The Beauty of Big Sur

*All images by Ana Bachmanova

Over the course of my lifetime, I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to some extremely beautiful and awe-inspiring places in the world—imposing ancient castles in Japan, mystical cliffside temples in Bali, breathtaking waterfalls in the Costa Rican jungle, and enchanting green valleys in Kauai, just to name a few. It wasn’t until last week on a road trip with my girlfriend Ana, however, that I was reminded just how close I live to a destination that rivals any of those magical locales, Big Sur.

It’s true that Santa Cruz, with all of it’s distinct natural beauty and quirky charm ain’t all that bad itself, but the relatively untouched, wild, pristine, and serene essence of our southerly neighbor has a vibe that’s truly hard to match. From the majestic redwoods, rugged cliffs, prime camping grounds, gorgeous beaches, and abundant wildlife, Big Sur has something for every lover of the outdoors. 

Despite both of us having relatively flexible schedules, we hadn’t had the opportunity to embark on any substantial adventure other than a few day trips hunting surf up the coast. So, when we were both able to find a gap in our schedules, we jumped on the opportunity for a proper road trip.

Ana’s a real outdoorsy kinda gal and routinely makes the pilgrimage south down to Big Sur, but for myself, it had been over fifteen years since I’d visited that stretch of coast. I had many fond memories of camping at places such as Pfeiffer as a kid, so I was thrilled when she told me she’d secured two nights at the Plaskett and Kirk Creek campgrounds. With Highway 1 still closed due to landslides, our only way in would have to be from the south, which meant a longer trek, past Paso Robles and across Highway 46, then back up north from Cambria. We were both down for the adventure, so off we went after securing some necessities at Trader Joes and filling up the gas tank.

The drive south was pleasant, with seasonably warm late-summer temperatures was cooking us as we enjoyed the comfort of the modern marvel known as air conditioning. Once we emerged from the gauntlet of quaint wineries on Highway 46 and began cresting the rolling hills outside Cambria however, we were met with a dense wall of marine layer fog that made our hearts sink. The weather report had called for clear skies, so we did our best to not let this unforeseen development alter our stoke, but it was surely a blow to such a pair of staunch sun-worshippers.

Despite the lack of visibility, I was extremely occupied taking in the sites as we drove out of Cambria and into Southern Big Sur. I’d never been on that stretch of coast before, so every curve we bended and hill we climbed offered me gorgeous new vistas and perspectives to enjoy. It wasn’t long until we’d made it to Willow Creek, where we decided to pull over and check out the surf at the popular break. As we got out, we noticed a few large birds gliding through the air. Minutes before, amateur bird spotter Ana had just been talking about her desire to see a Condor, and after identifying the first two sizable birds we saw as Turkey Vultures, she squealed in joy as an even bigger one swooped towards us. 

“Oh my gosh! A condor!” she exclaimed as she scrambled to point her phone at the majestic carrion eater as it flew by, missing us by only a dozen feet at most. Seeing an animal that big fly with such grace and regality that close was truly something else. That brief encounter lifted any bad juju induced by the foggy skies and we spent the rest of the drive northwards in a state of unshakable optimism.

When we arrived at the Plaskett Creek campsite, a 50 something year old  Camp Host greeted us with dorky, yet lovable enthusiasm, a la Ned Flanders. “Welcome campers!” he said merrily. “There’s hardly anyone here, so it’s nice and quiet. And, the sun’s coming out!” He motioned towards the mountains, where, sure enough, the bright sun had burned through the seemingly impenetrable fog. He looked at the surfboards in Ana’s Rav4 and added, “And the waves are really curlin’! I haven’t been down there myself, but there’s a few other surfers in the camp site and they told me there’s some nice curls down there!” 

“What a dork!” I said to Ana as we left our new friend to find our campsite. She gave me the evil eye. “What a sweet dork,” she responded with a hint of feigned animosity.

Our campsite was comprised of a picnic table and a fire pit, along with a small BBQ grill, with only a small patch of uneven dirt to pitch our tent on. Despite the lack of real estate, it was perfect. We enjoyed the emergent sunlight as we pitched our tent and discussed our plans for the afternoon. We both agreed that a saltwater cleanse was in order after our journey, so when we finished up we jumped in our wetsuits and began the trek down to the ocean for a quick surf before the sun went down.

The Plaskett Creek campgrounds are directly across the street from Sand Dollar Beach, a picnic area with easy access down to the water’s edge. As we walked down the wooden staircase we were afforded a beautiful view of the dreamy turquoise water and fun looking, 3-4 foot surf. I looked at Ana and said, “He wasn’t bullshitting, it really is curling!” We both chuckled heartily, and soon enough, our feet met the soft sand underneath the steep bluff. 

The thing about Big Sur, is that despite being located hours south of Santa Cruz, the water temps are typically five degrees cooler. The chill was both refreshing and invigorating, reawakening the both of us after some long hours cooped up inside the car. There were about ten or so other surfers out there enjoying the playful surf, but spread out across the half mile length of beach, so there was plenty of space for everyone to get waves. I had a couple fun rides but Ana got the wave of the day, a hollow left hander that she rode gracefully on her yellow and pink four-fin fish. 

Surfing in Big Sur offers a unique experience. While in Santa Cruz you’re lucky to be able to see your feet under you as you sit on your board in between sets, at places like Sand Dollar you can see all the way to the bottom. Even though you’re bundled up in thick wetsuits, booties, and even hoods, this water clarity, and the vibrant blueness of the ocean makes one feel like they were surfing in a tropical paradise despite the chilly temperatures. The view back up towards the bluff and the green mountains beyond were spellbinding, as were the large, rocky outcroppings that surrounded us on either side. Taking it all in, I was a constant state of awe, a feeling that came to characterize my entire experience over those few days.

After we’d satiated our thirst for waves, we trudged back up the steep staircase and headed back to our campsite. The sun was beginning to go down, so we took a couple cold water bottle showers, peeled off our stinky wetsuits, and changed into our pajamas. Ana, ever the crafty cook, fried up some carrots, sweet potatoes, and cranberry venison sausage for us to devour that hit way better than they had the right to, coupled with a couple healthy glasses of wine. I was on fire duty and, after a few sketchy moments, kept my manhood intact by producing a healthy blaze. 

Without television, our phone, or our laptops, we fell back on those two age-old human nighttime entertainment options—staring at flames and gazing at the stars. And it was blissful. When we’d had enough we called it a night and entered our tent and cozy sleeping bags, eager to find some sweet slumber before our next adventure the following morning…hunting treasure at Jade Cove. As I laid my unruly-haired head back onto the pillow, I thought of all the natural beauty I’d laid my eyes on such a short amount of time, beauty rivaling anywhere else my extensive travels have taken me. Before I faded off, I smiled dopily to myself when I remember I had two more days to take in more.