RETIREMENT TRIP #7

Cruising Along the Lost Coast

                                                              “There isn’t a drop of dew on anything this morning,” said Andy, when he poked his head out the motel door in Fortuna at 6:45 a.m.  There isn’t even any moisture on the windshield, so it didn’t cool down enough to condense.”

Yet the cloud cover socked in the sky.  It wasn’t fog, just a thick layer of low clouds.

The motel manager confirmed the dryness.  “It’s getting worse,” she said.  “We haven’t had rain in months.”  Even the Eel River was almost dried to puddles.

Andy logged on to confirm a motel reservation.  “Wait a second,” he said in surprise.  “All the rates are different from last night.”

“Maybe it’s seasonal,” I suggested.  “Today is the first day of fall.”

Sure enough!  Everything had changed.  So if a person booked ahead, he paid a higher rate.  I think we’ll check our other reservations.

Today we’ll wind our way north along the Lost Coast, the most active seismic area of California.

The Mendocino Lighthouse at Shelter Cove
marks the southernmost
end of the Lost Coast of California.

“That’s good,” said Andy, “because lots of little quakes relieve pressure on the rock layers.”

We headed south on Route #101 and west toward Shelter Cove.

Temperatures were much cooler as we came over the King Range and drove down the steep, winding road into Shelter Cove.  This is the most remote corner of California, population 605.

“We’ve seen at least six abandoned cars since yesterday, both on the road to Shelter Cove and in Humboldt Redwoods State Park.  “They are probably stolen vehicles,” said Andy.

Shelter Cove honors Mario Machi
as founder of the ocean town.

A bronze statue of Mario Machi graced the parking area and town park at Shelter Cove.  The plaque said this gentle man and World War II veteran, who died in 1998, had founded the town.

Just offshore, pelicans prune themselves
on the rocks of Shelter Cove.

We walked around the old lighthouse.  Built in 1868, and placed at Cape Mendocino, it had been decommissioned in 1971.  The original location was a 400-foot cliff subject to earthquakes and landslides.   Hence, the low, squat shape designed to withstand the elements.  It was taken apart piece by piece and bolt by bolt for renovation and relocation here at Shelter Cove.

A vocal male seal announces his
ownership of the rocks off the coast.

A colony of seals lived at Seal Cove.  A few of them posed for us as the tide started to come in.  The dominant male barked commands, alternatively lifting his head and flipping his tail.  His female companions ignored the noise.

At Abalone Point more seals reclined on the rocks, and one cruised around in the quiet cove.  The tide was coming in, and seagulls on the nearby rocks didn’t much like the waves occasionally breaking over them.  They flapped their wings in irritation.

What a beautiful and remote corner of the world!

Seals recline on the rocks at Seal Cove.

An informative sign said that peace-loving Indians lived here before the late 1800’s off the bounties of the sea.  The Sinkyones were nearly exterminated by European explorers and settlers, probably by exposure to disease.  When European travelers traded for furs--and for fish and fresh vegetables to relieve illnesses like scurvy that plagued sailing crews--they unwittingly exposed Indian populations to European diseases like influenza and smallpox.  There are various theories about how smallpox was introduced to the Northwest coast, but most historians agree that this deadly disease first began to ravage Indian populations in the region between the mid-1770's and early 1780's.  Because Native peoples had never been introduced to the disease, they had no natural immunity, and a virgin-soil epidemic ensued.  In combination with other diseases such as influenza and malaria, smallpox wiped out roughly 65% to 95% of Northwestern Indian populations by 1840. 

Waves crash at Abalone Point where mountains roll
right down to the Pacific Ocean shoreline.

 The road through the King Range National Conservation Area wound and twisted along the sides of the mountains for 20 miles.  It took us 20 minutes to drive six miles—no stops.

“Any protected areas are Bureau of Land Management,” said Andy.  “Even the Forest Service didn’t want it.  But it’s beautiful country.”

Alternate slopes of pines and grasslands mark the King Range.

Some of the peaks average 100 inches of rain a year.  None for us though.  It was very dry with fire danger extreme.

Unpaved driveways suggested people do live tucked away back among the trees.  We took Ettelsburg Road to Wilder Ridge Road, both hardly more than a one-lane trail—no guard rails, no signs and a couple thousand feet in elevation.  Eight miles beyond Ettelsburg, we realized we had driven through Ettelsburg without knowing it.  There were four mailboxes together.

Honeydew hasn't changed much in the six years
since our last visit to the region.

Honeydew hadn’t changed much.  About ten spaced-out young folks sat outside the single store, smoking and chatting.  The price of gas had come down--$3.49 instead of the $4.99 we had paid six years ago.  Four cars were parked by the school, so four teachers probably taught eight grades.

”Take our picture too,” insisted a spaced-out girl, pulling her black lab around and making him sit.

It was sad to see lives seemingly wasted.

Steep curves in the road had washed out on either side of Honeydew.  The gravel road had been graded but not paved.

Grazing land seems lush and rich,
but we are surprised to see zebras
grazing in the field.

Twice mother deer crossed our path with their young.   Here fall was definitely in the air.  Leaves fluttered down and lined the roadside, and hardwoods dotted the hillside with yellow.

Being a kid here must be tough:  tiny schools, few sports, no outlets.  The road signs are all shot up with holes, and abandoned cars are spray painted.
The town of Petrolia marks the site of California’s first oil well, drilled in 1865.  The first shipment of crude was sent to a refinery in San Francisco.



Hardly African savannah, the high fields of King Range
apparently make perfect grazing ground for zebras.

“I think there is money down in the valley,” said Andy.  “This looks like good grazing land.”  The fields of natural grass had not been overgrazed. Just then we rounded a bend in the road and discovered zebras grazing.  They never even looked up when I got out of the car to take pictures.

At Russell Chambers Memorial Bridge, the cows grazed right on the beach.

“Supposedly, the coast here shifted about 12 feet during the last earthquake,” said Andy. 

A hawk takes off from a fence post as we drive along.

A hawk, perched right by the road on a fence post, took off as we drove by. The coastline beach totally undeveloped, spread before us.  The grass-covered mountains rolled right down to accessible beach.

Privately-owned ranches skirting the mountainsides
roll undeveloped right down to the water's edge.

“Someone owns all this,” said Andy, “and only cows are appreciating it.  It would be a shame if it were developed.”

We stopped right on the water for pictures.  Dark clouds hung over the mountain, and the chilly wind whipped the water.  But the views were stupendous.  The water looked murky close to shore.

“That’s because of the drop in the coastline maybe,” I suggested.

“I don’t know,” admitted Andy. “It’s been lots of years since I read about it.”

The beach extends about 12 feet below
the roadway along this section of coast.

We stopped at a small pull-out.  The coastline was about 12 feet above a beach, and huge boulders down below us lined the edge.  Someone was protecting the land here.
We climbed down to the unnamed beach.  Thirty m.p.h.sustained winds gusted and swept around us.  Climbing back up was an effort.

King Range peaks roll to the sea along the Lost Coast.

Up on top of the world, some dark clouds moved in.  High chaparral, I called it, where mountainsides of grass meet the sea.

Flowers of all kinds bloom
along the river walk in
downtown Fortuna.

Every turn and twist in the rutted, lumpy, pot-holed road gave us a different view of this spectacular, lonely country.

This was our last day on the coast and the
                                                                                                     mountains were making their own weather.  They might even make some rain.  But it was only a maybe by the time we got back to Fortuna.