be there”. And so, we spent much time just looking…and seeing …and savoring…and storing…the vision…the memory…the beauty.

 

Okay friends, think about it; here’s Don at his favorite spot of all time, with the ocean waves rolling in from the western horizon, a container of Hagan Daz in his hand, and his wife by his side …you tell me what more a man could ask for! “Heaven, I’m in Heaven!” We walked back up the trail to the car, the air darkening, but radiant with the afterglow from the western sky; a bit chilly, but warm with the emotional afterglow from a perfectly wonderful day full of more WOWs than we ever dared hope to achieve on this or any other trip.

 

Wednesday, April 19

Mendocino. It sounds so familiar and so inaccessible at the same time. And as it turns out, that’s exactly what it is; a highly picturesque, dare I say quaint, little town which today has been transformed from a lumber port into a haven for artists and wealthy travelers. It is familiar because the site has been seen by almost everyone due to its incredible popularity as a filming location for numerous movies ever since the silent era. Mendocino Headlands State Park on the edge of town is another high bluff with views to knock your socks off. Here there were an extraordinary number of natural bridges and stunning arches poised in the surf below. You could even climb out onto a few of them that were firmly attached to the mainland. One in particular resembled a Japanese garden circle gate…or with a little imagination, an oversized Cheerio on edge with only ¼ of it submerged. Here also we could see some people diving for abalone, one of the activities offered at many of the region’s parks. (I found a large abalone shell on one trailhead later on and brought it home for a souvenir.) On Lansing Street in the village of Mendocino there is an intriguing life sized statue on the cupola of an old bank (?) building. It is an image of a young maid admiring herself in a mirror. She represents Vanity. Behind her lurks Father Time wielding his scythe. Message: Time will take its toll on youthful beauty. No one is immune. I snapped a picture of this curiosity when we arrived; there was a white gull sitting on the maid’s head. I also took a picture as we left; there was a black raven sitting on Father Time’s head! Bizarre.

 

35 miles farther south and we located our next point of interest, Pt. Arena Lighthouse. This point is as close as you can get to the Hawaiian Islands and still be on the continental US. Before you know it we were up inside, listening to Verne describe the workings and the history. This tower, a rather simple straight white column, was rebuilt shortly after the original was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. Up until a few years ago the 6 ton, 1st Order lens turned smoothly and effortlessly by means of 3 gallons of mercury used as a bearing. The liquid metal was removed with much environmental hoopla due to the slim possibility of leakage in the event of another earthquake. But, built with revolutionary steel reinforcement rods, this tower is built to withstand anything the San Andreas Fault can dish out. I got some neat pictures looking out from the lens room and even one of me poking my head up inside the glass dome of the multifaceted lens itself, a first! But on the roadway going out we got the money shot. Don pulled over where I asked (he’s good that way) and we looked back to see a picture postcard image of the Light Station on the Point. With the craggy cliff and the crashing waves, all that was missing was a cloud in the sky.

 

The lady in the gift shop pointed Don to a nice place for lunch, a little off the beaten path. Pt. Arena Cove has a large pier, a rarity with all of the steep coastlines in these parts. We walked out to the end before going in the second level restaurant with a view of the cove. I had the catch of the day, Rock Cod fish & chips, with malt vinegar. Yum. Don opted for the special, a remarkable collection of seafood in a thin tomato sauce, which included cod, scallops, shrimp, mussels, and Dungeness crab legs.

 

Continuing down SR 1, we still had time for a few more coastal connections. Manchester State Park provided a gentle path along the top of a bluff distinguished by the extensive drifts of baby blue flowers lining the paths through the sand dunes. Don also spied a small herd of deer quite near the entrance road; they perked up their ears but didn’t run off when we stopped to look. Schooner Gulch promised access to an oddity called Bowling Ball Beach, but we must have missed the sign. Instead, we skirted the edge of the cliff overlooking the beaches, enjoying the beautiful weather and more extraordinary scenic views. Particularly along one lengthy section, we both repeatedly remarked on the seemingly recent seaward relocation of the sod, e.g. “Look how these big lumps of land are sliding into the ocean.” It wasn’t until we were on our way out that we saw the sign “Area Closed To protect natural features and insure public safety DO NOT ENTER”. Oops. Thank you Lord for protecting our sorry selves. As we were beating a hasty retreat, a little gopher or some such rodent popped up out of his hole in the middle of the path…I think he was laughing at us.

