-----Click on the map to choose a story---
------Or Choose a story from below------
An Ecotourism Paradise
Rio: City of Wonder and Poverty
A Million Needles: Catching the King
It’s a race against the sun. How far can I run and still reach camp by dark? I want to run forever.
The exhilaration of the unknown pushes me forward, deeper into the crevices of the bluffs at Andrew Molera State Park. The trail is empty. The steady rhythm of life syncs my heart rate and my breathing with each step. I love running trails in Big Sur, California. The golden colors of dusk paint the beach bluff with a mesmerizing glow. Four deer rummage for food on the brushy hillside. They smell my scent in the wind and freeze for a moment, then resume as before. I spook a bobcat and it startles me as it scampers along the trail, until it escapes to safety in a steep ravine. Moments like this penetrate every fiber of my being.
This is my last adventure before being tied to further responsibility with another year of college. The thought of grades makes my stomach turn.
I've never been camping alone. I had a dream I was alone on a beach up north, and I lit up a clove, leaving my cares in the smoke. The sweet taste had a calming effect, and smoking gave me an edge. I wanted to make that dream real.
As the definition of the girl next door, I rarely wear makeup. I can throw a near perfect spiral. I smile when I don’t know it, and my sun-bleached hair tells men that I am easy to approach. I need to redefine who I am and live a little.
Jack Kerouac escaped to Big Sur once. In his book titled, "Big Sur," he reflected on his life and times there. He stayed at poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s cabin in the woods. This place seems to draw a crowd of soul-searching artists and writers.
Big Sur’s rugged landscape makes the 90-mile stretch of Californian Coast one of the most primitive areas on the West Coast. Saturated with state and federal parks, Big Sur remains protected from urbanization. The purity of nature is a refreshing escape from big-city lifestyle. The first inhabitants of Big Sur were the Esselen tribes. They adapted their lifestyle to the rugged terrain moving from the coast, with its fishing and abalone resources, to the steep mountain range to hunt game. They died off when the Spanish established their Catholic Missions.
On the drive here, following the rigid coast, I had to fight to keep my eyes on the road. The protruding rocks give the ocean a zany feel. It reminds me of sharks with many rows of serrated teeth. The best white shark footage always has the big rocks and foggy coast. I can tell by looking that the water here is the perfect habitat for them, cold and murky.
I’m glad I packed light. The 1/3-mile trek to the campsite from the parking lot would deter the average camper from staying here at Andrew Molera. But at $10 a night, when all I have is $40, it sounds good to me. I pay for two nights.
Setting up camp puts the trip into perspective. My five-person tent will only fit three. I have it all to myself. Images of slasher movies feed my imagination. I brought my knife, just in case. (Don’t go there, this is nature, not the movies.)
Next to my camp site are Francisco Peixoto (in Latin, Peixoto means little fish) and his daughter, Jaqueline. By the way he glances in my direction, I can tell he is intrigued to see me setting up camp by myself. I notice his surfboard lying by his tent. His wetsuit hangs on a tree drying. I think of sharks.
After I set up camp, I found a nearby trail to the beach, a convergence of river to ocean and trails to sand. It is only a five minute walk. Exploring a cove, I notice a trail marker near the bluff with a bicycle symbol on it. A rush of excitement escapes my body in the form of a beaming smile. It's the kind of feeling when you know something good is about to happen. This trail is the only one in Big Sur that is biker friendly. I am not a mountain biker, but I am adventurous.
I didn't plan on biking a 3.5-mile trail that climbs 1,000 feet above sea level, but I manage to ride up three hills on a ridge that overlooks a beach to the right, and displays the Santa Lucia mountain range on the left. Highway 1 snakes through the valley on the mountainside.
The heat is getting to me, but I can’t bring myself to stop.
Click here to continue.
Osprey - JournAlum - The Lumberjack - KRFH/610 AM - Travel
McElroy runs at Big Sur, as the sun pokes through the trees.
Words & Photos:
Jennifer McElroy