If you are following Holiday Road, this is the ultimate Detour and Pit Stop

cRAZy wAS OuR trIP

No Cal in 10 Days

By Frank R. Satullo

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Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

Day 8

Days 9 & 10

Day 1:

Day 4:  

Up early, we asked our waitress where we could kill some time in town before getting lost in Redwoods.   

Minutes later we were gazing across a low tide area between the mainland and the island lighthouse. Only it wasn’t an island at the moment.  

All four of us went our separate ways, exploring. The kids climbed on top of rocks so high and steep I normally would have forbidden it. But once I saw them thrust their arms into the air like they reached the summit of Mount Everest, I figured the risk of a trip to the hospital may be worth their reward. I smiled and lost myself in the early morning ocean breeze taking in all that surrounded me – rocky terrain, massive driftwood mounds, the lighthouse, water and mini rock mountains.  

Meanwhile, my wife was tip toeing around the tidal pools hunched over examining something. Curiosity drew the whole family back together for a real treat. Crabs galore! The tiny critters were under every rock she flipped. Then they’d scurry for new shelter. As we enjoyed disrupting the quick little crabs, we noticed something else scattered all around us – starfish! There were so many latched to rocks in and out of water we had to watch our step.  

“It’s like Bikini Bottom,” said a voice.  

“Say what?”  

Oh yah, Sponge Bob Square Pants.  

Once we had had our fill, we ventured back down the road we came in on the night before. The timing was perfect! Sun beamed through the giant redwood forest in such a way that I spontaneously started to sing Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens. You know I had to be caught up in the glory of the moment because I don’t (rather, I shouldn’t) sing out loud.  

When I could no longer take being confined in a metal box on wheels, I swung off the side of the road, randomly, and left the vehicle to go traipsing through my Eden.  I don’t know if the sun rays burst through misty fog around the wooden towers and all their branches every morning the way it had then, but it was truly a sight to behold. It felt that anything modern in the world ceased and we were in God’s country now.  

After a while, and 30 rolls of film later (if there was such a thing anymore), we did what anyone would do in this situation – hugged a tree. We tried anyway but it would take a schoolhouse of children to truly get arms around the trunk of any of these monuments.  

We were hooked. More trees! 

Destination – Fern Canyon, where Star Wars, E.T. and Jurassic Park were filmed.  

That caught the kids’ attention! 

But first, we took a little side trek up to Klamath overlook to whale watch, but it was too foggy to see anything then as well as the two other times we tried. On one of the stops, Cliffside, high above the ocean, I decided to ham it up for the video camera, whales or no whales. The fog was so dense, you couldn’t see over the cliff. We were the only people there, or so I thought. So I went into a mock documentary about “whale watching” …just when a half dozen people appeared out of the fog just 15 feet away.  

Embarrassing is an understatement.  

Moving on, laughter still echoing in my ears...   

Getting to Fern Canyon was a trip in itself. A winding dirt road barely one and a half lanes wide snaking through hilly forest and in and out of creeks, water and all. It was not a short stint. But it was well worth it.  

Once we parked and found the trailhead, we soon found ourselves deep within Fern Canyon. We walked through the creek, over logs, getting a workout from the rough terrain. Every now and then we’d stop and marvel at the green walls jutting straight up for what seemed to be a hundred or more feet totally covered with Five-fingered Maidenhair ferns. Wow! 

The kids were timid navigating nature’s obstacles at first. Then they turned pro before long and zipped around with confidence – until our little boy became overconfident and found himself at one with the creek, head-to-toe.  

We laughed AT him but he got over it.  

More adventures and another trip to not see whales, we pulled into a parking lot just off a curvy road to get pictures of elk relaxing under a shade tree. Dozens of other motorists did the same, some in such haste they just left their cars at the edge of the road, standing next to them cameras a blaze.  

Just then, the most horrifying sound and sight played out in what seemed to be slow motion. A truck sped along the curvy road unsuspecting of the mass of cars and flesh littering the berm. Fortunately, perhaps miraculously would be a better way to describe it, the truck spun this way, skid that way, people jumping out of the way, in such a way that nobody got hit and the truck recovered and continued on down the road. The expressions left behind said it all. 

Time to go ...and find a restroom! 

