Cowlifornia, One Whale of a State

8/7, 1923, Inn of the Willows (along the banks of the Russian River), Guerneville, CA
I had three goals for today. Tour Point Reyes National Seashore, make it to Guerneville before dark, get my tent and camp space set up. Mission accomplished on all three (and that’s not a George W. Bush “Mission Accomplished,” that’s a real one). I departed Vallejo early this morning, and to be honest with you, I couldn’t wait to leave. Not sure what it was about that town, but it didn’t leave a good impression on me. I’m glad my experience in Wine Country went so well. It more than overcame returning to Vallejo each night. Once I was west of 101 and out of Navato, I began a slow, but steady climb back into the Marin Headlands. After that, I descended into the valley between the headlands (wetlands…some of which reminded me of South Carolina) and Point Reyes. Once I was in the Point Reyes National Seashore area, it was up again.

2025, sitting along the Russian River, Guerneville, CA – As I was saying…Driving up into Reyes, one thing – and a very surprising thing, at that – became clear. This was dairy farm land. And in a very big way, too. There was even a cheese factory (daily tours!) on the way. For the most part, the mountains were grasslands, covered with the straw-colored grasses I noticed in the Wine Country. Not lush by any means, though I heard one woman giving her parents the Point Reyes tour mention that in the spring, “All this grass is green and it’s covered with wildflowers.” It took some imagination to visualize that, but I managed. My first stop was Limantour beach.

“A beach is the place where a man can feel, he’s the only soul in the world that’s real.”
Pete Townsend
Quadraphenia

Pete pretty much summed up the experience I had on there. It was like something out of a movie. Here I was, early morning, alone on a jaw-droppingly picturesque, deserted beach with the Pacific’s waves rolling in and crashing against the coast around me – with more power and a louder roar than I ever recall the Atlantic being able to muster – and nobody, I mean NOBODY else showed up the entire 30 minutes or so that I was there.

A fine time to contemplate. So I did. I decided a while back that one source of guilt, one resentment, one source of anger, one source of pain at a time, I’d present to my Higher Power along a beach, along a trail, deep in the mountains, along a lake or rushing creek or river…recall it, feel it, consider it, look back on it, ask for or grant forgiveness and/or release it. I wrote this one in the sand with my ever present cane and let the surf take it from there.

I still can’t believe I was alone for that long. Whomever or whatever was responsible for that, thanks.

From there. I again climbed upward, this time on Sir Francis Drake Blvd., which eventually wound up and down through the meadows and historic dairy farms (most of which had been around since the mid-1850’s, according to the Park Service signs) and brought me to the cliff jutting out into the Pacific upon which the Point Reyes lighthouse is perched. Naturally, there were stunning views to be had both on and off the road leading there, and the 15+ mile stretch of beach just north of the lighthouse (Point Reyes Beach South, for those of you keeping track) and the rocks just south (Sea Lion overlook and Chimney Rock) were spectacular to behold. The road to the lighthouse was “walking only” and was just under a ½ mile, which – at this point in my trip – is chump change, even if it was an incline. Again, the views were mind-blowing, but the real treat was descending the 308 steps to the precipice upon which the lighthouse is located. The lighthouse has been there forever, and is both operational, from what I witnessed, and kept immaculate by the Park Service. There is a more modern light – and effective foghorn, which was in use and echoed into the distance with each blast – which appears to supplement the original light.

While I was sighting up a picture, a seabird biologist with the Park Service asked, “Want to see a whale?” Sure enough, surfacing about every minute or so was a Minki whale heading north. The two whale watching boats in the area quickly rushed to its proximity and, while keep a respectful distance, monitored its progress. I tried my best to “spread the wealth” and point out the whale to those coming down the 308 steps as I climbed back up. I heard “ooohs” and “aaahs” in my wake. So, I saw a whale. Not a blue or a grey, but a whale nonetheless, so I can check that off the list.

One last lighthouse comment…one of the exhibits quoted a lighthouse keeper who’d been suffering alone through multiple days of raging storms: “O solitude, where are the charms sages have such in they face.” Personally, I like my choice of professions just fine, thank you.

The sea lions at Chimney Rock sounded like someone starting a motorboat. Despite the distance between us, their calls reverberated around the walls and were considerably more than just “audible.”

8/8, 1328, In the library of the Inn at the Willows, Guerneville, CA - The remainder of my Point Reyes visit was a drive up to Pierce Point Ranch and McClure’s beach where, again, I was along and presented with astounding scenery (Elephant Rock was the most prominent feature). I decided against the rather long hike to Tomales Point – the very northern-most tip of the peninsula – as I was unsure how long it would take me to get to Guerneville and didn’t want to attempt my first “real world” deployment of the tent in the dark. As it turned out, that probably would not have been a problem, but I don’t regret that call. It’d have been a long haul and I’d already expended enough energy walking in the sand and climbing hills.

The main entry/exit point to the peninsula is Point Reyes Station, a really neat little burg that looked relatively untouched by tourism despite its location. Had I not been unsure of the time I’d spend getting to Guerneville, I’d have stopped for lunch. I have to mentioned the name of a little town on the east coast of the peninsula, along Tomales Bay (which separates most of Point Reyes from the mainland): Inverness. Now, tell me the parallel between Point Reyes and the British Isles (in this case, Scotland) wasn’t held by someone else.

The drive to Guerneville was slow at first – I was behind a horse trailer – but once they pulled off, it was smooth sailing along the Bay, then along the coast. Not that many towns – Bodega Bay was probably the most prominent – but lots of surfers and more dairy farms.

I’ll pick up with Guerneville at another time. It’s a story worth telling, though I’ll have to leave out some names and details to protect the guilty. Suffice to say, it’s been an interesting visit. Weird, but I wasn't expecting anything less.

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