BACK TO BIG SUR

No, I'm not riding around on the central coast of California. I'm rooted in place in frozen south Louisiana. Somehow, thoughts about this scenic stretch of California I visited many summers made me feel warmer in the 28 to 34-degree weather we're experiencing this week (and the same slated for next week). My computer screen saver has held a graphic of Big Sur for several years, and Sunday I indulged in a "soap" movie entitled "The Sandpiper" to get a good look at the seaside cliffs and the Pacific Ocean views. Although some viewers would've been drawn to Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor romancing in this setting, I just wanted to view the region's pristine scenery again.


I’ve had peak experiences while traveling to and staying in a state park at Big Sur. It's a fantastic stretch of undeveloped countryside unmarred by billboards and commercial activity. A trip along the Pacific Ocean through this rugged region is a spiritual experience, and during some of my visits, I wrote a ream of poems while riding along the narrow two-lane highway. Views from cliffs are remarkable, but I've read that travel on the highway has been hampered by a total of 55 landslides. However, I never felt unsafe, even in a large RV with seven people aboard.


For nineteen years, Henry Miller, who lived at Big Sur, described the area as "the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look." He paid tribute to Big Sur in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch, and one summer we visited the Henry Miller Library and bookstore to get our copy of this classic. I've seen several documentaries featuring Jack Kerouac and his gang encamped in the area, and I understand Big Sur is still a major attraction for the literary-minded.

On one of our stays at Big Sur, we turned into the drive leading to the Esalen Institute, where the Human Potential Movement developed during the 1960s, but guardians of this New Age Movement immediately surrounded us. We withdrew and planned a trip to Carmel, where my granddaughter and I visited the poet Robinson Jeffers' home. When the guide asked for a volunteer to read one of Jeffers' poems, I stepped out of the circle of tourists to perform for my granddaughter. The guide remarked, "You read like a poet," and Kimberly snickered.


During that trip, I had an envee to visit the Tassajara Zen Mountain Center that called for a drive up a steep 12-mile dirt road, but fellow travelers in the RV gave the destination a thumbs down, so we backtracked to San Simeon to see the lavish Hearst Castle — the ostentation was visual overload for me, I might add.


The only drive that inspired a bit of fear and awe in me was the Bixby Creek Bridge en route to Carmel, which is now closed again. If you Google photos of this structure, it’ll be evident why I had some trepidation about crossing this bridge.


Most of the beaches in the Big Sur region are surrounded by private property owners, but we often stayed at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park under the umbrella of towering sequoia trees. We made side trips to see seals and otters at Point Lobos, wind whipping around us strong enough to drive me indoors… to begin planning the following year's travel on this "All American Road" touted by the 1996 National Scenic Byways Program.


Just a bit of California warmth on this frosty morning in the sunny South — following a call just received about boiling water because of low psi. Back to daydreaming about Big Sur!




Painting by Paul E. Marquart; photograph by Laurel Marquart.