Ahead of us that night would be hours of driving inland to no-man’s land so we could wake up near Lava Beds National Monument. And when I say no-man’s land, that means only one place to stay (that we could find) and it wasn’t in any brochure, on GPS or in the Triple-A database. Somehow I found and booked it online months in advance. 

On the way, we fell prey to the usual must-see pull-offs to snap pictures, making the drive that much longer but that much more enjoyable too.  

The first such stop was Smith River on Route 199. I have never seen a more pretty aquamarine in my life. Pristine river water and mini rapids meandered as far up stream as eyes could see. The scenic byway wrapped with the river’s edge so intimately, it mesmerized me to the point I had to pull off and capture it.   

For a bit, we were in Oregon. I stopped to gas-up. When I popped out and pumped my gas, an attendant rushed over to me and said I can’t do that.  

Really? 

“$15,000 fine for pumping your own gas in Oregon!” he said seriously.  

Really! 

I’ll never know for sure but he didn’t seem like he was pulling my leg so I can only take him at his word.  

Once we were back in the land of self-serve, I noticed a peculiar topography. It looked like the hillside all along the roadway was lava rock. I stopped to take a closer look.  

Sure enough, it was. I mean it was an incredible sight to see what was once a massive lava flow cooled in its tracks. It came pouring over the hill, thick, and into the valley, ground black as night. Trees burst through it around the perimeter, creating stunning contrast. It seemed like a black frozen lake and river. We walked along it, picking up loose rock – light, hard and sharp – careful not to cut ourselves.  

On our way to the motel near our Lava Beds destination, we passed similar scenes, each wondrous and beautiful. It was an hourglass deep into Earth’s geologic history.  

On a desolate road, sun finally giving over the sky to the moon, we arrived. Had I knew of any other accommodations or thought we could get away with sleeping under the stars, I would have pulled out of the parking lot as soon as we pulled into it.  

There was a strip of about six rooms encased in cinder block walls and a house, a.k.a. lodge, hanging on from the 1930’s or so it seemed.  

When I went up to the “office” inside the old house, I was relieved the manager’s name wasn’t Norman Bates. The live-in lady manager said she didn’t think we’d make it. I thought to myself, the night is still young.  

She escorted us to our room carrying an old metal square floor fan. That was our “air conditioning.” Inside were three beds, old carpet, cinder block walls and a bathroom occupied by a huge wolf spider, back window unlocked. I promptly locked it and set a booby trap consisting of things that would fall over and make lots of noise if anyone came through it.   

“Can you help me with your son’s cot?” the nice lady asked.  

I followed her to a nearby shed to retrieve the cot. This was after she offered the alternative, a mattress on the floor.  

Seriously folks, I can’t make this stuff up!  

I will say that had everything not appeared to be clean inside, we would have slept in the car for sure. But it was a long adventurous day and a bed was a bed. On the other hand, there was no television or radio and no room key if you can believe that! 

I mean, where ya gonna go, right? It was about that time that I  started humming Hotel California by the Eagles.

After tucking the kids into bed, I sat on the concrete slab out front of our door noticing the eight holes that had been filled in that looked the size of bullet holes. Then I tipped back on the plastic chair and heard dead silence.

That night just happened to be the most sound-sleep I had had in years. Imagine that.

Day 5:  

Rise. Shine. And get the heck outa here! 

Wait a minute! Really? They have a Continental Breakfast included with the room rental here. Hmm, this just may be the Hotel California.  

Knowing there wasn’t another choice for breakfast other than our bag of trail mix, we made tracks up to the lodge. 

Now, I have to make it clear that despite all the knocks I made against the place, it was clean. Not only that, it was exceptionally quiet and the manager was a very nice lady. Did I mention I slept like a baby? Oh, and the whole reason we picked this place was because it was just a stone’s throw from Lava Beds National Monument. And after that stop, we had nothing but a long road between there and Yosemite.  

When we entered the dining room, my mouth watered and my stomach growled. MM-MMM-MM, the cooking I smelled from the kitchen had me very excited for breakfast. I sensed a feast!  

…for the three-man construction crew already seated.  

The manager/cook/waitress explained to me that our Continental Breakfast was on the shelf. The other gentlemen, who had stayed in the lodge, signed up for the breakfast works. It was further explained to me that I could not upgrade my breakfast without at least 24 hours notice.  

So after a quick hearty bowl of cereal, a slice of toast and a banana to go, we pulled out of there and never looked back. Okay, one peek in the rearview mirror but that was it. 

