Central Coast California – part 1

Big Sur coastline with Rocky Creek Bridge, built in 1932, in the distance

We were reluctant to leave Yosemite, but looked forward to getting to the Central Coast, our first home together after college. Once we got across the vast Central Valley farmland – necessary, but not exciting – we turned for Monterey and Highway 1 (PCH). This time of year the rolling hills of Big Sur are still emerald green from the winter rains, and paired with the deep red sea cliffs and turquoise water, make it one of my favorite places on earth.  PCH has plenty of pullouts and we probably stopped at a good majority of them. At one, a curve in the cliffs made a small sheltered bay, and below us we saw migrating grey whales, playful bottlenose dolphins, sea otters, and sea lions. 

Bottlenose dolphin

Sea otter and pup

That pullout is also memorable because it’s where I ran back to the RV to change my camera lens so that I could take a closer picture of the dolphns, and managed to close my ankle in the footwell of the passenger side. Looking at the space later, the gap between the footwell and the door is so small, I have no idea how I managed to get the door completely closed, much less get away with only a bruise.

When we lived in California we had a favorite spot to camp on the coast, high in the hills overlooking the ocean, and wanted to find that spot again. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to find our Forest Service map before leaving home, and had to locate it from memory, and coming from the opposite direction. The only road that we could find that led to camping areas was a steep, narrow climb up one of the taller hills, and didn’t seem familiar to either of us. As it was getting late, and our options were limited, we decided to keep going and after 11 miles, made it back to Nacimiento Campground. It was a nice little campground, but decidedly not where we used to camp. Our nearest neighbor had a small scruffy dog that they let wander, and who was both fascinated and unsure of Cooper. She kept coming over to sniff him from a distance, then barking like crazy. He didn’t know what to make of her, and did his best to ignore her.

Road to Nacimiento Campground. PCH is below the lowest saddle,
and the road goes through several switchbacks as it climbs the hills.

  

The next day, the road hadn’t gotten any shorter or wider, so we had a nail-biting descent back to PCH and the ocean. Happy to be on a paved road again, we kept going south, and soon came to the elephant seal beach. When we lived here after college, the seals weren’t coming to the area in the numbers they do now, and you could walk right onto the beach with them. Now there’s a boardwalk at the top of the bluff that keeps visitors and seals separated, which is probably a very good thing for both parties.

Drama on the beach

This time of year it’s mostly females and pups on the beach, and there are so many that the upper part of the sand is a solid carpet of seal. Every time a new seal wanted to join the crowd, or one wanted to shift positions, a bout of bawling and biting would ensue. Then they’d settle down until the next disturbance started the whole process over. If you’re hoping for sleek, attractive seals this is a terrible time to visit, as they’re undergoing a “catastrophic molt.” Elephant seals don’t shed gradually, they lose the outer layer of skin and hair all at once, so most of them have a Silence of the Lambs skin suit look to them.

All better – for now

That night we decided to stay at the infinitely more accessible San Simeon State Park. We stayed in the upper section, and our campsite had a panoramic view of the surrounding hills and the sunset, with the added advantage that there was no one else in sight, so it was like having a private campground. It ended up being so relaxing and peaceful that we stayed two nights, although we came to regret the next morning’s pre-breakfast walk.