 

The next section of SR 1 was an adventure in itself. Notice we are now on the outside lane of this narrow, winding, edge-of-the-world 2-lane and, in effect, are sitting in the front seat of the roller coaster. A definite driving challenge for Don and, I will admit, downright scary for me. Remember those “Rough Road” signs? What it means is that the rainwater has seeped down from the saturated hills and undermined the soil below the roadbed. This results in the asphalt sagging and eventually cracking and slipping so there are 4-6 inch drop-offs wending their way across the width of the highway. In some places the outside lane completely slips away which requires major repair work and shoring-up. They set up cones or barricades until this can be done and in one case actually installed a temporary expandable bridge to fill the gap. Thank you CALHI, the California Highway Department; we congratulate you on your gallant efforts. Of course, besides being challenging and scary, this route downward is absolutely gorgeous and you get endless views with astonishingly different perspectives than on the trip up.

 

Our objective for the night was to find a smallish town north of San Francisco in order to take a ferry in to see the sights (rather than drive in commuter traffic) for the remaining two days of our escape. We ended up in the very nice North Bay Inn in San Rafael. Perfect; a short drive (one exit) away, the city of Larkspur provided free parking and an accommodating ferry schedule across San Francisco Bay. We elected to walk to a restaurant and the motel clerk said the nearest thing besides Burger King was the Seafood Peddler. It turned out to be quite a hike, but we thoroughly enjoyed their surf and turf special. (The next night we ate at Burger King : )

 

Thursday, April 20

Don had booked the guided tours for tomorrow, so today we kind of felt our way around, centering our explorations on the cable car experience. Okay, so we’ve got these maps see, with all these different colored dotted lines going every which way supposedly indicating where and in which direction the cable cars, trolley buses, streetcars, and electric buses go around the city. Realize foremost that cable cars grab onto a perpetually moving cable beneath the street in order to move, ergo; they only go in one direction on any one particular route. At the Turnarounds, the cars are manually rotated and directed onto another cable. With maps in hand we developed a flawless system; get off the ferry and ask someone where to go. Then jump on the cable car and ask the Gripman to tell you when to get off. Easy. Our first successful cable run brought us within a couple downhill blocks of the Cable Car Museum & Powerhouse Viewing Gallery. When I say downhill, I mean an inclined angle so steep that it’s hard on the ankles to walk it. This is San Francisco after all. The museum had some educational videos and nice displays including the first ever cable car, built in 1873. But the main attraction was seeing the actual working parts of the building viewed from above and below in a huge central pit. These are the enormous pulley-like “sheaves” that keep all of the underground cables in continuous motion. Unique since it is not a cost effective system at all, but meticulously maintained due to the major tourist draw it produces. The most interesting thing I learned at the Car Barn was what an artist the Gripman is; he manipulates the controls that allow the cable car to grab hold of the cable, by means of the grip, through a slot in the street. But it’s not just an on or off thing, it’s a matter of tension to determine speed and finesse is a result of experience. They also tend to be quite colorful characters, to say the least. Our favorite “driver” had a shirt with “Get a Grip On” and obviously enjoyed his job.

 

We got a bite to eat across the street, then hopped another cable car and ended up at the famous Fisherman’s Wharf, where we found ice cream cones for dessert and proceeded to survey the piers. Docked at Hyde Street Pier we found several exhibits that are part of the nearby Maritime Museum. My favorite was the Balclutha, a Scottish square-rigged ship built in 1886. Don liked them all but seemed particularly fond of Hercules, a stout red and black 1907 tug boat that was, remarkably, steam-powered and was in service up until 1962. The most beautiful items inside the museum were the pair of restored figureheads mounted on either side of the main hall. When it was time to catch our next cable car, we got a slight taste of what it must be like in the summertime; long lines at the Turnaround at the bottom of Russian Hill (one of the steepest) waiting to get a ride. Again, a roller coaster situation, you may want to pass and wait for the next car in order to get an outside seat. We did. After one more cable switch, to the California Line, we made our way back to the Ferry Terminal and joined the commuters for a leisurely journey across the bay to Larkspur, then a short stretch of rush hour traffic on US 101 to San Rafael and our motel. During this boat ride was when I talked to Trisa and Rick on my cell phone.