Quicker than you can say, “Are we there yet” or “I have to pee”, we were there and there was a port-o-pot.  

I dumped my Styrofoam cup of so-called continental coffee and gazed at the glass enclosed wooden map outside on a gorgeous morning where the sun split the land from the sky, rising over the high desert. I had our plan of attack formulated in my head when Captain Chaos, a.k.a. my wife, threw a monkey wrench into my well oiled machine.  

“Look, Petroglyths!” she asserted in a delightful tone full of enthusiasm.  

If there is one thing that’s non-negotiable on our family vacations, it’s if there are Petroglyths to be seen, you betcha we’re seeing them. I knew it, the kids knew it, and you better bet she knew it.  

But I tried to talk her down from the ledge anyway. After all, the entire game plan for staying at the Hotel California was to be up and caving at the crack of dawn – no commute! And to add insult to injury, the Petroglyths were nearly 10 miles THE OTHER WAY! I did the math. That means 20 miles plus a mile hike and time to gaze and take 79 pictures before we get back to start.  

Long story short, I lost the battle but it wasn’t for lack of effort.    

Jack rabbits. Rodent of some sort. Quail. Pelican. Visitor Center.  

We grabbed a map, talked to a ranger and bought an extra flashlight and spare batteries. Now, time to go caving.  

The park is like nothing you’ve ever seen. On the surface, it is endless high desert nothingness all the way to the base of the mountains way in the distance. But beneath the desert floor were more than 700 caves, according to the brochure. And dozens waited for explorers like us – completely unprepared and raring to get lost. Well, we did have flashlights and water so I guess we were somewhat prepared.

The choices were overwhelming. We had time to probably see a half dozen or so lava tubes and caves. They had names like Blue Grotto, Golden Dome, Catacombs, Labyrinth and Skull Cave.  

The most wonderful thing about this experience was that we were left on our own. Once you leave the visitor center, you are free to go wherever your heart’s content. No guides, no lights, no nothing, just you and a pitch black subterranean adventure. We didn’t see another soul anywhere.  

Our fist lava tube split into two directions. It was treacherous to navigate. If you have never walked on top of lava rock before, it has no give what-so-ever and it is extremely porous so it catches your footgear with the slightest graze. So we stumbled down this tunnel and that like a pack of drunken sailors.  

When I convinced everyone to turn off their flashlights and zip their lips, the silence was deafening and the darkness blinding.  

“Wa-a-a-a-a-ay cool!” to quote a Tween.   

I became brazen in my quest for excitement and pried my body through tight crevices or slid down lava tubes that were sure to lead to the bowels of a monster’s lair. The caves began to echo with, “Don’t go in there Dad!”, “You’re on your own!”, “Let’s get out of this one!”, “What’s that sound?”, “BATS!”, “I’m scared!” 

“Wow! Check that out!”  

Everyone looked at the ceiling. It was “Golden Dome Cave.” I delighted in telling the kids that the golden glow was due to glowing bacteria. It wasn’t a joke. 

Once we felt we “did” a tube, we’d bail and drive to another. Some had discreet entries. If you were 15 yards from it, you wouldn’t know it was there until you were right on it. You definitely had to pay attention or you could fall into a hole. There were different levels of difficulty. Some had secure metal ladders descending into a cavern and others required climbing over boulders and rubble to get inside.  

Only one time during all of our spelunking did we see other people. It was a family of four and they were wearing bicycle helmets. It looked kind of humorous and the father of that family apologized for the “goofy get up” as they passed. But goofy was worth it I’d soon find out. I later hit my head so hard on a stalactite that I saw stars underground. Another mishap was when I was using my video camera’s night vision mode to see where I was going when I slipped on wet rock and slid down an incline. As I lay at the bottom gathering my senses I heard my son say, “It gets wet over here. I think we already lost Dad.”  

Thanks for the concern.   

Skull Cave was enormous. The mouth opened with wonderful rock teeth that had shiny tones to it. It looked like giant gray swirled marbles. It had a flat walkway carved into the side so we walked, and walked and walked. It was a while before the daylight dissipated and that was after the huge tunnel curved. As I looked back, I thought of ants in a dinosaur’s world. Then there was a metal stair system that plunged to a ridiculous depth. It got very cold very fast. So cold, at the bottom, we discovered the ice floor, which was gated out of reach.  

