Ashland to the California Coast Tuesday 12 July

This morning I left Diego and Gloria's house pretty much on schedule, 8:13.  Gloria wanted a demo of hydrocollator packs and percussive massager that she had bought, so we did that after she made Diego and I a great breakfast of oatmeal plus banana for him, and plus blackberry jam for me.  I had earlier made my last cup of espresso there in the Moka pot.  The day before I had finally acquired a pint of 1/2 and 1/2 to replace all of the little single serving sealed cups that had been broached by pressure changes in the high mountains of Colorado, and had festered in the hot trunk for two weeks and more before I discovered them.  Ugh!

Once on the road, I headed north to eventually go south, through Grant's Pass toward Crescent City, on the most northern coast of California.  The ride was in and out between lovely mountains: only an eye as jaded as mine had become would fail to be moved by the scenery (How're you gonna keep em down on the farm, after they've seen the Rockies and Mt. Shasta?).

But after a time I got on Rt 101 going SW, and crossed into California, and then things got more interesting.  There were several sections of the highway through large stands of redwoods, not giants, but plenty, plenty big.  The road had been four-laned in places, but the sections through the redwoods were, and will stay, no doubt, two-laned, but excellently maintained throughout.

Characteristic Redwood Grove, photo taken from the web.

I passed a scenic highway turnoff for the Avenue of the Giants, a road I did not take, and which, after looking it up on the internet, I wish I had taken.  It is an older version of highway 101, and meanders through famous redwoods, many with names, including a drive through tree, I believe.

Then the road I stayed with climbed still higher, and I passed another grove of larger redwoods, including a spot or two where traffic slowed to 35 mph and the trees were huge, and turnoffs and tourist traps were more frequent. Near the last section of huge redwoods, I noticed one of the tourist stops/cafes advertising "the house in the tree", world famous, Ripley's believe it or not, blah blah.  I did not stop.

Finally I reached the turnoff for California Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway, and though I was yet far from the coast, I knew I was approaching my goal, the beginning of the PCH down the rock strewn coast of California. Though I knew I was closer, I had no idea what to expect on this leg. And what I got was...wonderful!

Up, up, up, a curvy road, as curvy as any section of the Rockies I had experienced, but longer, longer, and nice--no edge-of-the-precipice experience.  Rather like driving through a very curvy tunnel of trees, dark and shady. The road was lovely in another way as well--literally no traffic, just one car before me who obligingly pulled over to let me by when it became evident that he was driving a little slower than I was.

I can't say enough how much fun this was.  Earlier, Del drove us on a road like this, crossing the coastal range on our outing to the sea while I stayed with him and Kay.  But then traffic both ways was heavy, and I marveled that he seemed to keep up a 50 mph + speed, which impressed (and unnerved) me.  Plus, drop offs to the steep downhill side were then much more evident as I was the passenger.

This drive was perfect--I could go as fast or as slowly as I wished, and the turns were literally infinite-seeming as my ears popped time and time again.  No one behind me riding on my butt, no one before me slowing me down.  Excellent!

Eventually the ascent was over after a couple more ear pops, and the going down started.  Still curvy as all get out, loops, cutbacks and back and forths; a couple of cars before me now, but still going at a comfortable pace.

When the road finally reached the coast, I arrived at the small town called Crescent City; apparently a normal small town like many I had driven through.  But then I got past the business zone, and downtown, and there was at the sea!  I pulled over after a few minutes into a commercial marina, with many pleasure boats, but mostly working fishing boats.  The wonderful sea tang hit me and filled me with pleasure, the same, yet different from the Atlantic smells of my youth.  There was a sweet, salty overtone I took to be seaweed, maybe the kelp I think is ubiquitous here on the Pacific.

View from the Crescent City Marina, Lighthouse far, far in the distance

After appreciating a lovely lighthouse, I climbed back in the car and continued, and after a short while, I came upon...the beach!  And Crescent City at that moment earned its name, as the beach stretched away in the direction I had come in a long curve, ending in the lighthouse I had seen from the marina, and which I could again hear emitting regular intermittent and surprisingly non-sonorous bursts of sound.

Though I had seen the ocean back during my stay with Kay and Del, when we drove the the coast, it was just that, a sight.  We overlooked the Pacific from tall cliffs, with no physical access to the water. Not today, though.  I walked out over the soft dark sand, cool in the 61 degree morning.  There were three distinct tide lines, each marked by organic debris, crab parts, and full dead crabs, mostly, very few shells.  The tide line closest to the water had many small crustaceans, with a shape and a size reminiscent of cicadas at home.  As I neared the water the sand became first moistly packed, and then hard and saturated.  Chaotic lines of rollers were coming in, not at all the surfer-friendly organization of TVs southern beaches.  The water was surprisingly warm, in spite of warnings I have received about cold Pacific water.  But then all I put in my water were my feet; perhaps had I immersed more body parts, it might have seemed colder.

On the way back to the car, I noted and picked up two items.  One was a tiny flawed sand dollar, something I am intimately familiar with from my youth.  The other was a piece of sea-worn redwood bark, unfamiliar but recognizable.  As I entered the car, I realized I was ready to start my Pacific Coast Highway experience at that moment.  I was ready!

As the road left the sea, as it continued to do from time to time, it climbed until, again on the coast, I found myself high on rocky bluffs above the water, which was crashing against rock after boulder after monolith.  They were large and craggy rocks that had split away from the cliff line long ago, and which formed an intermittent and porous barrier between the cliff edge and the sea.  I hoped nothing would crack and fall off while I was driving over it.

The road continued to leave the coast from time to time, at first to wind higher through pine and redwood groves, then to skirt small bays and lagoons that looked oh-so-tempting to paddle in.

Each time I would return to the sea, I was on classic PCH, road high up cut into mountains that dropped to cliffs high over rocky bluffs and outcroppings.  Beautiful!  Ten miles down the way, I came to the area called Westport,, and a public campground at the cliffedge over the sea.

$23 for a tent site, by far the most striking site thus far on the trip.  Car unpacked, tent pitched, beer drunk, chair at cliffedge, I cooked Ramen and veggies and sat down to write.

Only big RVs near me, and these several picnic tables away in either direction.  Though several cars cruised by, both sites to the right and left have remained vacant.  large black birds (ravens?) soar by at the cliffedge.  The sound of the surf is continous and moderately loud, 30-40 feet below my tent.

There is no cell service and no electricity, so I turn off the phone to conserve energy.  First time I have noticed being out of cell touch during the trip thus far, though I am sure I have passed through many such areas while driving.  At 6:45 pm, and the sun is still far above the horizon.  It is quite warm as there is no shade, but I expect the temperature to become cool as soon as the sun goes down.