In the Zone

Today, a national holiday, is so clear we can see the Farallones Island some 30 miles out to sea. "The whales have no privacy," I told Andy as we drove toward Limantour Estero and Limantour Beach. The Limantour slip of land pokes a narrow finger into the bay for a mile, parallel to mainland Marin County.
To our left, we heard waves thunder along the beach, hidden from view by grass-covered dunes.
To our right, the estero, peaceful at first glance, teemed with activity. A covey of quail skittered along the path ahead of us and disappeared under a thicket of coyote bushes. Small flies buzzed en mass around a pickleweed. Maybe a dog had been there. Puddles filled depressions in the clay along the foot-wide trail. Paw prints indicated raccoons. We followed the trail back and forth as it threaded between tall grasses and coyote bush. In the salt marsh pond to our right, hundreds of ducks gathered, gliding slowly in ever-changing formation across the surface. Andy spotted a white egret and a great blue heron in the mud flats. We followed the estuary trail until it disappeared in taller grass near the mouth and the clay path turned to loose sand.

Then Andy picked his way left between plants to the top of the dune. There, 20 feet above the beach, I closed my eyes. Like a child in an electrical storm, I counted seconds as the whoosh grew louder... about 12 counts from one clap to the next as the surf thundered in. White line after white line, the waves broke and churned out from shore. Sand stretched miles, as we looped back a mile toward the main trail.
Pacific golden plovers scurried across the sand; one ducked into a pile of drying seaweed when I aimed the camera. The tide was out, and the three-toed footprints of western sandpipers crisscrossed the beach everywhere. Drying jellyfish, a few with tentacles splayed, and fiddler crab skeletons littered the waterfront.

"This is a stay-forever kind of place," I told Andy as we left. Another couple pulled into the parking lot.

"It's all yours," he said to them. "We left it just for you."

"The sign said that the town of Bolinas didn't want to be found," explained Andy as we bumped down Olema-Bolinas Road, the main street in town. "I read that people keep stealing the highway signs so tourists won't find the town." Time forgot the three-block fishing village of the 1800's, and gas started at $4.09.9 a gallon.

Palomarin Trailhead took us to a totally different kind of beach at the southernmost end of the seashore park. Flowers--gold California poppy, purple milk thistle, non-native lavender flax, red clematis, and tiny yellow and white blossoms that I couldn't identify--lined the trail. The ranger later insisted the blooms were not possible in the fall. A sign said, "Cougar habitat." Half a mile down the hill, the thicket opened on a "pebble" beach... millions of softball-size stones, tumbled smooth by the waves. We found oyster, clam and purple sea urchin shells and watched a lone surfer challenge the crests.

Tomales Bay Trail passed through cow pasture from the highlands of Point Reyes out to the bay. We unchained and re-chained four gates each way and discomfited more than one beef cow.

"I'm intrigued by the San Andreas Fault Walk," I mentioned, as Andy looked for our next hike on the trail guide.
"Okay," he agreed. "It's only a mile, and you can check in the Visitor Center about the flowers."

Olema Marsh Trail, a quarter mile, took us to a dried-out prairie.
Then Andy headed to Mount Vision.

"Even the trees have disappeared up here," he said, as we drove to the peak. The road was closed a mile from the top, probably because of a U.S. government installation. We walked the mile or so uphill on the pavement. Rabbits hopped out from under coyote bush, and a mole poked his head up as we passed.

"Look at the fog way down in the valley!" Andy pointed. "We were out on that point this morning, and it was as clear as could be. That's a good example of weather here... fog comes in when the land is warmer than the water."

Before the sun went down, we watched the fog creep inward on November 11 with temperatures in the 70's. It truly was a holiday treat.