When we left, I felt like a kid throwing a tantrum, “Do we have to go?” I wanted to keep on exploring. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.  

This wasn’t your ordinary national park or monument. It had hardly any visitors and it was in the middle of nowhere. In fact, the road going south out of the park was listed as unpaved. But it did have blacktop – very old crumbly blacktop. Imagine it was an airstrip that had been bombed. I mean pelted with bombs. We were going under 15 miles per hour snaking around depressions and mounds of loose pulverized blacktop chunks. I kept thinking of the time this was costing us and the power drive ahead to get to Yosemite.  

Once we found our way back to modern roads, we talked about adding in a spontaneous stop despite being behind schedule.  

As soon as the words “ghost town” were uttered, we all got excited. 

Now, “ghost town” to me and my nine-year-old son meant tumble-weed, saloon doors and entertainment at “High Noon!”

This place was none of that.  

My wife and daughter loved the remnants of the old gold rush town. My son and I sulked the whole time.  

“Can we go yet?” – “How ‘bout now?” 

Looking back, it was a neat pit stop that didn’t detour much from the planned route. The town dated back to 1878 and most of the buildings were red brick ruins. It was worth the 30 minutes stay, I guess.  

The approach to Yosemite had magic in the air on this late night drive. There was a calming that overcame my wife and I as the kids were sound to sleep in the back and had been for quite some time. Finally, at around 10pm, we were as close to Yosemite’s official park entrance as you can get and still have lodging.  

What a difference a night makes! 

We went from rags to riches in 24-hours. The room had it all; fireplace, Jacuzzi, bar, fridge, balcony and much more. When I opened the sliding glass doors, paradise rang in my ears. We overlooked a canyon with roaring rapids right under our feet. Crack the wine, pull up a chair, romance was in the air.

Day 6: 

Our morning was off to a late, slow and lazy start.  

Finally, we meandered over to the restaurant for a mega-buffet breakfast. After the bill came, we shot over to the “highway robbery” store and threw mini cereal boxes, bagels, milk and butter onto the counter and called it our breakfast for the next two mornings.  

Driving into the park, the landscape dwarfed us. Yosemite truly is the most beautiful national park I'd ever seen.  

First stop: Giant Sequoia trees!

As the trail plunged beneath our feet, we took our first water break. It dawned on me that we needed to ration the rest, especially considering we had to climb up this steep trail to get back out.

“Dad, more water please,” begged the kids. I said no. So they pleaded that if I gave them some now, they won’t need any later. I knew better. So I had to live with being “mean daddy.”  

The giant trees had a twist. One had fallen back in the 1980’s and presented a different perspective. The kids walked up and down the trunk. When they reached the un-earthen root base, you could tell we were just ants in this forest. Another giant had snapped somehow so when we walked under it and looked up, we could see the sky. It was a bizarre sight. The entire hike was filled with amazing scenery with overlooks and other views a plenty.  

I lost my “mean daddy” title on the way out. We barely had enough water to get us back to our vehicle, albeit, we still stopped sparingly. This was one of the times daddy knew best. But at our next stop, daddy had to have his head examined, or so some thought.  

We detoured to a little store and overpaid for a small cooler, ice and bottled water galore.  

Relaxed on great sitting rocks, nursing water, we all fell into a trance gazing at the thundering water plunging down Bridal Falls. Huge streams seemed to evaporate before hitting the rocks below. Mist cooled our skin and rolled down our faces.  

“Can we climb up there like they are?” asked the kids.  

“Absolutely,” I said and waited for the voice of reason to override me.  

It didn’t come, so one kid at a time, we scurried amongst others from one wet, slippery boulder to another inching our way upward and closer to the base of the waterfall. But you could only get so close. We managed to get close enough to “so close.” Our footgear (sandals) was very problematic. I had to guide the kids and make sure there were no mishaps. Even the Mrs. made a trip up the rock obstacle. She even made it further than we did.  

Once we all returned to our stony perches to get lost in thought, the little kid in me took over. I wanted a conquest. So I began to analyze the terrain marking a course less taken through a maze of cliff ledges and boulders off to the right of the waterfall. Somehow a group of four reached the steep cliff wall halfway up the waterfall that thundered down. That is where I wanted to be. I wanted to touch that rock wall.  

Wanted? Hell, I had to do it! 

