There is a road along the Big Sur coast now, but also much that Jaime de Angulo would recognize. Big Sur has a way of perpetually remaking itself yet retaining its essence. The fog repaints the Pacific, the ocean keeps carving the land, and the land changes from gold to green with the arrival of the rains. Beautiful as it is to look at, I'm not sure any landscape smells as good as Big Sur either. We stop at a canyon, where the first rains have unleashed the oils in the sage, which join the pine spice of redwoods and the salt air of the ocean into a fragrance that should be bottled as Eau de Sur.
I'd like to claim that, inspired by Jaime de Angulo's story, we decided to camp alongside a creek with only the redwoods and stars above us. But instead we semi-rough it at Treebones Resort, where we stay in a yurt ― complete with electricity and a hardwood floor ― that overlooks the ocean at the southern end of Big Sur. The yurt's insulated canvas walls and wooden lattice supports rise to a roof, where a round skylight offers views of the night sky. Becky sleeps soundly, lulled by the rhythmic crashing of the waves, but I wake up frequently to watch the passage of the stars across our private galactic porthole.
1 Day, 65 Miles
Big Sur to Hearst Castle
William Randolph Hearst wasn't satisfied with just gazing out on the universe. He wanted to own it too.
We drop down from the cliffs of Big Sur to the more open coastline of Point Piedras Blancas and San Simeon.
La Cuesta Encantada, better known as Hearst Castle, is the California dream writ large: a Mediterranean fantasy, created by the great Berkeley architect Julia Morgan, where Hollywood stars and the San Francisco elite were brought together by perhaps the only man colossal enough to stand astride both worlds.
Near the wharf where much of the treasures used to build Hearst Castle came ashore, we stop at another San Simeon landmark. The Sebastian Store dates back to 1852, when the whaling industry thrived along this coast. It's now run by Neil Hansen and has been owned by his family since 1914, when his great-grandparents bought the store from the lighthouse keeper at Point Piedras Blancas. But Hansen's roots run even deeper: He's a sixth-generation Californian and can date his father's side of the family back to mission days.
Hansen spent his summers exploring the grottoes and caves along the coastline, surfing its waves, and playing in the forests on San Simeon Point. He left California to work in Florida before returning to renovate and run the store. It's no longer the nuts-and-bolts general store that it once was, and Becky browses through its CDs and gifts. But Hansen also points out the vintage equipment that the last of San Simeon's whaling captains gave to his grandfather, and the old postboxes see a steady stream of locals from up and down the coast. Just as it always has.
Hansen is clearly thrilled to reconnect both to his family's history and the place he considers home. "For people who are native Californians, it's good to go away for a year or two to see how the rest of the world functions," says Hansen. "But there's always a piece of California that calls you back."
Unlike Hansen, we're basically newcomers to California, but I think we've heard the call of this coast too. It's a call where many parts harmonize: the wind, the waves, the high cries of seabirds, and the low moans of elephant seals. You never know. One day our question may change from "What if?" to "Why not?" and this gorgeous coastline of ragged bluffs, sea stacks, and mountains could become home. Or maybe not. But there's certainly no harm in dreaming, right?
