Driving along Highway 1 toward Monterey, you’re twisting and turning along the bluffs so often that you’re barely left with any time to think. The turns keep coming, forcing your attention to the black asphalt in the headlights, braking and accelerating, 25mph turn signs every 500 feet. Eyes drift to the amazing scenery outside, only to snap back in time to avoid oncoming semis and SUVs barreling along the narrow road. Once you stop and hop out of the car, however, it’s a completely different story. The cold breeze hits you quickly, somehow crisp and humid at the same time, blending the scent of the ocean and forests. It’s that Northern California Coastal air, the kind that hits you when running in Golden Gate Park on Saturday morning.
The Big Sur section of Highway 1, about an hour north of San Luis Obispo, is sparsely populated. Few signs of civilization rest along the road, never less than 5 miles apart. Gas costs almost twice as much as the cities, no doubt a product of the remoteness of the region. Big Sur, more a span of highway than any real town, is spread along 90 miles, occupying a narrow strip between coastal mountains and the Pacific Ocean. Cut off from the rest of California, this coastal mountain range
includes peaks higher than 5,000 feet above sea level.
The water smashes against the coast far below as towering redwoods sit high in the hills. White cliffs here are especially steep, starting far below the water, rising to incredible heights just a few thousand feet from the rocky beaches. Deep canyons cut into the shoreline, as small creeks feed the great blue Pacific Ocean. The road traverses these gorges on historic bridges, many of which were constructed almost a century ago (and are therefore pretty narrow).
It’s a sight to behold, especially when starting a hike in the early morning fog. The thick fog sits along the cliffs and blankets the churning ocean somewhere below. The hills to the east fade into the fog above, offering no hints of where you’re headed.
Arriving at the Kirk Creek Campground in the morning, we parked the car off the side of the road and decided to tackle the Vicente Flat Trail. The sign at the trailhead informed us that Vicente Flat was a 5 mile hike in, which seemed modest at the time. The trail followed a hill up into the thick fog, disappearing as it rose beyond visibility. We started up, and continued up, only catching glimpses of cliffs as we hiked right beneath them. After a tough, uphill climb in, we noticed a sign signifying our entering the Ventana Wilderness. “Wait, you mean we’re just entering the wilderness now?”
A steep climb along some narrow switchbacks eventually gives way to intervals of meadows and small redwood groves. As you ascend beyond the fog, you realize how far the blanket of haze extends out to sea. The entire ocean is invisible, covered in a white marine layer extending beyond the horizon. Looking north or south, you see the hills jutting in and out of the coastline, the fog pushing its way into the canyons.
We continued along the trail, consistently gaining elevation, in and out of inlets formed by creeks rushing west. After a few miles, we take a right turn along a larger canyon, with the huge Cone Peak looming across the steep gorge. The trail, at spots only a foot or two across, is cut right into the steep hillside, forcing you to choose between precariously balancing over the edge and avoiding poison oak hanging over the trail. The poison oak is avoidable; I think it’s more of a psychological thing, especially because of the name. The three of us actually survived without getting hit by any of it.
The path never gets any thinker until you reach the Vicente Flat campground, set near an underground creek and large, open redwood grove. The campsites nestled in this area are very cozy, under enormous redwoods and within earshot of the creek. The creek, which disappears underground to the east and pops up downstream further down the canyon, seems to be year-round. The flow was pretty strong…coming down into the flat, we genuinely thought the creek was about 3 times the size it really was. Either way, however, fresh water is a quick boil/treatment away.
We turned around here, after a quick break at the flat. The hike back out was odd, mostly since the hillside was now on our left. We had to get used to leaning left to avoid slipping off the ridiculously steep cliff below. Emerging from the canyon, we saw that the heat burned off a good chunk of the fog. A clear view to the ocean now had us wondering, “how high are we?” We found out later that the Vicente Flat Trail gains about 1,800 feet in elevation.
Feet aching, knees shot, we finally saw the car again and sprawled out on the cool grass for a half hour. Feeling adventurous, we drove further north, traversing all 90 miles of the Bug Sur coast. We stopped off at McWay Falls, which everyone says if the highlight of the region. I don’t even want to describe the falls…it’s something everyone should just check out for themselves. A mere 2 minutes from the road, it really doesn’t take too much effort…
The effort it takes to get here is far outweighed by the unique scenery and the miles of hiking trails, taking you to places that feel completely foreign. About the same drive time as LA to Vegas, The coast is a totally different experience, secluded, wild and serene. Fluffy beds and nice restaurants may be in shortage, but who can argue with waking up on a seaside bluff, cool breezes, and redwoods? And 90 miles of it? I’m always ready to see more.
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