Big Sur, Revisited – Part One

We were going to Big Sur this past Fourth of July weekend…but along with much of California, it was on fire.

So, we went this past weekend, instead. And while some hilltops are disquieting charcoal briquettes, you’ll be happy to know that (in general) the clifftop, river-ribboned, fern-canyoned, Pacific Ocean glory of Big Sur is still drop-dead gorgeous.

This trip was more of a Travels With Five, but since I don’t have that domain, I’ll ask for a little leeway here. With Toby the Wonder Corgi in tow, we drove the bizarrely traffic-free 101 five hours north from LA, meeting Adam’s mom and stepdad along the way.

Adam’s mom, Judy, had rented us her friend’s private weekend cabin in Palo Colorado Canyon, which is off the 1 just north of Big Sur and just south of Carmel Valley Road; the closest landmark is the apparently cuisine-challenged Rocky Point Restaurant. The canyon itself is Rivendell come to life, a shaded carpet of lush green ferns nestled beneath towering redwoods, the air cool and loamy;  funky, dark houses cozy into gullies and perch atop steep staircases. It’s presently peppered with sob-choking, handmade signs that thank the tireless efforts of firefighters to save it from disaster.

Since I’m not allowed to give out the info on the cabin, I won’t torture you with too many details. Suffice it to say that the bed is cozy, the water pressure’ll stop you in your tracks, and the view is a foggy blue wedge of Pacific rising out of a gnarled forest of oaks. If it makes you feel better, know that up here you are in for mildew, poison oak and doing your own housekeeping.

Fortunately, there’s always the Hyatt Highlands Inn a mile or so up the 1.

Dinner was far away south along the 1, at Deetjen’s Big Sur Inn. Toby stayed behind while we raced along, watching the sun slip pink, peach, lilac behind the horizon with nary a green flash. We passed a perfect beach, a plump headland leading to a wide sand ribbon, then a sweeping cliffside run to the hilltop Point Sur Lighthouse; while it’s privately owned, you can apparently book a tour.

An evening at Deetjen’s is like a dinner party with friends you just met but whose house you’ve long admired from afar. Set in what feels like an old carriage house, the wooden clapboard keeps the chill out but the back door fits only so snugly. Historic photos of the area and the inn’s original owner cover the walls, and vines frame the windows.

Beef is from the bluff-side cattle that roam Big Sur; heavenly, buttery mussels hail from Monterey; and greens grow in the Carmel Valley. Adam and I hadn’t been back since Valentine’s night 2006, and while the occasion was different this time around, there’s always romance in candlelight and fluffy flowers.

Adam’s stepdad, Jerry, had quietly celebrated his birthday two days before…possibly more quietly than he would have liked.  When dessert arrived (triple chocolate cake and the best creme brulee any of us ever had), the whole room joined us in singing to him. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but we’re pretty sure we saw him blush.

In a manly way, of course.

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Continued in
Big Sur, Revisited – Part Two