Back to the Bay

After a second trip in less than seven months, I’ve answered the question my first visit provoked: is San Francisco the perfect city? Well, my decision is in, and I don’t need to search any more. This time, my visit was more focused on food, a Sunday morning stroll through the Union Square area, and some great driving along the coast both south and north of the Golden Gate.

There are plenty of great restaurants in San Francisco, and this time around, I visited a few. I had a Sunday morning breakfast at Canteen, where an acclaimed chef has opened his own place in a mini-diner-like environment. We were treated to dinner at Bacar, a wine-oriented restaurant south of Market that was top notch. And taking advantage of the setting, a stop at Beach Chalet on the Pacific seemed every bit a match for its more famous northern neighbor, Cliff House (especially given the in-house brews). We wrapped up the visit with seafood at Scoma’s, the rambling mainstay at Fisherman’s Wharf, where I covered myself in butter trying (futilely, for the most part) to get the best of a huge pile of crab legs.

On my last visit, I explored the Marin Coast just across from San Francisco, content to wander among the WW2 ruins and the fog-bound coast and hills. My plans to visit Muir Woods and Point Reyes remain unfulfilled, and high on my list for this trip. I still haven’t been back to Muir Woods, but a day’s drive out along the coast on California 1 took us through several beach communities, and eventually to Point Reyes.

Point Reyes National Seashore is an unexpected combination of hills, cows, beaches, bluffs, and history. We spent the day driving out the point to the distant lighthouse, watching lazy elephant seals spend their last beach days after birthing, and looking in vain for the tail end of whale migration. Just an hour away from the city, this setting and the valleys nearby have yet to fully enter the 21st century, or even the 20th.

Quick Tips:

I can’t stay away from the shore. Coming here twice in a year has made me realize how much I enjoy coasts and beaches that aren’t the stereotypical sun-drenched, sun-worshipper-covered variety. Perhaps it’s a reminder of what beaches in my native Michigan are like for long stretches of the year. But I love combining a visit to the city with time on the Marin Coast, or as in this visit, on the long stretch of coast that curves around from Fort Point down to Pacifica. We walked beaches here, at Muir Beach, and several places at Point Reyes, and I can’t wait to return to all of them.

But I wasn’t raised on Great Lakes beaches; we just escaped there during summers and the occasional off-season. Being back in San Francisco is a reminder of the life and vitality that great cities offer, and I love walking through at (nearly) any time of day. Early morning strolls are particularly fun, before everyone is out—partially because it’s so different from the busier times. Union Square is the center for the shopping and people-watching, but I keep coming back to the bayside at Ghirardelli Square (really, it’s not just the chocolate). This visit, we had enough time to explore the floating nautical museum at the SF Maritime Historical Park, which features over a dozen vessels that connect to the city’s history with the sea (and, given our first-thing-in-the-morning visit, were free).

Best Way To Get Around:

Arriving at SFO mid-afternoon on Saturday, I’d made no plans for getting into the city. I was pretty sure that BART would get me somewhere near the Hilton and Union Square, and sure enough, for .15 I ended up at Powell and Market, a 10-minute uphill walk from the Hilton (it took until my third walk to decide that not every direction in San Francisco is uphill). The ride from the airport is about 45 minutes, and follows right along I-280 as it curves into town.

During the rest of the visit, we walked, took cabs, and (if headed out of town) used our convertible rental. Driving and parking in the city didn’t seem horrible, but except for the last morning in town, when we headed to the San Francisco Maritime Historic Park, we didn’t chance it. Overnight parking ran a night at the garage across from the hotel; if you were out by 9:30am, it was .

We drove south to Pacifica on Sunday afternoon, taking I-280 on the way there and skipping the freeway for Skyline Drive and the Great Beach on the way back. When headed to Point Reyes the next day, we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and immediately exited for California 1 along the coast. It seems a sin to stay on the freeway with the ocean just a few miles away.

If you do take the local route in Marin County, don’t do so expecting to make great time. The same hills that make San Francisco famous are even more pronounced across the bridge, which makes some of this country still relatively unpopulated.

And, of course, there are the cable cars. We’d arrived by cab for dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf, and following some souvenir shopping (including, of course, a return visit to Ghirardelli Square), we hopped the Hyde/Powell cable car for a ride that was nearly door-to-door. Cheaper than the cab ( a person), more entertaining, and with a much better view of the city, it was a great way to end the trip.

It’s not cheap—$230 was the ‘conference rate’—but you get approximately what you pay for in this central location. Our room in Tower 2 (apparently somewhat newer than other parts of the complex) is one of nearly 2,000 in this large building, but we never knew we had neighbors. But even on the 17th floor, the street noise was surprisingly loud at times, but that had something to do with late-night activity in the Tenderloin.

