Project 1

I will try to keep this as straightforward as possible, but the reality of this little story is that it ~is~ a story. And a personal story to boot. While my own interest in such a thing might be fairly high, there is a reasonably good chance that anyone who wasn't required to read this, wouldn't. So I will try to keep this as light as possible, and hope that I can perhaps impart the smallest portion of feeling that a particular coastline gave to me.

*Background*

The summer of 2000 never promised to be an interesting one for me; no classes had to be taken, no job was needed to meet ends. Having been a student for way too many years, boredom was sure to set in after the first week of idleness. So when the opportunity came along to spend the summer in California, rent-free, I, of course, jumped at it. Thoughts of three months of constant sunshine, cool air, and non-stop nightlife (San Francisco) was enough to put aside any worries of what I would actually do for those three months.

Month one was fantastic. The sun did indeed shine endlessly; the air did indeed wisp about in almost erotically crisp waves; and the nightlife was indeed everything that one would come to expect from one of the largest cities in the country. For a month, these things were enough to sustain me, and looking back, it is rather impressive that they were able to do so for even this long. Needless to say, a week into the second month, the newness of things began to wear off. The weather was fantastic, yes, but it was fantastic every freakin' day! Monotony-breaking rain was far less frequent than I would have liked, and what little we had could hardly be considered even a light shower. Even the charm of the nightclubs rubbed off fairly quickly when, after several deafening evenings, I was reminded why I’d stopped going out in Austin.

So halfway into month two, the frustration of finding myself just as bored in the Bay Area as I was in Hill Country began to take its toll. Absolutely determined not to let my the underwhelming impression of San Francisco get the best of me, I began to explore the surrounding area. Tidal pools, redwood forests, millions of miles of coastline. All were at my disposal, and all were vastly more impressive than the overcrowded ant hill I was living in.

Of these, the first and last place I visited while in California was a small cove between San Francisco and Santa Cruz, just off of Route 1.

*Day 1 (of 2)*

The day I finally decided to break out of the dissatisfaction imposed by the looming months of little to do was that of June 12th. I had heard the obligatory stories of how beautiful the coastline of California is supposed to be. A quick glance at a map and Route 1 was easily identifiable as the way to go for a self-guided tour of coast, so off I went. Quite honestly, I was fully prepared not to be entertained by this trip. With me I had taken an assortment of books, a sketch pad, cd player and a digital camera, prepared to be let down by the exultations of peers and to find, at best, a nice patch of shaded grass to polish off a chapter or two. Or perhaps maybe I would come across an interesting bug to take a picture of. Indeed, the only thing keeping me from lugging my laptop along was the unfortunate lack of power outlets in nature.

After a quick stop to visit a friend in Santa Clara (about 40 miles east of Santa Cruz) I headed straight towards the coastline. The drive from Santa Clara to Santa Cruz was nothing short of incredible. Most of the roadway between the cities was single lane, lazily meandering over mountainous territory. Trees bracketing the road gave a pleasant scent, calming me and preparing me, gently scraping off the cynicism urban life had formed around me in a thick shell .

By the time I reached Route 1, my head was more clear than it had been in years. The hour long drive had pushed out my recent worries, inviting me into experiencing the present. There was no warning as I approached the coastline. No dimming of trees. No easing of rolling mountains into a flat, gentle slope. Nothing. When I finally hit it, should the road have not have existed as a guide, I probably would have been unable to stop myself before going of the edge into the water. As it was, however, the road gently turned north and passed over the crest of a foothill before the trees parted suddenly to reveal miles of coastline.

Astounded by the sheer vastness of the ocean, I drove north along Route 1, most of which was balanced on the edge of cliffside. Every once in a while, there would be a fissure in the land that would allow me to see the bases of the cliffs from the roadside, and at every one I would slow down as my head whipped around to watch the waves break and wash upon the shores. Never did I stop to get out, however, as I was completely entranced in the progression of the landscape beside me, which kept getting more and more beautiful. Finally, about 45 minutes up the coastline from Santa Cruz, the cliffs parted in such a way to reveal a cove tucked almost under the roadway. If I had not had turned my head just so at just the right moment, I would have easily have missed it. This time I had to stop.

Car safely pulled off to the side of the road, I cracked the door and was instantly assaulted with an almost frigid ocean air! Chills rippled across my skin and I involuntarily sucked in my breath, not from recoil, but pleasure. I sat a moment, eyes barely open, letting the air permeate me. The scent of the air swirled through my nose. I had heard that the saltiness of ocean air would be very strong, but I found it to be mild compared to my expectations, and greatly pleasurable. Even though I could not see them, I could smell the rocks of the cliffs below just as tangibly as the salt water, strong and musty, having existed there fighting with the waves for hundreds of years.

