Big Sur - Adventures

I was hazy and restless. I couldn't quite shake it. I turned over and over; my mind unable to wrap itself aroun something very big, looming and mysterious. Beads of sweat started to form around my crinkled brow as I meandered unconsciously frustrated and lost.

My eyes struggled to focus, but the room became clearer. I stared back at the red numbers glaring at me: 7:45. I was awake. The twisted covers knotted up around me in my bed pointed to something ferocious that had occurred at some point during my attempted slumber. Sometimes there are good reasons for such disarray, but this morning would not reflect one of those nights. Sleep is supposed to rest your mind, make it fresh for the new day. In my case, it just served to remove all the sub-conscious things that take just enough brain cells to render my purely conscious thoughts facile during the day. At night, these thoughts were free to roam, inflate and torment with the impunity of street thug with a baseball bat on a playground.

It was Saturday morning and my original plans to strap a snowboard on my feet at Lake Tahoe were scrapped due to 65-degree sun gleaming in through my french windows. Although it was directly responsible for screwing my snowboard plans, its rays were calming and much preferred to dreamworld I just exited.

Sitting up and staring at the ground, I just had to get up and do something. I stumbled over to my computer and brought up Google Earth with the default page set on Northern California. My eyes immediately locked onto a little penninsula jetting out into the deep blue Pacific: Big Sur.

Google: B-i-g S-u-r h-i-k-i-n-g t-r-a-i-l-s click

Return:

Pfeiffer State Park

Pfeiffer Falls: 1.4 miles roundtrip, easy. A scenic hike along Pfeiffer Big Sur Creek through one of the park's finest redwood groves ends at a 60-foot high waterfall.

Valley View: 2 miles roundtrip from trailhead or 1/2 mile from Pfeiffer Falls; easy. To beautiful views of Point Sur and the Big Sur Valley.

Oak Grove Trail: 3 miles roundtrip from the entrance to Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, easy to moderate hike. This trail intersects with the Pfeiffer Falls trail. There is a variety of ecosystems beginning with redwood groves, open oak woodlands, and dry chaparral.

Buzzard's Roost: 4.8 miles rountrip loop, moderate. Along shady redwoods to a switchback trail through tan oaks and bay trees, peaking at Pfeiffer Ridge with beautiful coastal views.

Mount Manuel Trail: Beginning at the Oak Grove Trail, 8 miles roundtrip, strenuous. A steep climb to the top of 3,379 foot Manuel Peak.

My eyes widened and I sat up straight. A mountain? 8 miles and 3,000 ft? Oh, I am so there.

I logged onto Summitpost to get information of optimal climbing times, permits, etc. I found this:

Mount Manuel (aka Manuel Peak), located on California's Big Sur coast just east of CA SR-1 (aka California Highway 1) near Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, offers what some consider the most spectacular views of the Big Sur area when the coast is not fog bound. While the trailhead is easy to access and the trail is generally in good condition, Mount Manuel is not often climbed since the state park has many other attractions and those wishing to see a scenic view point often choose to climb Cone Peak's 1.5 mile class 1 trail with a 1355' elevation gain vs. Mount Manuel's 4.5+ mile class 1 trail with a 3150' elevation gain. Cone Peak is also much taller at 5155'.

Further descriptions of Cone Peak clearly labeled it as a destination for tourists. The foot traffic is so bad, they are having major issues with erosion on its rather delicate ecosystem. Combine that with the fact Mount Manuel has an additional 3 miles (one way) and 1,800 more vertical feet to contend with. I had found my destination. The hair on my chest boldened and swayed with superiority over all the mere mortals that would "hike" the other "daunting" one-and-one-half mile Cone Peak, versus the clear choice for the more authentic, pure and celebrated mountain-man tough guy. I wondered if they had installed an escalator on the sissy trail.

So, in the spirit of all other the tough-guy mountain men who proceded me in the rugged arena where man must survive as insignifcant speck, I quickly jumped onto the Zipcar rideshare website and booked a shiny, bright-yellow Mini-Cooper (which became available at 9:30 am) for the entire day. It has a sun-roof, XM radio and a backseat that barely fit my ultralight-daypack that was only quarter full. Reinhold Messner would have kicked my ass.

