DRIVING NORTH TO SEA RANCH
The next day we went of the grid...
After San Rafael, we went off the grid, or at least off the Freeways.
Photographs by Paul G Ryan and Max Kennedy
There are a few ways to get to the coast from San Rafael. I chose Lucas Valley Road. Not only for the cinematic relevance, and my son who’s named Lucas, but also as that road was where I pushed the edge of my motorcycle riding skills many years ago, winding my Triumph 500C through blind two lane curves across the green hills. Today, it was not quite as exciting in my Mazda SUV.
Occasional herds of bicycles, Pelotons I believe they’re called, crowded the lane. A problem, when the double yellow created no passing zone which was almost always. Seemed almost suicidal with abundance of potential road rage drivers
We stopped by the side of the road and would have enjoyed a wander across the green hills, “Protected..” but it’s looking at beauty behind a glass wall . Well intentioned preserv.ation, but preservation for who? I know its a complex question, but In Italy many agricultural lands are open for picnics an hiking.
The closer to the coast we got I could see the tree configurations shaped by the prevailing onshore winds, which I recalled, had informed Larry Halprin’s architecture of coastal Sea Ranch houses.
Future particle board by the side of the road.
We arrived at Point Reyes Station. The destination point for most of the bikers, or at least a coffee stop. The farmers market wasn’t happening, which was too bad as they usually have Mamie’s Seaweed Crunch…
When I think of moving from the city, it’s to places like Point Reyes that I imagine. A blend of interesting locals and city transients. My friend Michael Polaire, a very successful film producer from LA, transplanted himself here and still does well with excursions to distant locations. I’ve always had these unrealized dreams of rural places , but have always gravitated back to the urban.
North in the town of Marshall - the array of Oyster restaurants at the edge of Tomales Bay the bay - fried, grilled and on half shell. All serving Hog Island Oysters
Priscilla and I had eaten at Tony’s Seafood last year, and I commented that this might be as good as as a seafood spot as the south of France. It still was , though we wouldn’t have had the spirited verbal dual with our witty opinionated waitress as we did here, and probably not the 1961 Cadillac parked outside.
Max out-eats me with three oyster orders and fish and chips. He wants to swim in the bay.
I used to have a Cadillac…
The two lanes on Highway 1 become more convoluted and the construction zones more frequent. Occasional stretches of the road had dropped into the sea with the recent rains, leaving a narrow single lane at the edge of the ocean.
Even “Straight Line” Robert Moses wouldn’t have been able to run his parkways here.
The distant sea far below churns white, it’s silent from up here, but the wind rustles high in the coastal oak and redwood trees. This kind of cliff driving takes concentration, reminded by the occadsional brrrrp of serrated lane dividers. Max doesn’t mind my erratic driving he just wants to stop to swim.
Only small towns further along toward Sea Ranch: Bodega Bay, Jenner, Fort Ross, Timber Cove. More drive-by places that I wish I had time for. I hear there is good food.
The cliffs moderate into occasional plateaus of grass, with a few grazing sheep. This is probably where Larry Halprin felt that Sea Ranch could begin. We drive on to Gualala, the adjacent town. The lodging at SR is not yet completed.
We checked in to The Surf Inn - really a motel - at the mouth of the Gualala River where it slides into the sea. The town is the antithesis of the stylish Sea Ranch. But It’s nice to experience both sides of the American Economy.
Everyone says it’s way too cold to swim and there’s a serious undertow. That wouldn’t bother Max, but it was time for dinner.
Dinner at the Sea Ranch Lodge with Lu and Maynard Lyndon, who run the Lyndon Art Gallery and were curators of my recent photography exhibit, at the Lodge and the reason for our trip here, was good as expected. Kristina runs a gourmet restaurant. As always at the Ranch, there were unexpected meetings with new people, Evans Hankey and Brook Lane designers from San Francisco and a group from UC Berkeley studying the increasing dangers of coastal wildfires
Another chance occurrence, Rod Freebairn-Smith, an architect friend and his wife from San Francisco days, was visiting his son Sutton who has created a hillside home on Gualala Ridge and makes his living doing design and construction work locally
We explored a bit further north - the town of Point Arena which seemingly had escaped the tourist trade - a rough hewn fishing pier and general store that did have a very good espresso. The lighthouse was now a guest house.
A Native American father and his family from the Pomo tribe - on the pier.
Later Max grabbed the last of the Coca Cola and we left Sea Ranch and headed south towards Santa Monica, past the iconic Barbara Stauffacher Rams Head sign at the Sea Ranch lodge.
After many previous passings by, this time we stopped at Fort Ross. It was Russian hunters who sailed into this harbor some 250 years ago hunting sea otters and in an effort to develop their Eastern Frontier. It was maybe the last Russian American cooperative venture.
Sometimes when places are vacant, it’s easier to imagine those who were there many years, many centuries ago.
Here, today, Russia seemed very far away
Driving back always seems longer that the approach.
But Max finally got to swim in the ocean…. at Marshall
Further on - a reminder of the omnipresence if California oil fields - surrounding us on all sides
On the Los Angeles aviation chart, there is a tiny spot market “Blackwells Corner” I aways wondered what exactly it was. Sure enough on the highway not far off the 101, that place appeared. Not a town really, but a huge fuel station and a store devoted more than anything to James Dean - actually James Dean’s death , as it was on this road that he died crashing his Porsche 550 Spyder, in 1955.
I was getting driving fatigue and stopped for a coffee otherwise I never would have seen the 50 foot replica of the actor, now dilapidated and faded, or the Dean icons for sale in the nearly deserted cafe.
Max outside Blackwell’s Corner
Just for a minute….
Paul
You and Max traveled thru some of my favorite terrain along the California coast.
I longed to return . Vicariously my imagination felt the magic of Tomales Bay and those intriguing finds along the way, I smelled the ocean life , felt the breezes off the water, felt embraced by the glorious landscapes of California. Again, wish I could have been there with you.
Deeds
Lovely reminiscence