That’s the one drawback to the location—to the west, the neighborhood gets a little dicey, but you probably won’t head that way. One block east is Macy’s, and Union Square is another block north, so the location is very convenient for this part of the city. The hotel entrance was busy all hours of the day, and safety on the grounds was never an issue.

The in-room coffee is the best I’ve ever had—Italian Lavazza coffee, made by a machine with a one- or two-cup setting that dispenses into real, actual ceramic coffee cups, not paper! The machine even had its own small home atop the minibar cabinetry, with a door-activated interior light. With a king bed, the room was particularly comfortable, with a larger-than-average L-shaped desk that was an excellent place to work. Based on what I saw of older Tower 3 and heard about Tower 1, our Tower 2 location sounded like the best place to be. Unlike Tower 3, the window runs the full length of the room, making it bright and sunny, and the hallways are larger, brighter and more pleasant. Like most places, Hilton has upgraded the bed (very comfortable), the shower (curved, space-creating bar), and the amenities (Crabtree & Evelyn La Source, if you care about that). At $230, though, I kept wishing that those paying the bill were getting a little more for their money. But that’s big city hotel pricing.

One of the highlights is the rooftop restaurant CityScape, perched on Tower 1 at the 47th floor. On a previous visit, a friend and I enjoyed a spectacular meal in the spectacular setting, looking out at SF’s iconic Transamerica Pyramid and then across the bay, all from a stomach-rattling window-side seat by the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The food was a match for the surroundings, and I wouldn’t hesitate to go back. In addition to a less adrenalin-inducing first-floor restaurant, there’s also a breakfast counter offering everything from fresh fruit to oatmeal to pastries and breakfast sandwiches for not-completely-horrible prices. I took the first two back to my room and made coffee.

If you don’t wish to keep giving Hilton your money, there are other food options close by. Starbucks is one block north (and essentially everywhere else), as is a David’s Deli that looked like a particularly good option for breakfast. Lori’s Diner (where we at the last morning) is just north of the Hilton’s NE corner. Canteen, a great site for a meal and where I breakfasted on Sunday morning, is a 10-minute walk northwest.

My wife headed off to a meeting, and I set out for breakfast. At 8:30, the sun was bright on the older buildings surrounding the Hilton, the air cool, crisp and clear, without a touch of wind. Getting up and out into the city this early was worth it: as I passed a cook outside on break exclaimed "Man, what a beautiful day."

I kept climbing the hills north to Canteen. It’s common advice to visit a popular and pricey restaurant at lunch to both find a seat and afford it, but this was the first time I’d seen that advice for breakfast. Canteen is adjacent to the Commodore Hotel, and almost certainly started life as the hotel coffee shop. It’s a small place: it holds maybe 20 people, tops, in four four-person booths and about a half-dozen counter seats. Along the booths, pine trim and single-shelf bookshelves are hung on a sea-green wall (the shelves do have books). Behind the counter, spotless diner-like stainless steel predominates, with a row of clear glass, low-wattage light bulbs on long cords. The kitchen is here behind the counter, giving real intimacy to the event of dining here (particularly if you sit at the counter, as I did). The whole room (which can’t be more than 500 s.f.) seems compact but not crowded; but that might feel different with more than four customers and three staff.

I ordered juice, coffee, an omelet with toast (which I chose instead of home fries), and began an off-and-on conversation with the young accountant/ballet student who was hostess and waitress. For most of my time, I was the only customer, so between filling my coffee cup and readying the small trays of butter and jam for the upcoming brunch crowd, there was time to chat. In the background, two kitchen staff worked quietly and efficiently in the galley kitchen, combining their preparation for the rest of the day’s meals with making breakfast for me and the others who eventually arrived, including a young woman from London who, like me, had put this on her list of must-dos.

The omelet was simply the best I’ve had: thinly sliced asparagus, spinach, small mushrooms, and an occasional tomato to provide a burst of tanginess. The egg was a thin, flavorful wrapper, not dominating the dish and not fluffy. I spent an hour talking with the hostess, sipping coffee, and writing in my journal. I was anxious to return for dinner another night, but unfortunately, the place was closed the remainder of the week—the chef was off to Paris with his fiancé (without the staff, we joked).

It's the type of place that must have a regular clientele, and finally two people come in and jokingly ask for their ‘regular booth’. Headed east on Sutter, I mistake a young family of three for natives. After a block or so, they stop and ask a doorman for directions. He shrugs; I help, happy to send them back the other way to a new favorite

My sister-in-law, who lives in the Bay Area, teased us about our chichi dinner spot. Evidently Bacar currently enjoys a high reputation in San Francisco, so—especially since I was a guest—I was looking forward to dinner on my first evening in town.

