Mattole Beach and Beyond

Beaches are beaches and coasts are coasts. Right? Yes. No. Not at all. Of course they are. Ok, not. At least not to me. Or anyone else who has ever been to more than one beach. This beach, with campground, is on the Lost Coast and is called Mattole Beach, off of Lighthouse Road, which leads one to think it ends at a lighthouse. And there is, but...not right there. Oh no, not right there at all.

There is an easier way to get to the campground, but we took the insanely winding, twisting, very narrow with big drop offs road instead. Of course.

If you want to hike the trail overnight, you have to have a bear canister.
There is also hunting allowed. Deer and elk, in season. I didn't see anything about bears. 

It's beautiful. Wild, though far from untouched (not by the hands of humans building ugliness, but certainly by thousands of feet, hiking). The campground is cheap, only 8 bucks, with only 14 simple spaces. There are great bathrooms, far enough away to not really be seen, close enough to get to easily. Each site is set up with grills - awesome, brilliantly designed grills (so much of what I love out here is that many things I see and use are simply designed but utterly practical in a self maintaining way of being done right the first time), water taps, trash receptacles...bear proof trash receptacles, with sliding lids you have to push an inner latch to open. Smart. Clean.

Trash bin from the back, almost like the rocks (I just realized I wish I'd taken the front photo,
 but I kept avoiding them, forgetting I'd want to tell about them. Duh).

A bit about the trash bins. They are everywhere. I saw only tiny bits of trash, a tear of aluminum foil, a bit of plastic, but NO and I mean NO cigarette butts, no plastic bags, no plastic bottles except for one we found by the trail. Anyone who knows me or reads this blog knows I'm sort of a trash vigilante, so just know I was truly impressed. And jealous.

There were two big dunes between us and the beach (and the wood we'd gather for fires).
They blocked the cold winds wonderfully. 

Looking to the back of the campsite. It was full the first night, being Labor Day weekend, I suppose.  But no one was crazy or loud or anything but pretty nice. Well, okay, there was a group of three guys that seemed crazy, but that was because they kept doing things like creeping around rocks trying to ambush each other. Strange, very funny to watch, but more like entertainment than anything else.

Ok, yes, I wasn't only obsessed with the small number of sites, the trash and bathrooms (though a no bad smell portolet type toilet, a dozen rolls of tp replaced every day, a floor that got mopped out every morning bathroom was impressive) . There was this other part...

Huge trees that (I think) wash down the river to where it meets the sea and then scattered all over the shore were amazing. And driftwood pieces that I want to bring home.
Hundreds and hundreds of them. I need a container.

We got there late in the afternoon, but not too late. 

I could only imagine the dancing that went on around this May Pole

A labyrinth. That no one bothers, except to walk it. 

Sunset the first night. The second night I just watched. My hands were too cold to do more.

We got the fire going in the great grill provided. With all the wood on the beach, there was only the chore of getting it to stay warm, cook and gaze. Elijah is in the background carrying a load, with Julia not far behind him. I played fire tender. Or, played with fire. I like both.

I got up early for a walkabout.
A close up of the labyrinth

There were wonderful little structures scattered around. 

I think every fairy hut should have a seaweed boa for decor

This was one of a few heavy duty driftwood huts. Two women stayed in it, giving up their camp site to a family who got in late with their kids. They'd gone down to San Francisco to pick up their daughter and were headed back to Eugene. We got to know the women a bit, they were amazing. I mean, who brings a waffle iron camping and makes kick butt waffles for breakfast? They did. Who, before leaving, goes freaking SWIMMING in that water? They did. We liked them a lot. 

Three Bags Full ~ in the dunes

Of all the driftwood I wanted to keep, this was probably the most wanted one.
Let your imagination ramble as to possible uses, beyond just looking at it the rest of your life.

The main reason we headed here is because I've wanted to meet John McAbery, the wood sculptor I mentioned before. By the time we got here, which was a last minute decision and carrying out with a fair amount of haste, I still hadn't made contact with him or his girlfriend Gretchen, who takes care of all the work of the business end that any successful (as in known) artist needs to have happen and any incredibly fortunate artist doesn't have to do him or herself. You can read about all of that and a lot more here. 

