Adventure Along the Pacific Ocean

Did you ever meet someone for the first time and have such a spontaneous, intense connection that it felt like you’d been friends in another lifetime? The thought of seeing the ocean for the first time was exciting, but not more so than any of the other firsts we were going to experience on our latest trip. In the weeks leading up to our California excursion, it was the Redwoods, the unknown scenery along the eastern Sierra Nevada range, and where we could make the best use of our offroading time that dominated my anticipatory thoughts. I was utterly unprepared for how wholly the ocean would entrance me or just how spiritually impacted I would be by it and the comfort it gave.

Nearing the border from the Arizona side, I was giddy with the surrealistic notion that I was actually going to California for the first time. But I didn’t know what I didn’t know. Photos and accounts from others indicated there would be plenty to enjoy, and I hoped that I’d planned wisely to make the best use of the next two weeks. When we first decided on this trip, we’d tried to cram so much into a short amount of time that it quickly became apparent we’d have to split it up into multiple trips. Even then, like too many other extended trips, there were places where we could’ve spent much more time than we’d allocated.

As we made our way across the state from the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range towards the coast, there was so much to take in and much of it very unexpected. After stopping along the way to meet some friends, we headed further northwest, and things got even more interesting. Passing through the Sacramento Valley, we were astonished at the agricultural operations we found there. We took pictures to send to friends back home who run a family farm. The sheer number of fruit and nut trees, apiaries, various crop fields and grazing lands was a pleasant surprise. By the time we got into the Mendocino National Forest area, it was getting dark, and we only got a glimpse of the mighty redwoods that we had come to see.

As someone who was never very well versed in the California vernacular, I wasn’t even familiar with the concept of the Lost Coast. Often described as rugged and remote in many respects (e.g., geographically, geologically, socioeconomically), driving alongside it via historic Highway 101 was like entering another world where time slowed, and the senses both relaxed and heightened simultaneously. This environment was where my adventurous spirit (and adventure vehicle) relished the roaming.  It wasn’t until we started making our way further north on that Redwood Highway that we got closer to the shoreline. The first real, up-close sign of the ocean was near Clam Beach, so we pulled the Jeep off there for a closer look. The day had been foggy and a little drizzly so perhaps the mood only added to the profoundness of the impact. We watched in awe as waves rolled languidly onto the shore. Absorbing this soul-stirring new scenery left me speechless. But that was only the beginning.

As we neared our destination of Patrick’s Point where we’d spend the next few days, we stumbled upon Sue-Meg State Park (formerly Patrick’s Point State Park) which was very near the vacation rental we would be staying at. It turned out to be well worth the eight-dollar day use fee and was probably the best place to be on the northern coast. We hiked down the rocky palisade and up to the large crag known as Wedding Rock, a major landmark on what makes up Patrick’s Point. From our perch on the upper northern side of the rock we had the perfect view of the magnificent ocean and the rocky shoreline below. It was there, protected from the wind by the towering rock at our backs and enraptured by the azure waves mixed with turbulent white foam as they crashed against the rocks, we found a peaceful awareness of the enormity of what we were looking at.

Perhaps because of that enormity, the ocean still scares me. It’s like that small child just learning to swim. They’re okay if their feet can touch the bottom of the pool but once they get into deeper water, away from the edges, they must rely on their ability to tread water, swim, or otherwise stay afloat. That’s where some anxiety can kick in. I will never fly over the ocean or take a cruise but that’s okay, there’s plenty to explore on four wheels. I’ve been to the Gulf of Mexico a couple of times and while it’s all connected, there was just something different about seeing this vast expanse of ocean, knowing that the next land mass was thousands of miles away. To be fair though, the sound of rushing water – streams, mountain lakes, rivers, creeks, waterfalls, etc. – has always soothed me and is probably my favorite natural sound. So maybe it should’ve come as less of a surprise that this sound drew me to the ocean as well.

 

We spent the next few days exploring the area, including the primary purpose for this part of our journey – the redwood forests. While the Bunyanesque redwoods were sublime, they held no greater ability to debase the awestruck onlooker than their coastal counterpart. To feel as if God’s own hand could reach down and physically exalt us from such irreverence was both humbling and freeing. We hiked the old growth forests and combed the rocky beaches, all while breathing in the moist, salty air. Agate Beach provided a bit more cerebral activity as we joined the other beachgoers looking for the namesake gems. We found some possibilities but those were quickly relegated simply to ‘cool rocks’ after we stumbled on a kind young woman (who only needed a small stick as opposed to the many others with shovels and hand tools) who generously shared her knowledge of what we should be looking for. She was one of the many remarkable people we ran into during our journey.

 

While we also had an exceptional ocean view from the backyard of our vacation rental, complete with nearly non-stop sea lion activity, we found ourselves continually returning to Wedding Rock to simply sit, watch, and quietly contemplate.  I’d watch the waves begin to build as far out as the eye could see, knowing they would end up blasting the well-worn rocks along the shore, just like they had countless times before. It made me think about how things happen in our lives. The tide starts from points we often cannot recognize, then builds until we can either see it coming, or perhaps we can’t see it until it’s crashed and left something in its wake. At one point while on the beach, I misjudged the tidal pattern and ventured a bit too far toward the incoming tide. It came in up to my knees and I panicked just a little as I swayed and tried to remain upright. Judging from the lecture I got later and the look of readiness for impending action on my husband’s face, he may have panicked just a bit more.  All proving the theories that sometimes you don’t see things coming until it’s too late, sometimes you must learn the hard way, and it’s always hard to get wet socks off your feet.

 

Nature has a way of imbuing a sense of smallness or inconsequentiality, not only physically but reverentially. We feel small in the grand scheme of things and marvel at the vast enormity of something that exists in comparison, only we don’t feel inconsequential at all. Majestic mountains, vast expanses of forest or desert canyons can do this for me. I guess now I can add oceans to that list. I’m already looking forward to seeing my old friend again and feeling that comforting welcome.