Now, typically, whenever the prefix 'eco-' is attached to anything, it's usually a nice way of saying 'noticeably lacking in features or creature comforts.' To be fair, I'm ok with this - my parents took me camping every year growing up, so I can rough it with the rest of them (provided your definition of 'roughing it' involves snug, comfy sleeping bags, and waking up to bacon, eggs, and pancakes on a griddle). Mine does.
Open to whatever was in store, we packed enough things for the weekend in the car and headed south and west toward water. Looping around Santa Cruz, we made our way north again until we reached the turnoff for Costanoa. The road was lined with eucalyptus trees, and the smell took me the full 7500 miles back to Australia. It had started to rain a little bit during the drive, but nothing particularly imposing. We checked in, I chased after a cat (unsuccessfully) for a cuddle, and we made our way to our cabins.
Oh-ho! Cabins, you say? What sort of camping is this? Let me assure you, I use the term cabin in the loosest definition of the word. It was a metal frame with a canvas shell. And a lamp. And some bulk-purchased artwork. There were beds, at least - small miracles. Unlike the beds, which were not miracles, but still small.
Unloading most of our items to the cabins while the rain was waning, we took a quick meander around the campground. There were a handful of other tents like ours, a general store (a store where, because they don't get the bulk or near-cost buying benefits of supermarkets, you pay out the nose for a bag of marshmallows), and a bar / restaurant. We headed to the bar for a drink first, because, to be fair, it was pretty darn cold - and those who know me well enough, know that this is a rare statement coming from me.
But first, we had to pass the gatekeeper.
Apparently gaining the gatekeeper's approval to pass,
we strode purposefully past, responding to its apathetic
glance with a pat on the head. Like you do with most
guards. On an unrelated note, I am no longer allowed
in London.
I am going to take this as approval as well.
Hard to tell with cats.
There was another, slightly larger cat - missing a considerable portion of one ear - who felt the need to give the subcutaneous section of one of my fingers some fresh air. I suddenly had a surgical incision made in my hand by one of the most cantankerous cats you've ever seen. Sweet Jeebus, was he ever fast.
Settling into the bar, we had beers / teas / Mexican Coffees - whatever happened to tickle our individual fancies. Sufficiently warmed up, and wrapped in wet-weather gear, we all decided a walk to the beach was in order. We set out across the grounds, festively poncho'd, toward the ocean. The rain continued its steady drizzle down around us. Still, I would prefer cold and damp to warm and sweaty.
We passed some stables, some parked RVs, and eventually the Pacific Coast Highway, across which waited the sandy, iceplant-covered dunes, and a very grey sea. Shockingly, there weren't many other people hiking out among the sands. We ran into a couple people, but they scampered off in the other direction. We didn't linger - they were easily startled, but they'd be back, and in greater numbers.
Brady roosts on his hill with his advice animal umbrella.
A single seagull (singull?) braves the waves to stand
on the rocks.
So many people equate the California coast with surfers
and sun and swimmers. Just a heads-up...that's much,
much further south.
Just in case you couldn't quite catch all the greyness
in the last picture, here's some more.
The waves were pretty fierce, which of course meant
I had to get as close to them as possible without falling
in.
This little sandpiper was tempting fate more than I
was - sitting on a rock that was becoming increasingly
buffeted by waves. "But Carson, it can fly." "Are you
saying I can't? Challenge accepted."
Day 57...I've successfully managed to infiltrate the
colony. The inhabitants seem none the wiser to my
presence. Must also remember to pick up dry
cleaning at some point...
Having had enough of the wind, rain, cold, and sand, we opted to head back to the campground and figure out what to do until dinner, which, given our time trekking across the dunes, was not far away at all.
On the way back, we encountered more avian wildlife:
quails!
There is unfortunately a dearth of pictures from that evening - we had an excellent dinner, fueled by plenty of wine, and I left not being able to feel feelings anymore. Nor able to move without some considerable effort. We retired to our respective cabins - the children in one, the parents in the other. To give you an idea of how cold it really was, I slept in two sleeping bags, one inside of the other. And cinched closed the opening of one of them. Ah, and let us not forget the fact that it was still raining, and what a wonderful, melodious sound rain droplets make against a taut tarpaulin. Eventually it all turned into white noise and I fell asleep. Or was lulled into a bout of unconsciousness from the cold. Whatever the case was, I woke feeling rested.
Some other campers had mentioned a lookout the previous day, and having a curious fondness for going to the highest place wherever I am, it had to be done. I was up before everyone else, and set off through the fields. To be forthcoming, this was not an epic jungle adventure. It was a gradual, rolling slope at best. But from the audible squelch my shoes made after stepping off the beaten path, I knew there would be at least some meddlesome element to my morning hike.
The bridge leading to my adventure, blessedly
balrog-free.
The first of the plethora of wildlife seen that morning.
There were so many rabbits along the hillside. Come
to think of it, I can't recall seeing more than one at a
time - it may have very well been the same rabbit
following me around. Concerned.
The weather began to improve considerably as the
morning rolled on. That still didn't change the fact
that I was wading through viscous mud with a coefficient
of friction approaching zero.
Looking out at the coast from what may have been the
lookout. It was all fairly level, really.
It may have been around this point that the mud thought I needed some exercise, and I was inadvertently forced into a lunge position, my knee landing on the ground with a sound reminiscent of someone stepping on an overripe peach. I looked around at first to make sure no one had seen me. No one had - except for that damn rabbit. Then I did an additional lunge with the other knee for good measure, to make it appear as though my spontaneous aerobics were completely intentional. Which they were. Obviously.
When wildlife was not around, I had to make do
with some of the coastal foliage to be found along
the trail.
There was also this colorful red and green stuff, which,
aside from being pretty, did an excellent job at disguising
the mud lurking underneath.
Most of the hike was out in the open, so I was
thankful to have some tree cover to protect me
from the glaring sun complete lack of sunshine
outside.
I was on the right track, at least. Either that, or I was
completely misunderstanding someone's instructions
to follow behind them.
Oh, sure, water is nice and pretty when it's sitting all
bead-like on a blade of grass. But not so much when
it's conspiring with topsoil to permanently stain my jeans.
They don't really give you much of a choice
for walking. The one path they provide is full
of mud, and anything outside of it can open a
Pandora's Box of sliding, sinking, and untimely
faceplants. At one point - I kid you not - the
entire path had been transformed into a soggy
peat bog.
Some of the colorful flowers dotting the side of the hill.
Followed closely by some pampas grass. I resisted
the urge to break off a stalk and ride it around like a
broomstick. But only just.
These are some cool plants I noticed only when
I had slipped down to their level in the aforementioned
peat bog. Not sure it was worth it.
Eventually completing the loop to the lookout, it led me
back to the main road into Costanoa, and back in the
midst of the eucalyptus trees. No koalas, sadly.
As I neared the campground again, I noticed a hummingbird
flitting between these purple coastal flowers.
So many of these turned out wrong for just one to
turn out right.
Annnnnd one more for good measure.
This one was feeling left out, so I obliged him as well.
I returned to the campsite to find the rest of my family missing. Realizing I had the possible makings of a pretty good horror film on my hands, I was slightly disappointed to find that they had been out walking as well, my brother actually having had taken my same route, just slightly behind me. We packed our things again and drove up the coast to one of our favorite breakfast haunts, Duarte's in Pescadero. We enjoyed another delightful meal, and started the not-so-long trip home, where one more gatekeeper was waiting to greet us.
Gracie, offering what was either the beginning of a hug,
or an attempt at causing grievous bodily harm. Cats,
right?
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