My skin and smell tantalized by the prospects of what lay waiting for me, I fully opened my eyes and got out of the car. This was privately owned land, and a small wooden fence, the door of which was long since broken off its hinge, protected it fruitlessly from people like me. I came across small a dip in the land with a railroad running through it. Standing in the middle of the tracks , I felt suddenly passive. I sat down and looked north. The rail extended out about 40 yards and then leaned quickly out of sight, folding itself into the land with a sudden turn. I am loath to make such cliché comparisons, but this scene felt like my life. Where I was standing was barren, for the most part, consisting of dirt and dry twigs. Up ahead it looks a bit lively, though, and the imagination is excited the possibilities that lay around the bend, unseen.

Passing this little snapshot of life, I moved on to the coast which enticed me. The schism that had initially attracted my attention was far larger than it had appeared to be from the road above. Approaching the edge of it, I saw that this cove took up probably a full quarter of a mile of the coastline. Along the edges , life teemed. Wildflowers poured over the ground, spilling over the edges of the cliff tops. Gulls screamed at one another, searching for food. Various insect life chirped and cackled at me as my feet disturbed their activity. From my position, I could no longer see the road. I could no longer hear the racing of cars or smell the dank grit of the pollution they made. This natural world around me felt… real! It felt purposeful and substantial in a way that is elusive in manmade surroundings. Wonder pulled my lips into a smile.

Thus contented, I descended the cliffside. I slipped on occasion, but avoided breaking any bones. Upon reaching the bottom I instantly felt smaller than I ever had before from the cliffsides towering on either side. Out in the ocean, a single rock structure formed a jagged claw which rose even higher than the cliffs did. All the while I stood absorbing this, the waves lapped gently at the rock fingers projecting out into the waters, gently wearing them away. For some reason, standing there seeing all this was overpowering. The water's gentle mesmerizing lull beckoned me to enter it, even though I knew there was an awful undertow connected to it. The walls bracketing me on either side suddenly did not seem like calming testaments to strength, but rather imposing skyscrapers of pressure. All too quickly, this calm cove that enticed me had taken on a menacing spirit. I stood there for a moment, dazzled and disconcerted. Then, emotionally riveted and disturbed, I left.

*Day 2 (of 2)*

About a month and a half passed before I made my second visit to the cove. During this time, I had been exploring some of the other natural opportunities of the Bay area. These experiences were calm and passive, in an enjoyable but somewhat unchallenging manner. My cove had remained on my mind for the entire time, and as I was due to return to Texas within the week, I was determined to revisit it.

This time I made none of the preparations that I had before, taking nothing extraneous with me but a journal, bottle of water and a towel. The water I needed to stay hydrated, as I intended to spend several hours in the cove writing, and the towel I took because I had decided to answer the challenge of the water, and enter it. I was excited.

Driving back, I worried that I would have trouble finding the cove again. There were literally dozens of similar areas of the coast all along Route 1, and twice in my eagerness to experience the torrential flood of emotions did I pull off the road thinking I had reached my destination. Almost immediately after getting back on the road after my second mistake, I saw it. Even from the road I wondered how I could possibly have mistaken any other fissure for this particular one, and simultaneously wondered how so many people could pass it every day without being locked into its magnetic pull. I parked my car, grabbed my journal and water and flew past the tracks and down the cliffs, remembering every step of the way without a single slip. I stood in the same place I had 6 weeks ago and wondered how I had been so intimidated. It all radiated. Strength. Power. LIFE! These things coursed and flowed in such an awesome tide that I exhaled with a small whimper, and was immediately embarrassed with myself for doing so.

But then I smiled. It was one of those wicked, impure grins that you can only get in a moment of whole egoism. The waves were enormous today, the cliffs were screaming in exertion of their power, and the sun was blinding in its brilliance. But none of it was frightening me in the least. Instead, I felt every bit as if I were resonating in time to the ripples of energy in all of these things. It felt like -my- power.

After that moment of sheer exultation, I calmed down a bit and chuckled to myself. Maybe it is not my power, but it is all connected, to each other and to me, and to every other thing in the world. It was not threatening; it was not bowing to my will. It simply was.

I sat down in the sand within reach of the waves, as I promised myself I'd do. It was not the wade into the waters which I'd hoped for, but seeing the height of the waves, I knew that the undercurrent would be very strong. Even as I sat so far out that the waves only touched me long after breaking, the water still tugged at me quite hard. I sat there for hours, feeling the cold water wash over my shins. As the tide came in, it began to reach my chest, and the strength of the backflow increased. It was addictive, this pull. My thoughts during this time were unified and scrambled all at once. The past month and a half of small explorations in nature culminated in this one moment, in my private cove. I could not settle my thoughts enough to write in my journal then, and even now I wonder if I could ever accurately convey what it felt like to sit there that day with those great cliffs protecting me while an endless ocean tugged on my entire self with such a powerful gentleness.