the curious traveler
by Jerry Camarillo Dunn, Jr.
“The Curious Traveler” received the 2011 gold medal for Best Travel Column from the Society of American Travel Writers, in a competition organized by the group’s western chapter. For Jerry’s latest book, see www. myfavoriteplacenatgeo.com.
Half Moon Bay: A “Country Mouse” Getaway
T
o get to Half Moon Bay, we had driven up U.S. 101 through crawling traffic in San Jose, dodged the pushy Porsches and Tesla jockeys of Silicon Valley, and finally twisted and turned our way over a busy road through the Santa Cruz Mountains. At the end, though, waited a quiet little farm town called Half Moon Bay, set on a bluff above the blue ocean. It had an endless view across the water and a backdrop of deep forests. Ahhhh. As a local resident observed: “People come over the hill and exhale.” HALF MOON BAY is edged by a string of nearly empty beaches where you can ride horses on the sand, galloping alongside the tide. But it is probably best known for Mavericks, a surfing spot where some of the world’s biggest and most frightening
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waves rise out of the ocean like the Incredible Hulk. Surfers discovered the break in 1967, naming it for one guy’s German shepherd, Maverick. Riders plunge down walls of water as tall as a four-story building. (When the 60-foot waves crash, they actually register on seismographs.) The giant swells don’t always appear, however. Surfing competitions take place only when they do, in the window from November through March. I did see riders catching waves at gentler Surfers Beach as my wife, Merry, and I drove to Fitzgerald Marine Reserve. Tucked away on the edge of a residential neighborhood, the reserve’s tidepools are a live bouillabaisse of colorful crabs, sponges, sea stars, anemones, seaweed, and fish. A friendly local had advised me to get to the reserve right away, because the tide was so low it was actually in the minus numbers. Oddly, I didn’t see a
Fitzgerald Marine Reserve
lot of sea critters, but joined parents and kids happily wandering around the vast tidepools in search. I did get an intuitive, deep sense of the ocean’s power. Surging waves were being held back in a sort of suspended animation – not by the rim of low black rocks that guards the tidepools, but by the mighty force of the moon that pulls the tides. It felt as if a powerful boxer was being held back, bouncing in his corner, by his manager. Looking at waves as they crashed against hidden rocks and exploded in white foam, Merry had a different take: “It’s like a bad seascape painting with everything exaggerated for drama. But it’s real – and so beautiful!” A while later, exploring the adjacent residential community of Moss Beach, we happened upon a piece of history: the Moss Beach Distillery. This cliffside restaurant was once the notorious Frank’s Place, a speakeasy popular during Prohibition with silent film stars and San Francisco politicians. Writer Dashiell Hammett (The Maltese Falcon) frequented the joint and even set one of his stories here. Because Frank’s sat above a secluded beach, it was the perfect spot for rum runners to row ashore, under cover of fog and darkness, with illegal whiskey for transport to San Francisco. Booze also found its way into Frank’s basement – no surprise – and no problem, since the owner used his excellent social and political connections to avoid being raided. The Moss Beach Distillery still has one customer from early days, a resi-
“Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.” - Robert Browning
dent ghost known as “The Blue Lady.” It’s said that she moves furniture in the night, whispers in people’s ears, and performs other disembodied stunts – rating a spot on television’s Unsolved Mysteries. Unlike many other haunted places, this one serves a very nice seafood platter. AFTER AN AFTERNOON OF EXPLORING, we headed to the RitzCarlton on a point just south of town. The luxury resort’s shingled buildings sit on a bluff whose ruggedness is softened by a swaddling of green golf courses. When we checked in, the friendly desk attendant told us our room number and added, “Sunset is at 6:45.” Hmmm . . . good to know, but odd to mention? Later, sitting in Adirondack chairs on the Ocean Lawn, Merry and I realized that in Half Moon Bay, sunset is the day’s big event. As guests sipped wine, the resort’s bagpiper appeared in full Scottish regalia to herald eventide. The pipes’ lonely sound was a fitting accompaniment to the fading light. After a night’s sleep, we went exploring Half Moon Bay’s historic Main Street, where houses and buildings from the 1800s and early 1900s have been converted into shops. At Abode, a home-décor store, we bought a handcrafted wooden box overflowing with local moss and lichen – very NorCal. Next we checked out the region’s main enterprises, flower growing and farming, which yield everything from 9 – 16 May 2019