The idea here is to match food and wine well, pairing wines from all over the world with a seasonal menu featuring fresh, local ingredients. They claim that over 1,400 wines are available by the bottle, and at any one time, over 50 are available by the glass. Obviously, California wines are a part, but the list I saw drew liberally from wineries all over the world.

An oenophile’s paradise, this brick building on Brannan features high windows and three levels. The stairs just inside lead up to the high-ceiling first floor with bar and dining area, or down to the more intimate lower level, which—although I have a hard time pointing to anything specific—continually suggests a pleasant, open wine cellar.

The entire west side is a wine rack, with bottles aligned horizontally and parallel to the wall, the labels only barely and occasionally visible through streaked, bubbly glass. The menu outside—as we examined it later—is concise but interesting. It was also irrelevant, since we were among the 40 guests of a vendor, seated on the lower level and provided with a set menu. Everything was selected except the entrée, with one red and one white wine to accompany the meal. Both were terrific, but without my notebook handy, my memory fails me in recalling what they were.

Three appetizers arrived first, the best of which was a smoked ahi tuna that I could have eaten all night. The meal continued with a salad, enlivened by beets, candied walnuts, and chevre mousseline (much of which ended on my plate, as I was the happy beneficiary of others’ dislike). The entrée choices were an Australian rack of lamb or a Mesquite grilled ribeye. I picked the beef, one of the best ribeye steaks I’ve had—perfectly grilled with geometrically ideal diamond-shaped grill marks; just short of crispy on the outside and juicy within. It was served with fingerling potatoes and steamed fresh asparagus. The bread was, of course, sourdough, with a lightly sweetened butter that fit well. The wait staff kept the breadbasket (and our wineglasses) full, although I had to beg for my red wine glass to be returned after opting for a first glass of the chardonnay that was served.

The meal began near sunset, and the street-level windows added a little extra ambience around the draped curtains at the room's end. By the time the chocolate mousse arrived, it was truly nighttime, about as dark as my chocolate and my coffee. The food, setting and service were all terrific, and I’d love to eat here again. Doing so on my own dime, however, would set me back—salad, entrée, dessert, and wine would easily run $100 per person. (You could economize, I suppose, or come for the three-course lunch on Fridays for $21.95).

Directly at the west end of Golden Gate Park, this 100-year-old building makes the most of its location. It’s situated at the east edge of the Great Highway, facing the Pacific. The two-story structure houses a small museum on the history and development of Golden Gate Park on level one, wonderfully augmented by 1930s WPA murals on three of the four walls. These bright frescoes still look like they were just completed yesterday, and celebrate the life, work culture and history of the city at mid-New Deal. The artwork continues with mosaics, ceiling paintings in the stairwell, and ornate, sea-themed woodwork on the banisters.

By the time you reach the second story, the road across the way is a distant memory. The brewery and kitchen occupy the back half of the floor, and windows wrap completely around the remainder of the area. We arrived late afternoon on Sunday, nearing the end of our trip back up Skyline Drive and Great Highway from Pacifica. A stop for a beer seemed like a great idea, but the longer we waited for a table, the better dinner sounded. We were seated one table away from the window, still with a view of the last strip of sand and the ocean beyond, with a variety of tankers and cargo ships heading to or from the Golden Gate.

The beer was good: we sampled the Presidio I.P.A. and the V.F.W. Light, and moved on to a second round as we waited for the sun to set. The American menu was a little pricey for dinner, but we went with salads and the half-pound burgers, which were pretty reasonable. Overall, the painted wood and plank floors felt like beach restaurants from a lot of other coasts as well, and we struck up conversations with the folks at the window-side table who controlled the all-important blinds. The 40-minute wait for a table was worth it, even though the cloud-ridden sunset produced more frustration than spectacular coloring.

It’s worth the wait for a window seat, I’d say, but the next table over wasn’t a bad substitute at all. It was a great place to spend several hours relaxing over a fresh brew.

The other beers include a wheat, pale ale, red ale, E.S.B., and stout, each with its own vaguely W.P.A.-influence T-shirt available for $25. Entrées range from $16-$30; sandwiches are $8-$12. Parking can be tight, too—there’s a second restaurant, the Park Chalet, behind the original building, and both were busy on Sunday when we pulled in. By the way, you can only enter the parking lot while headed north on the Great Highway.

On the map, Point Reyes is a large green spike—or perhaps a high-heeled shoe—sticking into the Pacific. It’s not hard to see it as a possible coastal ‘add-on’, and indeed, it didn’t start life sitting here north of the Golden Gate. It’s a living embodiment of the motion that takes place along the San Andreas Fault—during the 1906 earthquake that devastated San Francisco, the Point jumped 10 feet north.