After explaining out loud, my wife’s departing comment was something like, “Go kill yourself.” Maybe it was, “Don’t kill yourself.” I don’t know, the falling water drowned out her words. 

I was in my own world and loving it. That was until my pre-laid mental course hit a dead-end. And by dead-end, I mean if I were to push myself any further, I was sure to die a stupid death. So I retreated.  

One step back, two steps forward.  

I caught a glimpse of the party of four climbing down. I made a change in course to where they were. We sat and chatted briefly. They cautioned that the wind was so strong at the top, you need to be prepared because you could actually be blown off the rocks.  

Consider those words of wisdom etched in my hard-head.  

The climb was strenuous at times but overall not bad. I looked below when I had a clear view and was taken aback at how high I must have climbed. A little fear was overcome by determination. I must touch that wall.  

When I reached my goal, it was short lived because the winds were strong and scary. My clothes were as soaked as the rocks. When a gust made me slip, I knew playtime was over.  

My descent was no less challenging. On the way down, a group of thrill seekers crossed my path and pleasantries and words of caution exchanged. When I found my family, I learned that the kids were watching my adventure through binoculars and were scared for me. My wife simply said, “Hope you got that out of your system.”  

I did.

So the rest of the day was filled with more touristy views of the magnificent Yosemite Upper and Lower Falls, spying on wildlife and eating pizza. We took note that English was the minority language here. Spanish was the least heard. European languages ruled the day. And the pool ruled the night.

Day 7:

Was I losing my mind or regaining sanity?  

Up before the rest of the family, I sipped coffee after my bowl of cereal and went into some sort of trance as I left consciousness and was captivated by the river rushing over its rocky course below my balcony. Before long, I was noticing things I would normally never notice; finite detail in the river, the rocks and the natural world woven into it.  

I recognized faces in some rocks, whether small or a bit larger, little eyes, a mouth and nose staring back at me. I called them my spirit rocks. Are they talking to me? Merely asking this question answers the question. I combed the river and its banks with my eyes trying to find more of my spirit rocks.  

Then my wife rubbed up against me, cup of coffee in hand, returning me to a more conscious state. I pointed out my spirit rocks to her. The corners of her mouth curled up and she disappeared back inside, leaving me alone with my delirium. 

My mind didn’t return to the spirit rocks. Oh, I tried, but they weren’t talking to me anymore. Now, I wondered about other little things in life that go unnoticed to the masses. Who paved this lone road leading into the park? Who poured the concrete allowing me this fantastic mental journey? Did they realize that the fruit of their labor would allow millions of people such wonderful enjoyment?  

How extraordinary it must have been to be one of the first to see Yosemite’s beauty before roads and tourism invaded the pristine lands and waters that are now a national park. Then again, how nice it is to experience such wonders having easy access to some of the best panoramic scenes on Earth.  

It turned out that my son’s favorite breakfast of the trip was the mini box of cereal he got to pick out the day before. It was a sweet cereal, which is a real treat for him. He was excited to go to bed the night before in anticipation of waking to have his bowl of sugar. 

After everyone awoke, the kids swam in the pool again and I did laundry and read a book by the river. 

Ready to take on the day, we decided to take the long drive up a mountain to Glacial Point. Every scenic overlook had postcard-type views. We stopped at most.  

When we finally arrived at Glacial Point, much like the morning spent overlooking the river, we all did our own thing and got lost in thought surrounded by stunning scenery at every turn: Half Dome, Bridal Veil Falls, Upper and Lower Yosemite Falls. High atop the valley, for as far as the eyes could see, the world, other than a slight ribbon of road deep below on the valley floor, seemed untouched by the hand of man. This was God’s work; simply impressive. It was Heaven on Earth. Mesmerized, we spent a great deal of time stationary. The backdrop was so surreal our photographs look like we are posed in front of a fake background. That’s how perfect the scene appeared – too perfect to be real. 

On a walk, we chatted with a ranger. He had a little assignment for our family. I was thinking this is what rangers do to tourists so they can have a funny story to tell other rangers back at headquarters. But we fell for it anyway. Our task was to circle a Jeffrey Pine and sniff it all over. So the four of us put our noses up to the tree and breathed in one deep sniff after another. Mind you people were all around while we did this. And yes, it certainly appeared as strange as you can envision. I half thought, upon turning back around, that the ranger would either be on the ground laughing or gone out of sight having found his suckers for the day. To my mild surprise, he stood and waited for us to return. It felt like a hundred eyes were following us but in fact, it was probably just 30.  