 

Friday, April 21

After an early start and good timing with the ferry, we had an hour to spare before our tour and this was when I found my heart in San Francisco; a red glass one from a one of the numerous kitschy gift shops that line the Wharf area. NOTE: A front row seat on the top of a big red London Double Decker bus is a great way to see San Francisco. Yes, we only saw the tip of the iceberg, but that’s about all you can expect on such a short visit. One of the fun things is seeing sites you recognize immediately; from movies and TV dramas, documentaries, news stories, and commercials throughout the years. “This is Rice-a-roni hill.” “This is where they filmed the chase scene in Bullit.”  The first loop continued out of the city and across the Golden Gate Bridge. We had a chance to revisit this universally recognized icon in a better light as the skies magically turned from gray to crystal blue. By the way, the bridge is primer orange; the gold refers to the precious metal historically much sought-after in this vicinity. Another special stopover was the Palace of Fine Arts, a strange open air collection of classical columns, archways, statues and rotundas. The complex was built as a temporary exhibit space for the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition (a kind of world’s fair), and stubbornly remains as a popular attraction (and film location) to this day. We traded photo ops with fellow passengers, a family from Australia and a newlywed couple from Southern California.

 

After a brief intermission at home base, our bus took off again for the Downtown Loop. To name a few of the highlights is to omit many others but here goes (you may recognize more than a few); The Presidio, Pacific Heights, Ghirardelli Square, Cow Alley, the Tenderloin District, the Trans America Tower (the characteristic pyramid that single-handedly differentiates the San Francisco skyline), the Capital building (with a dome bigger than DC’s), Nob Hill, Chinatown, Telegraph Hill, Coit Memorial Tower, and Lombard Street, often billed as the “crookedest” street in the world (our guide revealed that there are more crooked ones but they are found in less desirable sections of the city).

 

Next on the agenda was lunch, and we chose clam chowder and a bay shrimp salad sandwich at Boudin Sourdough. In addition to an eatery it’s a bakery, and the major bread supplier for the local restaurant district. We then moseyed our way along the waterfront (spying out some sea lions enroute) to embark on the next leg of our tour commencing at 13:15; a boat to Alcatraz. You knew Alcatraz was situated on an island but did you know it has its own lighthouse? (I swear I took a couple dozen pictures and never managed to catch the light lit.)  They also have a small museum and gift shop on site, but the main attraction is the prison Cell House in use for maximum security incarcerations between 1934 and 1963. Celebrity guests over the years included Al Capone, Machine Gun Kelley, and The Birdman Stroud but the audio tour was made compelling by the ordinary inmates and former guards recorded commentaries. Also very chilling were the sound effects; doors clanging shut, gunshots, and alarm bells going off.

Another great film location, we do intend to rent “The Rock” as soon as we get a chance.

 

Before leaving we couldn’t resist a peek inside the Musee Mecanique, a large room full of coin operated antique and modern arcade games, mechanical musical instruments, gypsy fortune tellers and mini-vignettes, and tests of skill and strength. The star of the show was Laughing Sal, a carnival funhouse fixture that terrified children across the nation in bygone days. Don observed that the whole concept was a great idea; admission was free, you just had to deposit 50 cents every time you wanted to activate something. After the return boat trip, we used our ferry pass to ride the electric bus back to the Port, picked up our rental car in Larkspur, and took the Richmond Bridge (the 3rd bridge we have used to traverse the Bay) to get us back to Oakland, our base for arrival and departure. The flights again went extremely well, we transferred to Metro, picked up the Debmobile in Bethesda, and were safely home by midnight our time, Saturday, April 22.

 

PS: Prior to this trip I would look at a picture of the rocky North Coast and see a beautiful place. Now when I look at that picture I see even more beauty…and then I see beauty in motion. I see the constant motion of the never-ending waves, the undulating sway of grasses, and the occasional soaring passage of birds. Plus I feel it, too. I feel the sun on my face and the breeze through my jacket. And I hear the beautiful sounds. I can close my eyes and hear the ocean in all its awe-inspiring majesty. Wow. What more can I say?

 

Dons Line:   San Francisco was nice. The Northern Pacific Coast was MAGNIFICENT!