But those 10’ are only a small part of Point Reyes’ journey: it actually started near Monterey, and has moved in the direction of Puget Sound ever since. You can tell that by the imaginary line running NW to SE along the coast, cleanly separating Point Reyes from the Mainland, running through Tomales Bay and down the Olema Valley before hitting water again at Bolinas Lagoon. Nearly all the land west of this line—which is the San Andreas Fault—lies in Point Reyes National Seashore.

Surprisingly, this is the only National Seashore along the Pacific Coast. What’s preserved here is a mix of headlands, pastures, estuaries, and beaches, with a lighthouse and a historical controversy thrown in for good measure. In addition, there’s terrific wildlife, with Tule Elk at the northwestern point, Elephant seals along the bay, and whale-watching off Point Reyes itself. Several large parking lots hint at the crowds that come in season, but our time on the Point was largely solitary. The exceptions were the lighthouse, where even on a Monday afternoon we met dozens of others, and the 10 or so people with whom we watched the Elephant seals sunning themselves. At Drake’s Beach, South Beach and other places, we were alone.

The Seashore has three visitor centers—Bear Valley, the main one just inside the entrance; Lighthouse, a small one-room affair (but with a ranger); and Ken Patrick at Drake’s Beach, only open on weekends. The first of these holds the only complete set of resources for exploring the area. Like the Point itself, you’re already far from lots of things, and they all get rarer as you head toward the ocean.

The solitude here in western Marin continues to impress me. If you hurry—but why would you?—you can be here in 45 minutes from San Francisco. The last leg of that trip, climbing away from sea level north of Bolinas into the valleys along the Fault, was a trip back in time. People, buildings and civilization receded as we headed farther north. The park has no stores or gas, and you shouldn’t count on the small towns nearby for too much. Perry’s Deli in Inverness is a great small grocery store, and Point Reyes Station has gas. But you’re best off coming with what you need and enjoying the surroundings.

However, as the ‘crowds’ at the lighthouse indicated, at the right times and in the right places it can be busy. When the California Greys migrate north in winter; the park road closes, and weekend shuttles run from Drakes Beach to the Lighthouse to accommodate the crush of people.

Point Reyes is nearly framed by water on all four sides, with beaches that are among the Seashore’s principal attractions. The Great Beach—aka Point Reyes Beach—stretches 10 miles along the Pacific. You can drive to North Beach and South Beach, both near the middle of the shoreline, about two miles apart. I was the only one on the shore, a fantastic experience. The surf everywhere on the Pacific is extremely rough, and swimming is not permitted. Even those walking near the water should exercise caution.

On the east, sandy Drakes Beach covers two miles on the bay of the same name, where the great English sailor may have landed during his 16th century circumnavigation of the globe. Water has clearly eaten into this land; white limestone lies exposed at the ends of the hills, as if their eastern ends had been cleaved away. In either direction, that limestone abuts the arc of sand stretching to the elephant seal breeding grounds at Chimney Rock. The sand and white cliffs fit the description of ‘Nova Albion’, claimed by Drake for England somewhere along northern California’s coast, but there’s still uncertainty about whether he landed here.

A large parking lot indicates that this spot gets pretty active. The visitor center here is open only on weekends and holidays, and Drake’s Café is open in summer. During the winter, shuttle buses to the lighthouse board here on busy whale-watching weekends. But on a Monday, we were again the only ones here.

On the north side is Tomales Bay, a 10-mile sliver of water atop the San Andreas Fault. At its southeastern end is the small community of Inverness, just below the southern unit of Tomales Bay State Park. Heart’s Desire Beach is here, reached by a right turn off Drake Boulevard. It’s one of the safer beaches, as it lies along a cove within the protected waters of the Bay. Marshall Beach is further north along Tomales Bay—continue along unpaved L Ranch road past the turnoff to Heart’s Desire. It’s just over a mile hike from the road’s end out and down to the beach.

Returning to the intersection, head to two northern beaches along the Pacific by bearing right to head out Pierce Point Road. You first reach the trailhead for the half-mile hike to Kehoe Beach, the northern end of the Great Beach, which features dunes along a stream outlet. Further north is the steep trail down to McClure’s Beach, a very different beach along a rocky cove.

Several beaches lie along the northern edge of Drakes Bay, reached from near Bear Valley Visitor Center. Limantour Road is a quick left turn that then weaves its way across the ridges for nine miles to Limantour Beach. This was the ranger’s first recommendation for a short visit. To the west stretches Limantour Spit, a two-mile-long sand bar that protects the eastern end of Drakes Estero. Further east along Drakes Bay are Sculptured Beach and Kelham Beach, accessed by lengthy hikes from the Road or Bear Valley.

