Sea meets rock. Photo: Brian Rourke
The gate is padlocked thanks to the government shutdown. What initially had us disheartened has turned to be quite an opportunity: no Park Rangers.
Abandoning the van on the side of road, we duck the gates and race towards the ocean. Surfboards under arm and wetsuits draped over, we drink in the grassy shelf overhanging the Pacific, but excitement has us on the move again. We navigate the crawling path through the crags and come face to face with the power of nature.
Rocks protrude from the ocean forming the frontlines against waves. Plumes of whitewater explode all around intensifying this war of elements. Hiding our contents behind rocks, we dash to join in the battle. And what a battle it is. Waves cascade on the outside sandbars betraying their position. And when the inside reform occurs we are ready lying in wait. After countless waves and a rising tide, we wash ashore with the sun falling down our backs.
And then, swiftly, night is upon us. Night, with the explosion of stars framing the rock formations creating a primordial feel. The fire crackles and splutters as cans of beans are warmed. This is followed by the most delicious food one can imagine: Banana Boats. Bananas sliced open like a Thanksgiving turkey and stuffed to the brim with one’s favorite chocolate, all wrapped in a tin foil shell and tossed in the embers to reemerge from the flames like a phoenix. These ingredients melted together make a masterpiece.
The sea cave we commandeered for shelter is transformed into a scene of a fantastic feast, illuminated by firelight. With wine. Yes, the wine! At three dollars a bottle Trader Joe’s Cabs are a must. The van lies on the road, settling in for a night alone. “Don’t tow! Ran out of gas,” thrown on the dashboard for safe measure. Previous worrisome thoughts of waking up to a missing van diminish as our bottles become empty.
The tide and waves strengthen throughout the night with the continuing clash of water and land. A clash we hope land prevails in as to save our dry tent. Dishes are washed in the surging tide while dancing from rock to rock. Always dodging the sea as it blankets more and more sand.
Sleep comes unexpectedly as the wine takes hold and morning wakens us with the touches of an ominous mist. Its uniform cover creates a scene of awe but trepidation as if at any moment a creature from the depths, long ago forgotten, will once again storm up through the surface. Mist fades into sun as coffee is greedily gulped for warmth and energy. The ocean has grown in strength from the day before, drawing in a pod of twelve dolphins that attack the waves with playful fervor. Dolphins! Everywhere there are dolphins; under us, next to us, circling us, scaring us, and constantly laughing at us. Our artificial sea suits being an inside joke among the marine community. The dolphins stay all day, enjoying the unusual company they have found.
Our arms can’t outlast the dolphins and eventually tire, the fallen rocks lining the beach turn into personal drying racks for our wetsuits. Steam rises rapidly as the frigid water meets the sun. The belongings are packed and we make the trek back up to the road. The van, untouched, waits on the side of the road—ready for the journey north, up the ocean highway. With one last look over our shoulders, we set our eyes to the next destination. The sound of the waves morphs into the drums of The Doors, the journey continues on.
