Signed and Sealed

"The Pinnacles are getting clobbered this morning," said Andy, as we drove south on Route #101. We couldn't even see mountains to our left, because they were so buried in storm. White clouds covered the ridge line of the coastal range to our right, but a band over Route #101 stretched bright blue. "I see white on the coastal peaks," said Andy. He glanced to the right as he drove.
"Don't look, but it's not patches this morning," I said. "The entire tops are white. I heard on the weather channel that snow could fall as low as 1,500 feet. Apparently it did."
Masses at Mission San Miguel Archangel on Sunday included English at 7 a.m. and 11 a.m. and Spanish at 6 p.m., perfect for our 9:30 a.m. tour of the chapel and grounds. Pigeons, perched along the top of the Spanish tile roof, cooed softly as we walked through the churchyard cemetery, where it is believed the first Christianized Indian was buried. The mission, built in 1797, is being stabilized and preserved but not restored. Inside, an older man showed the altar to a group of 6-7 year olds. He explained, "All the paintings are real oils, but there are no artist names on them. We wondered where they came from, so we did some studying. It turns out they were painted by art students in Mexico City, and because the painters were only students, they were not allowed to sign the works." Agave thrived in the courtyard outside, and a wooden olive press indicated one probable crop harvested in earlier years. We chuckled about the sign near our car: "There is a tree behind you, and it will not move for you."
"Today we'll drive Big Sur north to Lucia, where we left off a few days ago," said Andy. "It's clear here now, so we better take advantage of the sun, in spite of the 25 m.p.h. wind."

Our timing at Elephant Seal Cove was perfect. Volunteers stationed along the boardwalk explained the phenomenon and young elephant seals basked on the beach below us. "They will all be leaving in the next day or two," explained Guide Phil to a group of marveling tourists. "These are young males and immature females. That one big guy, probably 4,000 pounds, is a little early, but the rest of the mature males will arrive in December to begin the mating rituals. Females won't mate until about a week or two after they stop nursing their current pups. Then they come ashore. The males fight for dominance to mate with 10 to 50 females." He pointed to two males jostling below us.
"They are practicing for seasons to come, when mating takes precedence over eating for up to three months. These guys are little. They will only fast on the beach about a month. Then they go out to the 3,000-foot depth to feast on squid." We watched and listened in amazement.

"How would you describe that crazy sound they make?" I asked Andy. "The sign calls it a bellow, but it is more like a loud bloooooop."

"I think it sounds like a badly clogged drain or the flap on a swimming pool filter as it laps up and down," he answered.

He should be the writer.

Red winged blackbirds perched on a coyote bush as we headed back to the car.

Route #1 south of Lucia winds even more than the stretch north of town. Some hairpin turns reduced speed to 15 m.p.h. "The Santa Lucia Range seems steeper too," said Andy. The road cut into the side of hills that dropped right into the ocean.
Storm clouds moved in at Willow Creek pullout just north of Gorda, but around the bend the skies were clear. Another half mile up the road and around another bend, a band of billowing white stretched across the horizon from the ocean on our left high up over the rounded Santa Lucia peaks of Los Padres National Forest on our right. We drove as far as Limekiln Creek Bridge, just south of Lucia, where road crews shored up the highway and traffic was reduced to a single lane. Then we turned back south toward Cambria.
Sand Dollars Beach had no sand dollars, but we shot 33 spectacular photographs. Millions of rounded stones lined the tidal edge, but the tide was just turning, exposing acres of sand. Waves shot up between boulders and sea stacks, and clouds created ever-changing shadows as the sun settled lower and lower. "We certainly have a beautiful country," said Andy, as we took one last look from the landing before our climb. It was 79 stairs and then a 125-foot assent to the top. That was enough for today!