Big Sur Entry 02

6 August, 2016

“We woke up in Santa Barbara to the bustle of a Saturday morning farmer’s market. After becoming as presentable as our low-budget, car-camping situation would allow, we grabbed scones and Americano with steamed milk at The French Press and continued north. Remember the fog holding onto the tops of the mountains, and the open, rolling hills of central California. Our next stop was Ragged Point, a nifty lodge and gift shop and the gateway to Big Sur and her 90-mile stretch. The pine trees are dominant, the fog is lazy, and the ocean is so far down the cliffs that one forgets about the sound of pounding waves, a sound programmed into the very essence of being on the coast. But this is Big Sur, and nothing is typical. I could tell you about the waterfall hikes, the ferns at the feet of giant Redwoods, the soft and spongy ground, the attractive German family in their skivvies, and this ancient ecosystem, where even the adjective grand is an inadequate description, but I’ll let these details stoke back the memory. It’s difficult to define a place like this. I need the words of John Muir.”

*Original entry from my travel journal, regarding a recent trip from San Diego to San Francisco with friends.