The Beach...

As soon as I arrived in Oakland, I caught the BART to San Fran and hopped in a rental car with Rexi, my 3 continent road dawg of the last decade. She had met some guy (often the beginning of her more colorful stories) who had rented a cabin by the sea. So we made our way over the bridge and out of the city on the treacherous and yet super beautiful winding roads that lead us through many the switch backs of green hills towards Stinson Beach. We arrived at the cabins shortly after sunset and hurried to unload all the gear and get the lantern going.

It was a beautiful site (which I won't name for fear of the angry Californians who are trying to keep it their secret) of about 10 cabins that you have to reserve 7 months in advance. Our cabin was called Whale Watcher and was the closest to the steep rocky cliffs that led to the ocean. The water crashed and banged in frothy white exhales outside the sweaty windows of the wooden cabin. There were no lights or plumbing, save for the 2 bathrooms up the hill...which while bereft of electricity boasted skylights and clean flush toilets.

I hadn't been camping since my teenage years, and it was strange to think of starting my city vacation in the wilderness, but it was a good strange. And Rexi's "guy" was nice, a well traveled, polite ex flight attendant, with enough camping gear to start a small REI. Rather than BBQ, we ate cold Safeway pizza and sugar snap peas while sipping Vodka cran mixed with Naked mango smoothies. It was nice to hear the water and to watch the night sky rise up from the sea.

The three of us bundled up in fuzzy pajama bottoms and layers of sweatshirts against the sudden Bay chill, and lay lengthwise across a picnic table remembering that stars actually still come out at night when you're not in the city. Rexi pointed out the constellations she could remember. And though I couldn't always figure out what she was pointing to, I did see a shooting star and I made a wish for an endless summer. Or really just to feel like this for a while...to have time for that extra glass of wine, to be able to relax with friends, not trying to go anywhere fast or thinking of the next agenda item. Summer is probably my truest form of meditation, a time when I don't feel like I'm in push or pull, I'm just chill and present and there is BBQ, time to sit in the sun, books to read, and mojitos to sip and everything is perpetually perfect...different everyday, but still perfect.

We talked into the night, telling old stories and remembering our various adventures. The "guy" built a decent fire in the woodstove. And I was passed out by the time the mouse showed up. The next morning Rexi and her guy got up to see the sunrise. I hadn't planned on getting up, but I did anyway and they were already gone, so I made my own way through the narrow pathway leading up the hill, surprising baby rabbits and being surprised by the California newts that skittered across my path. When I'd come to the end of that, no closer to anywhere specific, I traveled back down and made my way down a different path towards the beach trying my best not to think about the food chain. It's been so long since I've really been in nature, so long that I just kept thinking about snakes and all the other potentially scary animals that might be hiding in the bushes, until I finally just went back to the picnic table to sit and let the ocean clear my mind.

Then it was time to nap a bit and chill. Rexi's guy had this mini-burner that attached to a coffee cup. If Inspector Gadget ever made coffee, this is how he would do it. I watched him boil water and figure out ratios and interchange cups...it was kind of hypnotic, and we kept talking about hiking and actually doing something, but it was well past noon before we ventured any further than the bathroom and that was when I saw the snake. It was chilling on the porch, just a slither away from the crack in the door. We both looked at each other, each one wondering what the other would do, until eventually it lost intest in me and turned and slithered under the cabin.If I had been alone, I might have screamed or had some other embarrassing, but much more honest reaction, but Rexi and the guy were right behind me, so I kept it cool.

A beautiful green eyed 10 year old and her John Makenroe-look-alike-dad were passing by and saw the snake too. They seemed much more excited about it than any of us were and assured us it was harmless. The 10 year old told us about the starfish is the ponds down the other trail and the waterfalls by the beach, and this set our course for the afternoon. First when ventured over the bolders at the bottom of the trail, which led us to a rocky beach. We visited some child's forgotten lean-to, which was build from driftwood and reminded me of the treehouses Bonna and I used to make in the woods by the railroad tracks before I knew enough to be afraid of the animals that lived there. Someone had lined up 3 dead bird carcusses with white bleached bones and carved a WELCOME sign into driftwood using a sharp rock. We stumbled further down the beach past a trickling brook that might be a waterfall with more rain and climbed to the other side of a bolder where we startled a baby sea lion sunbathing on the rocks, and I was greeted by a second snake in my path...proof that what you think about really does manifest itself, whether you want it to or not. I've been trying to turn this focus towards winning the powerball, but to no avail as of yet.

It was a different and fun day. We did eventually make our way to the other beach where we saw red spiny starfish and skittering rock crabs. I collected tiny irridescent shells and purple rocks and thought about how much I missed out on because of my fears. I probably wouldn't have done any of those things alone. I had only made it to where the path dead-ended at the rock this morning, for fear that I would twist and ankle and be attacked by water snakes and no one would be around to make me brave. I sat in the sand and thought about that 10 year old, and the 10 year old I had been, not entirely fearless (I was smart), but so much less concerned about things I had no control over. I was much more willing to believe that everything would just work itself out...that I would be able to go camping without getting mauled by a bear or something. Where did all this fear come from? Is this just what happens when you get older? You're tall enough to see past the fun and adventure to the danger lurking in the bushes, the broken glass waiting to pierce through your sandal, the sand crab about to pinch your ass. Well I wasn't able to suspend all my hesitations, but I did managed to have a really good time and a surprisingly positive experience in nature.