After breakfast at Canteen, I head east and circle the Union Square area for an hour or so. I walked up Powell the day before after taking the BART from SFO; it was challenging to maneuver through Saturday afternoon’s wall-to-wall crowds with a suitcase.

This is the central shopping district of San Francisco, and my trek reminds me of a morning walk in Chicago this January—it’s somewhat like the Magnificent Mile, but larger and two-dimensional. Each storefront is a major ‘brand’, and the area that was 100% occupied yesterday when I arrived is now sparsely peopled at best. Rust Never Sleeps, but maybe—thankfully—commerce does.

I’m struck by the variety of architecture, all in use and preserved, unlike other cities (in both respects). Victorian, Art Deco, 1960s and 21st century co-exist nicely side-by-side. The architectural details of the older buildings are lovingly cared for, and seem more evident here than other places.

Union Square is a welcome open space among the vertical urban corridors, and lively at 9:15. A modest plant sale is on, but most people are like me—apparently tourists, posing in front of the oversized stainless steel heart in the southeast corner, or calling or photographing with their cell phones. An urban version of quiet still reigns, incorporating the operatic music from the outdoor café on the square’s east side (or could it possibly be a boom box?). Amid the palm trees and the wide mix of people, the large monument to Dewey’s victory emphasizes that this is firmly located on the Pacific. I’ve been tempted to see SF through a lens of NY, but it’s hard to imagine the East Coast oriented towards anything other than Europe. The coastal defenses I saw on my last trip, the people, and the early 20th century concern about Spain’s antics in the Pacific mark San Francisco as the first Pacific Rim city.

What clearly was a bank building with its massive Greek columns is now the Armani Emporium, an emporium of a different sort. The art deco building on the north skyline can’t be captured on film (disk? Flash drive?) without the Saks logo, an illustration of just where our culture seems focused now. The huge, block-filling Macy’s building forms the southern edge of Union Square, reminding me of the downtown Detroit Hudson’s Store of my youth, now sadly removed. I note with pride that (a) the block is smaller than Hudson's was, and (b) it obviously took three or more eras of construction to complete it.

Pigeons chase each other around the raised base of the Dewey monument, a large male seemingly content to remain a bird’s pace or two behind the female. Pigeons strutting alone are a comical sight, but in pairs, right beneath the faux-Roman engravings of two President's names, it makes me laugh. Before I can get a shot of them in front of McKinley’s name, they reverse tracks one last time, and the female takes flight, denying me a photographic record of the incongruity.

We had time for one last excursion before our noon flight. Anxious to get the most out of our convertible, we put down the top and crossed the hill through Chinatown and down to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was early enough to see school kids at the crossings, and the tourist businesses were just waking up along Beach Street. Parking was easy to find at Aquatic Park, and we stepped out onto the small plaza in front of the pier.

The day was gorgeous, just like the last two. The morning sun glistened off the gentle waves on the bay, and the two dozen boats were nearly motionless. As we considered what to do, a ranger opened the gate to the pier, and we figured there were few options better than strolling out to the end. After just a few steps, we could see the hills of Marin rising up over Alcatraz, with the Bridge off to the west.

Boarding the ships usually requires an admission after 11am (at least today). A variety of vessels are here (including six National Historic Landmarks), illustrating San Francisco’s dependence on and delight in the sea. Most are working ships, such as the lumber schooner C.A. Thayer, built in 1895 for transporting hundreds of thousands of board feet, usually from a Washington State mill. The advent of steam power forced her into salmon and cod fishing, and even carried ammunition during WWII. Thayer just returned from an extensive, four-year restoration, and is one of only two existing lumber schooners. An exhibit on cargo and trade was still under development in her hold.

Balclutha is a Scottish square-rigger a decade older than Thayer. Originally built to bring coal to San Francisco and return around Cape Horn with wheat, she ended her trading days as part of the salmon fleet ferrying Alaskan catches southward and men and supplies the other direction.

Eureka is moored on the pier’s eastern side, one of the ferries that were an integral part of San Francisco before the bridge. Originally built for rail cars, Eureka was modified to be an automobile ferry. This is a reminder that she was once essentially part of US 101, which out Hyde Street Pier, where ferries left for Sausalito. Of course, the Redwood Highway moved a bit east when the Bridge opened in 1937.

Smaller fishing boats, steam schooners, and tugs are also here. Several were restored in the boatyards at the head of Hyde Street Pier, a reminder of the role boatbuilding in San Francisco’s history. Supplying the city’s food required ships before the construction of the Bridge—for example, dairy products from the Olema Valley (where we’d spent the previous day) arrived by schooner on a daily basis.

