Holder of secrets. Photo: Shutterstock
I awoke from a dead sleep with a light shining into my car. Parked five miles down a winding and steep dirt road, I was tucked under the cover of the tall sequoias. I thought I was safe despite no cell reception and traveling solo, apart from my surfboard. Now, it was the middle of the night and I was frozen in place with someone from an off-road vehicle (not the cops) inspecting my car. They drove off in a matter of seconds, almost as soon as they got there. I cracked the door of my car and let the stream rolling down through the trees lull me back to sleep. I was safe.
My inability to plan had led me to Monterey County without a campsite (they are full months in advance). I had no expectations except to take in the sights, smells and sounds. I’d surf if there was surf, hike if there wasn’t and just soak it in, whatever it may be.
On arrival, I wandered down a long trail to the ocean to a spot that had tossed me out a few times before. I had no expectations. I didn’t even carry my board down; I just wanted to have a look. But as I got closer, I could hear waves breaking through the trees–and they sounded big. At the river crossing, I sprinted right in with no concern for how deep it was. I needed to get across for a better view. I waded through the chilly water, my legs straining at the current, my eyes straining to see past the trees… and suddenly, there they were: perfect, glassy rollers, peeling endlessly–the kind of dream a surfer prays for every night. After watching for around thirty seconds, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I ran back through the stream to my car with soaked clothes to get my board. My whole body was shaking as I suited up. When the sets came, they were head high to over head, right at the borderline of what I feel comfortable surfing when traveling alone and isolated from civilization. I used to be all bravado and no caution, but the ocean has humbled me.
The next morning I was still shaking with excitement. This time, though, after I crossed the creek, the swell had dropped considerably. After some hesitation, I paddled out along with one other person despite the tiny conditions. Although the waves were small, the place was beautiful. As we stared at the horizon, willing waves to come our way, something happened. First, a huge plume, then the massive arc of the back of a whale. We sat in awe. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to these amazing creatures. Even the seals seemed astounded as they poked the surface right near us and watched.
On my meandering drive south, there was one secret spot I was looking for, a hidden break that had eluded me many times before. I pulled off at a turnout thinking I was near where it might be, and I sat. I peered down a thousand foot cliff, and there it was, the place I’d been looking for. After so much searching, I’d finally found it. It’s a place I will most likely never get to, but I am grateful to have witnessed it. As the secret was revealed, a whale back emerged, migrating up the coast. A father and son were there too, watching. No words were exchanged, but the excited nod from the father to me revealed that he knew the secret too.
This wild region is full of so many secrets that I will never know. Each time I return, though, I am changed. I am changed and forever grateful for the ones that it has chosen to reveal.
