On the Rocks

Although we faced the Pacific at Gualala Country Inn this morning, we watched a colorful sunrise as pink changed to shades of lavender and sky blue all around us. "It's going to be a beautiful day after all," said Andy.
Kruse Rhododendron Park, poorly marked off of California #1, could have been a lovely hike among redwoods. We took the short loop, but Andy really wanted to do a longer stretch. A sound from one thicket, half grunt-half growl, made me glad we weren't going farther.
"Could that be a bear?" I asked Andy.
"No, I don't think so," he replied reassuringly. "More likely a bobcat or mountain lion."
"Oh, funny," I answered skeptically. There WAS an animal, probably a raccoon.
"I would have walked farther," he said, "but the map never suggested how far the trail extended."
Instead, he pulled into Stump Beach and headed for the water. An hour later we were still on Bluff Trail, partly tall grass bent by a few passersby on their way out to the point and partly blazed by Andy ahead of me.
"Hands down, the Oregon and California coasts are stupendous," said Andy, looking out to sea from the point, "and I'm really proud of you for chancing a trail so close to the edge of the cliff."
"Yeh," I answered, "it was either follow or get left behind."
"I've never left you yet, but there are times I've thought about it!" he said.
"Funny!"
Another hour lapsed at Stillwater Cove Regional Park. "Give me your hand," Andy yelled from on top of the jut of rock overhanging the sea wall. You have to come out here and get a picture. It's rock. It isn't going to fall off."
"No, I can't do it," I said, reaching out my hand anyway.
He was right. Stillwater Cove was anything but still. Waves crashed against rock cliff with powerful magnificence.
Blind Beach State Park would take hours to explore. We watched a red shouldered hawk glide above Kortum Trail and a deer graze on the hillside near Goat Rock. A one-lane road across the cliff face led to a man-made groin connecting the sea wall and a very large sea stack. Across the groin, waves crashed furiously. Signs everywhere warned of sleeper waves, riptides and dangerous currents. And then a few raindrops chased us back to Little Red.
We had lunch at Schoolhouse Beach pullout in Bodega Bay, site of the filming of Alfred Hitchcock's thriller The Birds. As we munched our granola bars, a seagull landed next to Andy's door. Rain dripping from its beak, it squawked at us. No sooner had it made some noise than a couple others landed by my side of the car. They watched us eat. We were ready for a remake of the horror classic.
At Coleman Beach a surfer adjusted his wet suit, stretched, grabbed his board and headed down over the edge of an area marked "Closed. Do Not Enter." We saw him paddle out into the surf and then disappear back toward the beach beneath us.
"Maybe it's too rough," said Andy. "In all the time we've been out here, I've never seen any semblance of calm. It's also starting to drizzle."
"I doubt a little water would bother a surfer," I said.
A little farther south, the vegetation changed. Tall sea grass stalks with feathery tops, like tan ostrich plumes, bent in the wind, and bushes laden with bright yellow flowers covered the hillsides. We learned later the bushes were probably "broom," an invasive exotic from France that the locals are trying to eradicate. At some pullouts succulents covered the ground. Around the gulches cypress and eucalyptus trees shaped by the wind leaned away from the water because of the onshore breezes. With a slightly milder climate, Inverness and Point Reyes would be our base for a couple days before we headed to the big city.