I grabbed my Camelback pack and filled the two-liter bladder; threw in a headlamp, water-filter, some Cliff Bars, a knife, a digital camera and the iPod. The camera was purely so that I could bring you, the valued and greatly appreciated readers of TenFingers6Strings a little closer to paradise. That and the fact that I wanted to have some pictures on my digital camera that weren't of my privates.

It would be a full day. 150 miles to Big Sur from San Francisco would take exactly 3 hours. Leaving at 9:30, I'd get to the trailhead at 12:30, with an estimated 5 hours round trip on the mountain. Leaving at 5:30, assuming I stop and eat, I could be back to the city by 9:00. Perfect timing, as I had plans to go out with some friends and pathetically drink too much and unsuccessfuly hit on women have a few cocktails starting at 10:00.

I quickly got into my gear and was out the door on my way to Palermo's Italian Deli in North Beach to pick up my lunch. As I headed down the hill, I forgot for a minute about what I was supposed to be consumed with. It all came flooding back, but I knew the mountains would help me to clear my head. Why, I thought, do I feel so much loss over something that I never had in the first place?

"'Sup Frank."

"Hey ma-man, how ya do-in'? You want one wit'?"

One Italian combo: salami, capicola, prosciutto (dried in his own prosciutto room) with provolone on a fresh italian roll.

"Bring it."

Frank is my favorite man on earth. He is a 5'1" Italian man who can barely see over the counter, but approaches his job with the tenacity and energy of Angus Young performing Highway to Hell. He normally wears a shirt with a skull and crossbones that says, "The beatings will continue until morale improves." If you can manage to maintain your bad mood after being around Frank, then you've exposed the black cavity in the middle of your gut which used to contain some reminants of a soul.

"Where you goin' with all that stuff?" He nodded at my pack.

"I'm going to climb a mountain."

"Right, why don't you come work for me for one day? You'll have it easier on the mountain."

The old Italian man in front of me was waiting in front of me to pay for his fresh meat with a C-note. Old Italian men are always carrying around wads of cash that could embarrass a drug dealer. Me, I can barely pay for coffee at Starbucks without having to use my card.

"Frank, if you pay me from the bank that Senore here is running, I'll climb a mountain, work for you all day, and then I'll go home chewing on the piece of steel I ripped off of the '64 impala sitting out front."

"Crazy white boys. Here you go. Have fun today, baby. Who's next?"

I drove south on 101 heading down the pennisula. At San Jose, I'd go 85 West, then 17 South winding like a snake over the Santa Cruz mountains. From there it is CA Route 1 South to Monterrey, Carmel and then Big Sur. I had XM Station 64, "The Groove," kickin'. It was all Funk on Saturday, and I couldn't help but want to get up out of my chair while I was driving listening to Parliament, Ohio Players and early Prince.

Route 1 dipped and dove and headed straight towards the coast. I caught a visual of the water, followed the sharp curve which turned almost 90 degrees straight south. Gasping, I saw the angry sea pounding at the mountain's brooding cliffs. The battle between these two Goliath's produced a puffy marine layer. The two are old rivals, and clearly this was just another day in the battle of attrition that the sea was slowly winning. The result from the human perspective is one of magnificence, beauty and awe. I pulled over and drew in the thick salt air that was cooled by the 54-degree water below.

Sitting there, I decided this would be a perfect place for lunch. Looking down on this view:

Eating this:

My aggressive nature gets the best of me during these times. Eating a fantastic sandwich which was more cuisine than fuel, while over looking ocean carved cliffs should have relaxed me. However, my heart was racing, and I couldn't wait to get to the trail. I only put down half of Frank's masterpiece, before I drove to the parking lot. I got my stuff out of the car and checked my watch: 12:30. Time to hit the trail.

The gates to this trail where quite typical and "boring" for Big Sur, but spectacular to this traveler:

Staring up at these monsters, I saw a couple of hikers, who were going to Oak Grove, walk past these centennials as if they were the most common and boring feature in the place. It was like a $5,000 dollar Madison to Donald Trump, or sex to a porn star--too much of it breeds a boring familiarity that completely removes the magic from such a special thing. But, that's not my problem, I knew the magic was there for me, and I was soon pounding away at the trail in a strong power-hike with goose bumps.

