California – Westport and Fort Bragg
Nary a creature big or small stirred in the night . . . and still only three people camping in the morning. Such a shame in this glorious weather.
Again we opted for the scenic route down to Fort Bragg. Did we make the right choice? An ominous sign warned “No vehicles over 40 feet”. They weren’t kidding. Twenty-two miles of narrow, winding hair-pin bends climbing up through gorgeous tall redwoods – their new growth gleaming golden green . . . the dappled sunlight criss-crossing the road. Sheer drops to the valley floor far below, often with no guardrail . . . or room to spare! Pull outs – or turn-outs as they’re called here, are a must for slower vehicles to allow others to overtake on the way up . . . but even more important on the way down, to give red-hot brakes a chance to cool down.
Rounding a corner and there was the Pacific in it’s vastness . . . . huge rocky outcrops . . . some flat, some jaggy . . . some with holes through which the surf crashes. Line after line of powerful, foam-topped rollers thundering into shore. Awesome in the true sense of the word. There are several cliff-top campsites along the way with surprisingly few campers. We made use of one for lunch – enjoying the sun, surf and Cormorants preening on their rocky castles.
Cute seaside village of Westport – every conceivable style of house from painted beachfront, Mexican, elaborate stone, expensive ranch, ramshackle wood (this one had a magnificent corrugated roof done in stripes – rust and aluminum!). No place to park and take a photo.
Still no internet on the road, but campsite found – wonderfully spacious, treed and private – each with its own “Bear Box”. Not, as one might imagine, a nicely stored larder for bears . . . but to keep bears OUT of YOUR food. Not sure how well they work, but we don’t have to worry. Campsite seems to be a popular place — many of the spots were already booked for the weekend.
Fort Bragg is a pleasant place – has it’s own craft brewery “Northcoast” – their Red Seal Ale looked good so we bought some. Being later in the day many of the stores were shutting or already closed, but the local deli/butcher shop was doing a fine trade. Wonderful aromas . . . no end of custom-smoked bacon and sausages. We settled on “Turducken” sausages (can’t go wrong with three meats!), locally baked bread rolls and some lovely grainy mustard made with Northcoast ale. Onions and sausages cooked on the barbecue – what a feast. A walk along the board walks over the dunes to catch the sunset and rocky bays. Suddenly a head popped up . . . a young seal drifting effortlessly in the pockets of surf, rear flippers out of the water, totally relaxed. One cool dude!
Another beautiful morning. Dragged all the sleeping bags, towels etc. outside to air in the warm sunshine. A welcome shower left us feeling clean and refreshed. I love our little bathroom. Took our bikes along the trail into Fort Bragg. Fantastic vistas all the way. Wildflowers in abundance . . . . banks of Ice Flowers in pink, yellow and white carpeted the sand dunes . . . Californian Poppies and Indian Paint brush just starting to make an appearance. A profusion of delicate blue stars and yellow daisies. Row upon row of 2-storey ocean front rental complexes . . . all with bright red patio chairs, which people drag across the walkway in order to gain a better sunset view. A long trestle joined one side of the wide sandy bay to the other, allowing people to walk or bike across, while people below walked, paddled or let their kids/dogs dig to their hearts content in the vast, sandy bay. Warning signs a-plenty though, on the dangers of rogue waves and undertows.
The downside to pulling one’s house along . . . the matter of <Whisper … Waste Disposal> . . . so off to the sani-dump and the fun job of emptying both tanks – ‘blackwater’ first . . . flushed afterwards by the ‘greywater’. Plastic gloves and lots of handwashing. There . . . aren’t you glad you came with us?