We went to the little town of Petrolia to ask two things. One, where WAS that lighthouse anyway? And two, did they know where John's cabin was? The answer for the lighthouse? Go to the beach and turn right and walk three miles. The answer to the cabin? We don't give out information about where people live, here's a phone number (which I called and got an answering machine; fair enough). I respect that lack of information, even though it was a little frustrating. I respect it a lot, knowing I feel the same. And that is when I put finding him and his cabin in the hands of the universe...we'd either get there or not. In the meantime, there were three miles to hike to the lighthouse. Three miles, how hard could that be on a beautiful, sunny day?

See how the path looks a little sandy? Think of walking on Flamenco in the softest part of the sand. With the wind blowing about 30 miles an hour. A cold wind. Beautiful but...at just about this point, Julia was wondering about tides, if we'd make it back around the headland in time, whether she wanted to find that lighthouse...we had a rest (while a girl all geared out, with her awesome dog wearing packs beside her answered our plaintive questions about the lighthouse (not far), the tides (just turning to the down side, plenty of time), the...oh, ok, thanks. We laughed at what she, totally prepared, thought of us sitting there, beers and smokes and Nesta, not even knowing the tide table. (Ok, I pretty much knew what the tide was doing, but hey, stranger in a strange land, best to ask)
We continued.

Elijah and Julia were ahead of me most of the way. Which was fine with me, I am not a Great Race sort of person. They waited for me before we went around the headland and we all started laughing. The wind was so hard that this couple, thin as models for some trendy clothing company, were leaning over and the wind was literally holding them up. We'd met a few miserable faced people coming back the other way and now we understood a bit more why. If we went on, we'd be walking face into this for the three miles back (I'm saying, if you sink in sand six inches with each step, then that probably makes it more like five miles, but no one agrees with me).
But by then, it was just funny and ridiculous to even think of turning back. 

And there!!! There it was, the lighthouse!

And we found John's cabin and John too. I know that shy is not a word anyone I know associates with me, but - rarely am I ever impressed by anyone enough to want to meet them in the first place. Elijah and Julia waited as I started walking to the cabin. And stopped. 'Does it look like anyone is even home?' I asked, ready to just leave, ready to back out, ready to ignore that the universe had actually gotten us to this beyond imagination place. Julia said 'Well, there is a man looking out the window...' And there was. And he invited me in. And I gave him some hot sauce. And then we talked awhile about his work, and his place. And then Elijah and Julia came in and we talked some more. I wanted to ask 1000 questions. I wanted to take a million pictures. But I just couldn't ask...like a 13 year old groupie meeting her rock and roll star, I was tongue tied and smiling until it hurt.

John's cabin is perfect. A bed. A wall with a sink and some shelves. A table where he does all his work with hand tools and not very many of them at that. A stove for heat and water heating and cooking that he made out of an old Army trailer. He built the cabin and has lived there for 35 years. It all just feels so very right...the cabin on the wild beach, the art he creates, the gladness that comes from him. He was friendly and interesting and exactly like I imagined but of course better, because it was all very real. 

There is someone a lot more professional than me who did do it (writing/photos) right and you can see and learn more about John and Gretchen, the cabin and their art here.

Back at the campsite the next day, this family were taking their mules for a ride. They come down once a year from Oregon to do this. Mom, Dad and two little punkins. This one mule, Fred, is a combo of a thoroughbred and donkey (male donkey + female horse = mule) and really beautiful.

Nesta, on and off the lead, was the most well behaved of all of us. Good dog, Nesta!

One more item is crossed off my bucket list, with enough juice to keep me grinning just thinking about it. Another coastal camping trip under my invisible belt. A six mile hike that felt like a lot more, but at the end let me know I could still have that sort of adventure. But really? Next time, I'm taking the mule.

Have a don't trade in your dreams Tuesday. Do something tantalizingly true.