A Walk to Point San Simeon

Tags

Central Coast California, Hearst Castle, hikes, Nature, Point San Simeon, San Simeon, San Simeon Bay, travel, walking, wild flowers

Recently my husband and I and friends took our dogs walking out to Point San Simeon, just below Hearst Castle off Highway One. We’ve lived on the central coast of California nearly all our adult lives, and visited this area often, yet it’s the first time we’ve walked to the point. It won’t be our last. It was one of those breathtakingly beautiful days, and the scenery was stunning. Well worth sharing a few photos with friends.

We took Highway 46 over to the coast, the hillsides sprinkled with wild flowers.

Along the way we catch glimpses of the ocean . . .

. . . including Morro Rock.

Here’s a view of San Simeon Bay, with the pier and a peek of Hearst Castle on the hillside.

A closer view of the Castle.

We start our walk on the beach looking out at the point.

Here’s where the trail begins. Looking back at the beach and pier.

Friends on the trail.

Back-lit pines.

Wild flowers and fallen oaks.

Some of the largest and most spectacular Eucalyptus trees we’ve ever seen. . .

beautifully sculpted . . .

and inspiring . . .

wayward philosophers . . .

. . . explorers . . .

. . . and poets.

Finally we reach the point, complete with a lone fisherman and an elephant seal sleeping in the half-shade.

In case you missed him in the last photo.

Dazzling shades of blue around the sea-washed rocks on the point.

One last backward glimpse of the pier and beach as we head back to the car.

We take the back roads home past Hammersky Vineyard and Inn . . .

. . . past vineyards and grazing horses . . .

. . . past live oaks and wild flowers . . .

. . . to reach the tree at the bottom of our driveway (you can see our roof-line at the far right edge). I never fail to feel blessed by the beauty of the landscapes where we live.

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A Walk to the River

Tags

hiking, Nature, oak trees, outdoors, Photo-essay, photography, river, walking

We walked to the river recently, my husband and I and our little dog Mitsy. A short hike down a canyon a few miles from our home.

I left a crumb-trail of photos, if you’d like to join us.

This is where we started. The river lies below that ridge of mountains you see in the background in the photo above.

The way winds downward and grows narrow.

Among the hollows the oak trees look so dark and wild.

Eventually the canyon opens up into a wide, grassy meadow before descending again to the river.  A place to linger among the oaks.

We find a tree perfect for a child to climb or swing from . . .

. . . and places to picnic in the sun-filtered grass . . .

. . . while we admire the gracefully curving branches of the oaks, some bending so low as to touch the ground.

We watch out for the critters, spotting the tracks of deer and a mountain lion in the mud left-over from a recent rain.

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And strangely enough,  we see the barefoot print of a child, judging from its size.

We cannot imagine what a child this young would be doing out here all alone in the wild. A fairy child, perhaps?  Or one raised by wolves? Or the one that lies down with lions and lambs?

Soon enough we catch glimpses of the river far below the meadow.  Here a ribbon of blue shows beneath a fringe of pine and oak branches.

Another glimpse, framed by falling strands of moss, shows where the river parts, passing in two strands.

Nearer now an old tree stump stands guard.

Closer still the river is almost lost among shadows and leaves.

The final steep trek winding down toward our destination.

Ah, the river, at last.

Looking to the east is a sign warning us to stay away–a military training camp lies beyond this peaceful setting.

Looking westward all is calm and still.

A stand of trees fed by the river rises straight and tall on one side of the shore . . .

. . . watching their white-barked cousins dance on the other side.

Our little dog sniffs among the leaves . . .

. . . and wades among the shallows . . .

. . . and stops to gaze upon the perfectly rounded world reflected in the still water.

Up close the river is just as pretty–a still life of rock and moss . . .

. . . lies beside the rippling water . . .

. . . while green fronds rise from the mud below.

One last drink before we head home.

The walk back is just as lovely as the way down, the path still dappled in sunlight.

I never tire of admiring the oak trees, each so unique and elegant . . .

It’s almost two lovely to leave . . . .

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• Liquid Gold (jemj47.wordpress.com)
• A River of Love is Inside of me – by Steve Beckow at Golden Age of Gaia (007blueray.wordpress.com)