Pigeon Point Lighthouse

We took California State Route 1 north out of Santa Cruz, hoping to spend the next hour and a half marveling at the beautiful coastline as we made our way to San Francisco. It was perfectly clear in Santa Cruz; but just a few miles up, the wall of fog suddenly hit, and only occasionally (and barely) thinned out. The road was already quiet, but the fog seemed to silence it.

We pulled off at a few points to stand on the edge of the continent and look out into nothingness. It was like being in the Truman Show. We knew there was something beyond our border (we could even hear the ocean and the occasional rustling plant), but we would never see it. Dinosaur Point's silence had been incongruous; it didn't make sense that there would be no noise, since everything was so bright and there was so much to see. But along this quiet road, in this enveloping fog, it seemed like there was nothing else.


Two bikers passed us on the road and almost immediately disappeared into the white. When we saw a sign for a pulloff, we took it, looking for as many opportunities as possible to surround ourselves in this expanse. The turn took us to the Pigeon Point Lighthouse and Hostel, where the two bikers were booking beds at the office. The hostel is actually several small buildings, all with views of the cliff and water (well, "view" is relative), and all in a bit of a rustic state.


There was a short walkway out onto one of the cliffs. Someone had already carved this into the railing, so I didn't have to.


Birds. Barely.


It's hard to see their shape, but we first noticed these plants in Santa Cruz, and then saw them everywhere we stopped along the coast. They look like little wedged french fries, but much more beautiful and probably a lot less tasty.