We all revealed what we smelled – vanilla! The ranger said vanilla is in it but not it. The answer was butterscotch. So we spent the next 20 minutes learning about Jeffrey Pine Trees. That’s just the kind of day this was. 

Unexpectedly, we meandered to the Summit Meadow. Surrounded by forest, a deep green meadow swept through with a curly little ditch of water passing through the marshy green overgrowth. A rather large fallen tree extended way out into the swampy meadow. It invited us to walk out onto it, all the way to the end where the trunk was thinnest. We stood and gazed at the stillness as if we were now inside an Ansel Adams photograph, nobody saying a word. That is until my son said, “Look. Tadpoles. Millions of them!” 

Only they weren’t all tadpoles. Upon closer examination, my wife identified some water boatmen and tons of LEECHES!  

Here we were, as far out on a limb (trunk) as you can imagine. We looked back at the distance of the trunk we’d have to balance and walk back on. Once we absorbed the visual, there was a mental pause and then our imaginations doubled the distance. I felt a little wobblier than when we walked out. One slip and there was no doubt there would be head-to-toe leeches – in the middle of nowhere.   

“Don’t fall in!” were the only words I uttered. I figured a direct and assertive order by me would be obeyed. I was hoping anyway.  

Pretty much, that summed up day seven: A whole lot of nothing. The night involved more pool time and reading John Muir books.

Day 8: 

Rise and shine for a day of driving sandwiched by two incredible stops as opposite as opposite can be. 

As if we hadn’t had enough of big trees on this trip, we had one more stop to see just that – Mariposa Grove. I really wanted to pass on this but was out-ruled 1-1 by the Mrs.   

Mariposa Grove in Yosemite was a long drive from our end of the park but put us on course to hit the coast by late afternoon. Our timetable was shifted nearly from the get-go. I debated to write this next sentence but in the beginning, I committed to writing about the good, the bad and even the ugly should it occur on this cRAZy trip. On the drive across Yosemite, we had to make an emergency stop to tend to some bad plumbing. Nuff said. One reason we wanted to see more trees is that Mariposa was home to the largest Sequoia we’d have an opportunity to see – the Grizzly Giant! 

Once we parked, and there were a lot of cars here, we packed our water for the hike to this spectacle. Surprisingly, there weren’t many people on the trail. It made you wonder where everyone disappeared to. Along the way, we stopped to see some of the most beautifully clustered sequoia yet. By this time, the kids had had enough of my videotaping when they thought they were posing for a picture. They came up with various poses that wanted me to re-pan with the video camera time and again because when I’d finally drift to get them in the frame, it was not what I wanted. To them, it was giggly fun. Impatience was getting the best of all of us. 

Then, out of nowhere, was the Grizzly Giant. And it was impressive. It stands taller than the Statue of Liberty and had a distinct trunk partially hallowed giving it a more dramatic look of enormity. People standing near it truly looked like ants in a dinosaur-sized world.  

Needless to say, it was well worth the slight trek and rejuvenated our tourist spirits and energy …just in time for a long drive. But first, another pit stop. The only thing available was a wood shack, out-house-type building. And it had a line! Great. Do you know how awkward and annoying it is to have people beat on the door impatiently every 90 seconds to see if you are still in there when there is only one way in or out?  

…Moving on.  

As the sun burned away the morning, the temperature outside rose to 102 degrees, according to the gauge in the car measuring external temperature. At some point, we noticed the temperature plummeting – fast! It became a game. I was taking bets to see who could guess the lowest it would go. Believe it or not, within an hour, the temperature sunk 42 degrees to 60 degrees.  

Love that ocean breeze! 

We decided to tour the Hearst Castle before checking into our room in San Simeon.  

Now, sometimes I have things planned to the “T”. Other times, not so much. Sometimes, I know just what waits. Other times, I’m just oblivious for one reason or another.  

I had not read up on the Hearst Castle. I figured it was a decrepit reminder of what once was. Kind of like, imagine this when it was in its glory. My wife knew better but we didn’t discover our disconnect until later.  