We had the pier to ourselves for 90 minutes. It’s as close as you can come to being out on the water, and the view across the bay in all directions is tremendous. Given enough time, I’ll come back here on future visits, although I may choose to retain my landlubber status.

Sometimes life gives you lemons, other times it runs out of lemons and hands you the whole fruit basket. As we stood in the car rental agency on Sunday afternoon (conveniently located right across from the Hilton), I could tell there was a problem with giving us a vehicle. "Well, tell me what you do have," I heard the clerk say into the phone. She hung up and turned to me. "Would you take a convertible?" she asked.

Would we take a convertible? In the Bay Area, with the weather approaching perfect, and plans to head both south and north along the coast? For the same $30 a day we’d committed for a compact? Yes, I think we’d take a convertible. So within half an hour we were heading south on 101 (prompting Jackson Browne to run through my head) in our PT Cruiser, figuring out which set of buttons would put the top down and let in the sunshine and sea air.

Late the next morning, we headed across the Golden Gate Bridge, leaving US 101 at Mill Valley for California 1 and the Marin Coast. For a very brief period, the road weaves through the last edge of San Francisco suburbia before beginning its ascent into the hilly country. The turnoff for Muir Woods National Monument is here, and the steep hillsides illustrate why its stand of redwoods survived the logging onslaught of the 19th and early 20th centuries. The curvy roads reminded us why my wife was carsick the last time we came this way (over 20 years ago), but with the top down and the fresh air full of eucalyptus rushing past us, it wasn’t a problem now.

It was tough to do, but we passed the turnoff to Muir Woods in favor of landscapes we hadn’t seen. I held tight to the fiction that our return trip might hold enough time for a stop here, but it proved to be only a fiction. In the meantime, the highway had seemingly left civilization behind, the mailboxes dwindling as we took 15 mph turn after 15 mph turn on the flanks of Mt. Tamalpais. Not long after the turnoff for the Panoramic Highway and Muir Woods, we left the trees behind for the ridge tops and cleared slopes of the Shoreline Highway. I wondered whether the steep slopes and valleys to the south of us once held groves of redwoods. Those thoughts vanished as we crested, and the ocean came into view, still a few miles away, and seemingly a few miles below us as well. We repeated our tortured ascent in reverse, this time without the shade of the trees, the eucalyptus replaced by the growing presence of salt air.

We arrived at the outskirts of Muir Beach, which to my surprise was a (small) community, not just a shoreline. Pacific Way, a short spur to the west, took us to the parking lot for the beach itself, like much of the surrounding country a part of the Golden Gate Recreation Area’s northern district. Redwood Creek empties out here into Big Lagoon, creating a broad, sandy beach that has attracted people for over 100 years, with small dunes separating it from wetlands created as the Creek meanders towards the ocean. The houses of Muir Beach dot the steep hillside to the north. The history of this small, small town is a miniature version of stories all over Marin County, which moved from small farming or fishing communities, often settled by immigrants (Portuguese, in this case), swollen by wartime residents, and then attracting a whole new set of people in the 1960s and ‘70s. A lovingly crafted collection of photos and reminiscences traces the history of this community, whose original name (Bello Beach, after an original Portuguese resident) was replaced by the land company who first developed this area, thinking that the great conservationist’s name would help locate (and promote) the venture.

If you’re looking for a place to stay, the Pelican Inn—just north of the turn to the beach—seems like the ticket. An English-style bed and breakfast, it’s a short walk from here to the beach, and the trails that climb the bluffs to the south. Back on CA 1, the highway climbs away from sea level behind the point of land that forms the lagoon’s north edge. Muir Beach Overlook is located just past here, and just steps away from the parking lot is a bluff with fantastic views out over the Pacific to the Farallon Islands, north to Bolinas and Point Reyes, and behind you to Mt. Tamalpais. A steep trail descends a few hundred yards of switchbacks to the overlook itself. Unfortunately, it was closed, and a busy team of Park Volunteers was working on extensive trail repairs.

Behind the parking lot was the upper entrance to Seacape, which certainly looked like the most exclusive section of Muir Beach. Real estate ads I came across later showed a half dozen properties for sale, all over $1M, and the one atop the bluff at Seacape just under $2M—a far cry from the shaky cottages that the WW2 shipbuilders of Sausalito and their families packed into.

From Muir Beach, CA 1 continues along the top of the Oceanside bluffs. The hillsides are steep and grass covered, and moving along at 20 mph makes sense for safety as well as sightseeing. One section of road was under repair, and several others showed signs of recent work reinforcing the hill, or removing the effects of small slides.