Only 3,000 ft to go!

The marine layer was rather thick, but as I climbed higher, the sky turned blue. Within minutes I was boiling and had to strip down to my t-shirt. There is nothing calm about this place in the sense that it seems to be a giant arena for environmental factors to have it out with one another. But somehow this conflict brings a peace to it as I walk from darkness to light. The 50-degree day turned 80 as I approached the wide valley with a rushing river running about 600 ft below me.

I passed a couple who looked like they didn't know what trail they ended up on. He was wearing a Harley Davidson jean jacket, while his lady friend swore about her bra getting sweaty. I looked up and saw 4 vultures circling overhead. I wish I was kidding.

I turned back into the valley to find more evidence of conflict. On a very narrow and steep ledge, I found a graveyard of trees that weren't quite able to escape gravity when the rains came down. It wasn't quite Ent genocide, but it was a nasty scene nonetheless.

Another solid hour of climbing rapidly and it seemed like the summit was getting close. Mt. Manuel has a few neighbors that reared their heads as I turned into the North side of the mountain.

Considering that my brain was so active the previous night wrestling with recent events, I was surprisingly aloof and carefree on the trip up. For all the worry and want, I couldn't have found an ounce of "give a crap" in my head. Believe me, I tried for about 12-seconds. Then I saw this and I forgot about it all again:

Moving along, I pushed harder, as I usually like to keep my heart-rate pounding pretty good. I reached the summit rather nonchalantly, and joined a couple of Indian guys on the summit. They didn't care much for me being there, but I was pumped and feeling good. The salty look on my face completely belies it though.

TF6S not displaying the emotion usually displayed after a summit. Instead he seems to be more interested in finding out who pissed in his cornflakes.

However, I wasn't standing on the true summit. I cut through Vietnam-like brush to get to the true summit to the west. The sky was clear and the marine layer had been peeled.

Looking around I found evidence of last week's storm tucked underneath a lone pine tree:

Evidence of apparent "bad" weather in California.

I was completely pumped. My heart was racing and I wanted to keep it going. I reached into my backpack and preceded to do something that many mountain purests would revile with a ferocity and anger normally reserved for those who refuse to carry out their dookie. I put my ear phones in my ear, and let highly underrated guitarist Andy Timmons scream into them. I tightened up my pack and trail ran back down where I came from.

Within about 15 minutes, I caught up to the Indian guys. I don't think they liked me, as they started running when they saw me. That or they were scared of my 5'9" 145 pound frame. They were both wearing jeans and carrying Jansport backpacks. Obviously, they weren't big runners, and I feared that one of them was going to bite it off the edge, or sprain and ankle. Once they hit the area with all the down trees, they let me pass with big smiles on their face, as if they didn't want to play anymore. Andy Timmons kept rocking, but I thanked them and ran past.

I turned around the corner and saw the freedom of the peaceful blue sky being overrun by an angry, vengeful and thick rival. The temperature of the valley was still too warm and it produced a wall that didn't allow it to pass. The earth looked so angry, and I wondered if this is what this place looks like from an angel's perspective:

I continued running. The trail was hard underneath my feet and my legs felt oddly unfatigued. Then, a part in trail went back up hill and my legs turned to jello. Luckily, I came to the point in the trail where I was standing on the line between the marine layer and the sky. I stopped to snap another picture of sun's last dance with me.

I got back to the car right at 4:00. I felt absolutely fantastic. My mind was settled and somehow regained my center. Amazing, because I didn't even really think about anything. I just went allowed myself to actively be for a few hours.

Well, that and the view was quite nice.

I'd be back in San Francisco 4 hours later. I slipped in a nap alongside the road for about an hour, but in no time I was celebrating with a number of friends that night who also used their Saturday to "find their center." They did so by going out to Tiburon and drinking margaritas and beer all day.

Note to self: must find ways to bring margaritas to the mountains.

Posted by 10 fingers 6 strings at March 5, 2006 11:12 PM | TrackBack