When we arrived, I felt overwhelmed. This was no small attraction. In fact, it felt like we were entering a major theme park. We parked and walked …and walked. The main reception building was a tourist trap if I ever saw one. I just wanted the tickets to see the castle but there were three tours to choose from. I asked if there was a super-tour that combined them all. The answer was, no! So, we picked the most popular that would let us see the main features of the castle. Then, we had to wait for our bus number to be called. So we roamed the tourist trap ignoring enticing souvenirs and the allure of the delicious aroma of food. We did see the introductory documentary movie about William Randolph Hearst’s life and how he came to build what would be known as the Hearst Castle. It gave great perspective and background leading into the tour. Plus, it killed about 15 minutes.  

As the bus motored up the very long hillside to the incredible mansion perched at the top, you could easily imagine this place back in its hay-day when the rich and famous would kill for an invite by Hearst, the newspaper magnet. The approach to the mansion was quite scenic and the tour guide did a nice job with her storytelling. This was not a quick shot so we settled into captive tourist mode and focused our attention on the fascinating story of perhaps the last century’s most flaunting of wealth.  

Wow! 

This place was pristine. The gardens, architecture, statues, artwork and everything in sight were excellently maintained appearing shiny and new. The pool with marble pillars and crystal clear water beckoned for a swim. The sun was beating on me so much now that I contemplated the penalty of accidentally slipping in. The views from the outside pool and surrounding terraces were panoramic of the coastline and California hillside. Location – location – location!  

I had my video camera going and would drift from the crowd for better lines of view. I think this drew the attention of unmarked security. Strange people appeared here and there, observing me. Maybe I was paranoid. Then, they started approaching me and asking casual questions. It was getting weird so I stayed close to my decoys to throw them off – my wife, daughter and son.  

At every turn, inside and out, the ornate detail blew my mind. This was the greatest display of wealth I had ever witnessed. The story behind every piece was fascinating, each a tantalizing story in itself. The quest to build such a place was unreal. The folklore about Hearst, his guests, and how they interacted was interesting and at times comical. He would purposely seat two hot-heads with opposing political views across from each other at dinner and listen to their animated positions. Then he’d write about it as an editorial. If you were wearing out your welcome, you were seated at an extreme end of the massive table far from the most coveted chairs in the center of the conversation.  

It was certainly a tour that sent the mind into a dream-state, ending at the indoor pool which relaxed the soul just gazing at it. It was surrounded by what I can only refer to as a piece of art.  

The amount of money to keep the sprawling grounds, colorful gardens, tremendous interior and all that made up Hearst Castle as beautiful today as it was decades ago had to be a fortune. It was a visual and mindful treat to say the least!  

That night we casually strode a hillside walkway and watched the kids play on the beach as the sun dipped into the Pacific. When dark fell around us, we leaned back in chairs at a fireplace outside on the edge of California’s coast. Conversation filled the night air as did the smoke finding our faces despite an impromptu game of musical chairs. Eventually, we settled into comfortable positions and talked the night away until eyes drew heavy and voices soft, drifting into a silent dream-state entranced by the orange glow of what remained of the fire logs, stars, and a that hypnotic breeze.  

I could have slept the night away right there.

Days 9 &10 

My 9-year-old son had been wearing a black hoodie and sun glasses whenever he got chilled when we traveled the coast. It was reminiscent of that old wanted poster depicting the image of the infamous Unabomber. So when we waited for breakfast to be served at the restaurant table, he doodled onto the back of his paper place mat, sat back and held a random series of thick black numbers up to his chest holding a very straight face. It was hysterical so we snapped pictures or mug shots. I laughed even harder when I felt the confused or disapproving stares from strangers all around us. It was then that I remembered my parents favorite travel line – “It’s not like we’ll ever see these people again.” 

Maybe vacation was soaking in a little too much. Our worries were long gone, our mental health never better. We were gonna roll back up the coast in style.  

Our first stop wasn’t even a mile away – Elephant Seals. 

These oversized blobs of blubber attracted the attention and fascination of everyone walking the elevated walkway overlooking a portion of beach completely occupied by the giants. Think seals only ten times larger with trunk-like features. They didn’t have a care in the world either or so it seemed. They laid out baking in the sun, motionless, except for the occasional flipper of sand over their bodies. Something about the ocean breeze, sound of the waves and sight of the blubber on these monstrosities rippling when they repositioned themselves made me want to pull up a chair and stare for hours. It relaxed me. 

Or, to others, some things get old quick. 