Pretty quickly, you reach the southern turnoff for Slide Ranch, a former dairy farm reincarnated nearly 40 years ago as a teaching center to connect urban kids with the land and (and saved from development). The grounds are open to visitors, but we kept heading north.

The next turnoff was locked, and looked to have a keypad on the gate. A little research from home showed that we’d probably passed the turnoff to the Steep Ravine Cabins and Campsites, a part of Mt. Tamalpais State Park. These sound quite rustic, but you can’t beat the setting—perched on stilts above the ocean, this site was a long-time favorite of photojournalist Dorothea Lange.

In another mile, the Panoramic Highway enters from the east, having completed its own low-speed, ridge top journey. We’d heard on the news that a section was under construction, another reason for skipping Muir Woods and following CA 1 the whole way. By the time you reach this stop sign, you’re back at sea level, and just entering Stinson Beach. This town grew up behind a long arc of sand that dwarfs that of Muir Beach, and appears to be the quintessential Marin hippie town. We stopped at the Stinson Beach Market for picnic supplies, a great little store right on the east side of the road, and kept heading northwest with our lunch of salami, provolone, and a sourdough loaf.

CA1 doesn’t enter the heart of Stinson Beach, and grows more distant as it heads NW and the beach arcs further to the south. Soon the highway runs along the eastern side of Bolinas Lagoon, a beautiful long triangle of water separated from the Pacific by the thin peninsula of the beach. We watched seals cavorting in the water (and watching us), stopping along the roadside to try and capture a picture before they ducked under and swam away.

The lagoon is nearly three miles long, and at its end is the intersection with the Olema-Bolinas Road to the west and the Fairfax-Bolinas Road to the east (if you get carsick on CA1, don’t even think about turning right to Fairfax). Nearly every guidebook mentioned that Bolinas is the last refuge of those who retreated to Marin in the ‘60s and ‘70s (‘obstinant hippies’, George Lindholt calls them at his Muir Beach website), and each book warned that the sign for Bolinas might be missing at the intersection. Sure enough, it was. Not wanting to waste our time on those who didn’t want to see us, we continued on CA 1.

But without the ocean. From here through Olema and north to Point Reyes Station, CA 1 continues its NW path, but the land—Point Reyes itself—now juts westward into the Pacific. You’re actually driving right on top of the San Andreas Fault, in the Olema Valley—a pastoral, farming area that supplied much of San Francisco’s butter and other dairy needs (which sailed into the city on schooners in those pre-bridge days). Patches of forest remain, especially along the hillside that quickly climbs away from Bolinas Lagoon. The highway is pretty straight now, here along the Olema Valley, and despite its pleasant, rural character (and 55 mph speeds) we missed the coastline, and its bluffs and slow-motion S-curves. To the east is the last, northern most stretch of the Golden Gate Recreation Area. To the west is the first patch of Point Reyes National Seashore (which actually starts just north of Bolinas), and the sign indicates that in a few miles we’ll reach our destination—out to the beaches, cliffs, and lighthouse of Point Reyes.

We reached the main Bear Valley Visitor Center just after noon, having leisurely made our way from San Francisco in about 90 minutes. The turnoff onto Bear Valley Road is easy to miss, as it comes up quickly on the west just a few hundred feet past the intersection where Sir Francis Drake Boulevard enters from the east. We finished our lunch in the large picnic area across from the Visitor Center, and then went inside to get our bearings and suggestions for the rest of the afternoon.

Back in the car, Drake Boulevard rejoins Bear Valley Road, which turns off CA 1 to head along Tomales Bay through the small community of Inverness. This long (10 miles), skinny bay (less than a mile across) is a great place for sailing and sea kayaking, and I’d considered coming here for the latter on a previous trip (with Point Reyes Outdoors). Lodging options on the Point itself are located here, with other choices in and outside Point Reyes Station. By this point, CA 1 is now on the other side of Tomales Bay, running by Marconi, now a state park and conference center on the site where the radio pioneer established one of the early radio stations.

Just past Inverness, Drake Boulevard bears off to the left, climbing up the grassy hills that make up Point Reyes. At first, I was surprised by the elevation. Given its smooth, gently curved Pacific shore, and the long arc of Drakes Bay on the east, I expected that this peninsula would be largely composed of dunes just above sea level. But that’s not typical of any part of the California coast, so in the end the road’s up-and-down, over-the-hills character shouldn’t have been a surprise. In fact, it gives a little insight into the character of the land underneath San Francisco, and the challenge involved in building one of the nation’s largest cities on some of the most unsuitable land imaginable.

As the road heads west and south out the Point, you move through the alphabetically labeled farms laid out in the 19th century for tenant diary farming. The alphabet starts with Ranch ‘A’ out near the tip of the Point, so that you drive up from Z to A (the Bear Valley Visitor Center actually occupies Ranch W). Under arrangements with the Park Service, several of the ranches continue to operate, either as dairy or beef cattle ranches.

