Turning shoreward we ran quartering to the wind and rough sea, shipping some water and our boats tossing quite at the mercy of the sea, it looked tome almost a miracle if we did not capsize before we would make a landing. Where within a quarter of a mile of the beach we began scrutinizing the shore for a landing. Directly in front of us we could see a large rock which was almost submerged at intervals by the breakers, this ` sight was not inviting in the least, for it foretold an angry surf which is always more or less dangerous, and called for expert handling of a boat to beach it successfully. On the right of the rock we could make out a long sandy beach, but we knew that on this beach it would be out of the question to try for a landing, as the breakers were breaking far out in several parallel lines a white churning never ending roaring and boiling sea of foam.
To the left of the sentinel rock we could discern what looked like a quite favorable nook, between the large rock and a headland, it also being the end of the beach. From the rock to the point of the headland was some 200 feet wide with a strip of sandy beach. On drifting inshore cautiously we finally picked this place as the only possible chance for getting ashore in anything like safety. The rock which stood about 150 ft. from the sand or water edge afforded a sort of a bulk—head and quieter for the angry surf making it a beautiful landing in ordinary weather. The little boat go away [went] first for a landing and slid in on the sand without a shock. The next one rode in safely and with four men on shore now to assist with the large boat we at last was safe and sound ashore.
Built in some what of a limited space the sand proved to be only some 30 ft. wide and not over twice or three times as long owing to a ledge of rock butting into the water and our only escape from our narrow location was when the tide would recede far enough making it possible for us to run I around the point of the ledge which [would] lead us on to the larger beach of sand. In the opposite direction, as I said before, we were completely shut in by the high and rocky headland. I immediately behind us rose the bluff or plateau, forty foot perpendicular without any chance whatever to scale it. Heaped up against the bank was tons of dry sea grass and kelp, but wood was scarce and such as there was did not satisfy our demands, any means.
After unloading our boats and placing them as high up on the rocks against the bank as we could hoist them we again loaded them with our outfit, all but the cooking utensils and bedding.
A camp fire is no easy task to light in a strong wind with beach wood for your only fuel and it mostly soaked with salt water, but we having had forethought enough to start with a large slab of pitch – we dug it up and it proved a valuable assest [asset] many times over, it was noticeable that the wind was going down, it being well along toward evening and as a rule it nearly always died out at this time unless a storm is brewing.
Our beds came next, and in our cramped position, there was barely room to spread them down. Many rocks was removed and replaced by dry sea weed before we were satisfied with anything like a comfortable bed.
Two of the boys, while looking over the ground for a suitable bed location, found that the ledge of rock that barred our escape, had a tunnel through it near the bluff and was full of sea weed, dry and light. They insisted on the rest of boys to make down our beds with them, saying there was plenty of room and that we could get out on to the open beach beyond, if necessary, this was good news, as the beach below was covered with an abundance of drift-wood and if we were compelled to spend any length of time here, we would be handicapped for wood, so now our situation looked brighter.
Having already prepared our beds with considerable labor, we concluded to stay where we were, but might decide to all sleep in the tunnel later on, if we had to spend any more nights in the cove.
I must speak of one thing that gave us several hours of unrest before they subsided, and that was the beach flies; when the boys who had decided to sleep in the tunnel began to gather sea-weed they stirred up millions of beach flies and they swarmed over us, crawling and biting. As one of the boys said, ‘like dogs,’ and so they did. Of all the tormenting insects of the fly specie, these were the worst. I never in all our sleeping on the beach saw any place to compare with it. Darkness did not seem to settle them, they continued to crawl and bite far into the night.
When we landed in the cove it was about half tide going out and low tide at sundown with a full moon, a beautiful moon now as the wind had almost ceased, the sea still running modestly high, but with a smooth glassy swell, glistening like silver in the white glare of the moon. A lovely lonesome picture it made. Standing on the beach at night under a full moon in perfect weather has the effect of producing a series of thoughts, that the spirit of man has lived before in a remote past, you feel that somehow you have loved it in the long long ago; that it is part of you now always has been and always will be. “God must be near at hand.” The same several mysterious feeling brings you to the same quietness of mind and peaceful longing for that something, you know not what, except that you feel, oh so insignificant, being at the sea side or on a great high mountain where the view is unobstructed, is the same.
My wandering mind out in this glorious night, as if lost from this earthly realism, would be suddently [suddenly] brought back to earth by those pesky flies, “oh those flies.”
We had just dropped off to sleep somewhere about midnight, I think.
Big Sur…NEXT