Back on Highway 1 in the Big Sur, I saw a rare pull-off for gas and coffee. Mm-coffee sounded perfect right about now. It was early morning, cool ocean breeze, scenic drive – yep, all the ingredients for a perfect cup. I gassed the vehicle up and pulled into a parking space, leaving the family for what I thought would be a quick transaction. Four Italian tourists popped up and formed a line when I was only 10 paces away. I hate when that happens! Then the entertainment kicked in.  

The Big Sur is renowned for hippies. Somehow this one got a job as a barista. He took his good ole time with each and every cup. Slow was an understatement.  

“…And then the towers of Babylon …they’ll come for you … (babble) …Babylon,” and many other non-coherent utterances were expressed with great passion by our preachy barista.  

My gaze met that of a couple of the Italians in front of me and for a moment we spoke fluent non-verbal.

I’m afraid to know what was in my coffee, but it was a great cup. Driving up the road, our sightseeing included a couple of other hippies that were far gone! I don’t think words can describe the peculiarity.  

Again, tranquility seemed to be ruling the day. 

One of the best gems along Highway 1 in the Big Sur is Pfeiffer Beach. But it’s also one of the best kept secrets as far as marking its location. We passed it, asked directions at an information and backtracked. When we pulled in a narrow drive hardly marked with anything, a boy stopped us from continuing into the woods and down a hill wide enough for one vehicle although the traffic was two-way. He said we can’t go in. We’d have to wait for a car to leave. Great, we’ll wait. Not here he said. So we were kicked out. So, what was something I wanted to see now became something I had to do. 

In the meantime, we found another gem – the waterfall at Julia Pfeiffer Burns Park. After parking across the two-lane highway and walking a decent distance and through a tunnel we hit a slice of paradise. There it was – a lagoon with rocky barriers arching around a colorful turquoise and blue circle of water with a waterfall crashing onto the sand just beyond the ocean's reach from a cliff high above. Paintings, photographs, postcards, nothing can capture the true artistry nature carved out here. It was right to keep us tourists on top of the far cliff overseeing it. But man did I want down there something bad. We walked the cliff trail getting pictures from every angle. Then, we did as most and just pulled up a seat or leaned into the wood fence posts and just breathed that sight in deeply, repeatedly. Awesome! 

About the only thing that could have peeled me away was the thought of getting to Pfeiffer Beach. With my head clear, I had a full-proof plan.  

So we drove back and put on the hazard lights, pulled off to the opposite side of Highway 1. And waited! 

No sooner than a car pulled out of the little drive tucked in the woods than we peeled out of the berm into and across the road right up side of the gatekeeper. We were waved through. The drive down the hill on dirt having to pull off into weeds to squeeze two cars by each other going in opposite directions only added to the secluded feel. Once we parked, we had to make a short walk to where we’d spend the better part of the day. Of course, we never planned for such a long stay but hey, we only needed to check into our airport hotel that night just to fly home in the morning. So we basked in the sun and waded into the cold water. The rock formations in and out of the water along the sandy beach made for unbeatable scenery. This was northern California coast at its best. A rock wall island before us had a natural window cut right into it by nature. Every now and then, the swell of water on the far side sent a wave bursting through to ours in dramatic fashion, filling the entire stony square. Playing on the beach here proved to be the highpoint of the day, maybe the trip, for the kids.  

But all good things must come to an end. Eventually, we had to leave. But with our grip on vacation loosening as we neared San Francisco to complete our loop around Northern California, we made one more spontaneous stop – Mission San Carlos Borroméo del Rio Carmelo known simply as Carmel Mission. This majestic Carmel Mission Basilica - one of California's most historic buildings – was built in 1771. They still conduct masses there. The grounds were a pleasure to stroll that evening as we marveled at the ancient look of the surviving architecture, the stone courtyards and colorful gardens. The day had turned to night and the theme of peace was still peace in the air.  

But when we got to our hotel, there was something else in the air all through our floor. A huge wedding was booked on this night at the airport hotel and the place was festive to say the least. But we were promised this floor didn’t have any partygoers. But it sure had some partiers, quiet as they were. I wouldn’t have cared except strong smells of pot smoke permeated even our room. On our way to dinner, I made the front desk aware and said if the smell is gone when we return, no worries.  

I went to bed with no worries. 

That changed when we landed to find our car the following night and discovered we had no idea where we parked.

By Frank Rocco Satullo