The presence of cows on these hills seemed somewhat surreal, especially with the ocean visible in the background. The hillsides are pretty steep, and seeing them covered with cattle made it seem as if someone had taken Switzerland and grafted it on to the seashore. It was particularly strange to reach the end of the Point, where the ocean is visible in nearly every direction, and have a few dozen cows contentedly munching grass in every vista.

The end of Point Reyes is roughly hammer shaped, with the lighthouse on the western side. The structure dates from the 1870’s, and a small parking lot for 4-5 dozen cars is at the road’s end. Even on a Monday afternoon, the lot was full. The wind was blowing hard, at least 15-20 mph, and several signs indicated that the trail to the lighthouse was closed when wind speeds exceed 40 mph. From nearly everywhere on this point, you have a tremendous view north along the fantastic beach on Point Reyes’ western side.

Atop the rocky outcrop at the edge is a small visitor center, and a few displays on the history of the lighthouse. Across the sidewalk is a large concrete construction that I first mistook for a WW2 gun emplacement—it’s actually a cistern, a necessary part of living out here at the edge. As a map shows, rainfall decreases dramatically as you move out Point Reyes, making it a requirement to save as many drops as possible (although I’m guessing that the NPS residences out here now have a more reliable supply).

The lighthouse is a popular destination, but it takes some effort to get there. 302 steps (plus a few sections of ramp) take you down to the lighthouse itself. My wife stayed up top, but I took the long set of stairs down to near the water’s surface. Built in 1870, the lighthouse in good shape, and still functions. You can walk the narrow circular path around the housing, although people standing and looking out over the sea or back along the headlands make it difficult to move around. A small building behind the light houses the foghorn apparatus. We’d seen precious few people during the ride out, but the lighthouse was busy with a middle school field trip that was just leaving, plus several dozen other visitors. This is a great spot for whale-watching, with greys migrating past from January to April. Unfortunately, we were right at the tail (ha!) end of the season—a whiteboard indicated that four whales were sighted the day before, but none yet that day.

Returning to our car, we looked up Point Reyes Beach one more time, determined to stop somewhere along that amazing stretch of sand on the way back. We headed east along the headlands towards Chimney Rock, where the ranger said that elephant seals could still be seen with their pups. The road is a one-way, paved strip (with occasional turnouts for pulling off to let oncoming traffic pass). The parking lot is the trailhead for one path that leads further east to Chimney Rock itself, and one that curls back to the west along the northern edge of the headlands to the Elephant Seal Overlook.

A marker at the edge of the trail indicated that 130 seals were seen the day before. I wondered how you could accurately count any herd that large—until I saw them. Splayed across the beach were dozens of seals and their pups, with only one or two of them exhibiting any motion at any given time. Only one was in the water—evidently the aerobic overachiever of the bunch—with just a handful even bothering to roll over during the half-hour we were there. The overlook is about a hundred yards south of their beach, and up 100’ or so. About 10 of us watched the seals, eagerly looking for some action of any sort.

From here we headed back north on Drake Boulevard, stopping this time at South Beach, one of two mid-Point accesses to the Great Beach along the Pacific. From the Lighthouse, you could just make out this location, and the large parking lot here was nearly deserted. Two other cars were here, but neither of their occupants was to be seen on the beach. The surf was rather moderate, leaving several dozen yards of safe sand to stroll along. You could easily see, from the cleanly swept beach, however, that on rough days the surf makes it all the way to the small bluff at the edge of the parking lot.

A little more late-day haze had moved in, and the view back to the headlands was a little less clear than the view in reverse that I’d had over an hour ago. After walking south for a quarter-mile or so, I began to think better of leaving my wife napping alone in this deserted place, and headed back. Back on the Boulevard, we soon reached the turn off to Drakes Beach, which is north of the Elephant seals. There’s a small complex here, all closed on a Monday, with traditional beachside deck construction housing a visitor center and a well-reviewed café. Given the lack of people, it was hard to believe that either one could be sustained here.

The bayside beach was much narrower, although just as sandy. A short patch of dune growth lay between the complex and the edge of the beach, and we stood on the deck surveying the limestone cliffs to either side. It struck me that, over 500 years later, Point Reyes may not be anymore populated than in Drake’s time (whether he landed here or not). Sure, the building behind me had been constructed, but no one else was parked here, no one was on the beach, no one in the buildings, and—aside from the lighthouse and the few people visible at the dairy ranches—we’d seen almost no one during the day. That experience of shoreline and solitude makes Point Reyes worth a return visit.