My best girlfriend moved from the east coast to the west coast nearly 10 years ago. While I miss her, I am very lucky because, A) she picked Northern California and, B) is happy to play tour guide when I visit her. Recently, I learned about where to go outdoors in northern California.
Florida Meets California
I do not like traditional outdoor activities, such as camping. But, over the years, I have found outdoorsy-type things to enjoy. Read about that here. I do like easy hiking and nature walks, but I rarely do them because I live on the surface of the sun (a.k.a. Florida). The San Francisco Bay area is famous for its cool temperatures (relative to southern CA) and its unpredictable weather changes. September in Florida is still quite miserable, so I was very excited about cooler temps, fog, and actual long pants. Sadly, we brought our Florida weather with us to the west coast during a recent visit. There was a heat wave every day of our visit. At first, when I heard “heat wave” I thought, “Psst. I’m from Florida.” Mother Nature did not appreciate my ego and decided to kick my ass.
A famous travel guide once said that you shouldn’t let the fear of bad weather delay your activity plans. The bad weather might not happen, which means you worried for nothing. So, my friend rented a car with her significant other and the four of us spent Labor Day weekend trekking around the countryside of the Bay area.
On my three previous visits, I had only seen San Francisco proper, so now I can happily present to you a series of posts about towns all over northern CA.
Outdoors in Northern California: Mount Tamalpais
During the pandemic, my friend moved from San Francisco to Oakland. My husband and I stayed in Berkley when we visited. They picked us up in the White Knuckle Mobile (to be explained later) and we drove 90 minutes west in search of Mt. Tamalpais. For the record, they had not been there either and the GPS said there was a scenic route and a normal route, which was supposed to be faster. We all agreed without hesitation on the scenic route.
Big city folk don’t drive much. There is public transportation aplenty, so they don’t get much practice. Poor L. really got shafted when he volunteered to drive. First, we crawled along in traffic on Highway 580 crossing the bay. Mr. HomeFree and I were rewarded with a little peek at the infamous San Quentin, though. That was kinda cool in a weird Netflix special kind of way.
But I think L. would gladly have traded part two of our journey for traffic. We spent an hour, or maybe a decade, winding our way up a mountain road with no shoulders and no railing. It did have a plethora of curves, switchbacks, and dizzying cliffs. While we told stories about the houses we saw clinging to mountainsides in Puerto Rico and canyon sides in Arizona, L. gripped the wheel and soldiered on. In retrospect, I do not think our stories helped the situation. Cars came whizzing towards us and we hugged the right side all hoping the shoulderless road wouldn’t crumble at the edge. At one point, L. pulled over to stretch his hands. He’d been gripping the wheel for so long, they were sore.
When we finally arrived at the east peak visitors parking lot and paid our excessive $8.00, we all agreed to take the “less scenic” and simpler route back. A stone lookout tower perched on the highest peak kept watch over the valley. There were lots of trails to choose from, but we’d come a long way (psychologically) to get here, and we wanted the big payoff. The fire lookout was only a third of a mile. Personally, I thought, “Yes, it’s steep, but it’s such a short distance.” Famous last words.
In 97-degree heat that third of a mile climb nearly killed us all. Make no mistake, we were all dressed properly and had water with us, but when it is 97 degrees that just doesn’t matter. The trail was only wide enough for one person at a time to pass in most places. The red rocks should have functioned like stairs in spots, but they were so steep that my stubby legs couldn’t step up. L. and I locked wrists and he hoisted me up more than once.
The photos show me red-faced, drenched in sweat, and more exhausted than triumphant. Elevation 2,571 feet. Without the famous bay area fog, the views stretched out beneath us. We scanned an uncountable number of forest-laden peaks, azure and cerulean mountain lakes, and khaki slopes.
Outdoors in Northern California: Point Bonita Lighthouse
Recently, I wrote about my experience climbing a lighthouse in Florida. This story is not like that all. That was was scary and stressful. This was peaceful and restorative.
Who doesn’t love a view of the Pacific with their breakfast? The day after our white-knuckle adventure up Mt. Tamalpais, we stopped at La Farine bakery and bought pain au chocolat for breakfast (croissants with chocolate inside for the neaderthals reading this who are unfamiliar). For the record, these pastries beat the pants off of the ones we bought in NYC the following week. Our friends picked us up in the White Knuckle Mobile and we drove one hour to the Golden Gate National Recreation Area to see the “coolest frickin’ lighthouse ever.”
While the lighthouse itself is small, the experience did not disappoint. The lighthouse is only accessible by a trail that includes a steep slope, a short cave, and most importantly, a suspension footbridge. First thing in the morning, the heat hadn’t settled in yet and we were blessed with a clear day. Fueled up with chocolate croissants, we walked the trail and took a gazillion photos. The trail is not arduous, and most visitors will be able to manage it.
Point Bonita Lighthouse was completed in 1855 and was the third lighthouse built on the west coast. It was originally 300 feet above the ocean, but the famous fogs in the region often obscured its light. It was moved in 1877 to a lower cliff and builders added a small addition to the original building. (With all that information, you will surely win your next game of Trivial Pursuit).
On the morning we visited, park rangers had a telescope aimed at a huge grouping of seals (various breeds) sunning and fishing in the waters next to the lighthouse. Dozens of them lolled like stuffed animals in the morning sun.
In Conclusion
The lesson I have learned over the years is that no one should feel obligated to experience natures joys and renewing properties the same way as the next guy. If you don’t like camping, don’t camp. If you don’t like canoeing, don’t canoe. Currently, I enjoy nature walks. I hope as I do them more, I will get fitter and be able to graduate to something one can legitimately call “a hike.” As it stands, I call what I do “hiking,” but I suspect that is being generous. Going outdoors in northern California was a joyous change of pace. Deep blue oceans, khaki cliffs, and jagged mountains and red rocks were all new to me. Though next time I could gladly do without the heatwave and the white-knuckle drive, I still feel sure there will be a next time.
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