Half Moon Bay State Beach

The view looking north to the curve of Half Moon Bay.

A number of dominoes had to accidentally fall for me to get to the literal Pacific Coast (see: Almost, A Yosemite National Park Story) and it was so entirely worth it.

With 95 minutes left until I had to be out the hotel, I had told my 8th block class that I was really distracted by my sudden plan shifts and asked for their votes on where I should go next. I gave them options for places they had never heard of like Lassen Volcanic National Park, Redwood National Forest, Oregon Caves National Monument and Preserve as well as mentioning having a friend in San Francisco. Being an average of 12.5 years old, their advice was mostly a sounding board for whether or not something "felt right". Nothing quite clicked, and we went back to the lesson.

Upon my departure from a hotel in Fresno - for the second time in two days - I still had no idea where I was going. Weather cancelled out northwest, anything south felt like quitting, so San Francisco won the day; except now I had a couple of hours to find a place to stay. I remembered that California's state parks had a phone number for making reservations that Siri only took two tries to find for me. I explained to the bemused person on the reservation line that I needed a place to camp near San Francisco; would she please help? What follows is a dialogue of our conversation:

Them: Well, there are quite a few places within an hour of San Francisco. 

Me: Awesome. Any with availability for tonight?

Them: Sure. There's ::insert name of park::, but you need to make reservations 48 hours in advance. There's ::insert name of park::, but you need to make reservations 48 hours in advance. (mostly to herself now) There's ::insert name of park::, but you need to make reservations 48 hours in advance.

Me: Okay, well, I am currently in the car driving in that direction and need a place to camp tonight.

Them: ...

Me: It's camping, right? If there are open spots, why can I not reserve them right now? I'm literally bringing a tent and don't need any hook-ups, just the ground.

Them: Of course. Would you like to book for Friday?

Me: No, I would really like to book one for tonight. Is there anything else you can suggest?

Them: Oh, you can actually call the campgrounds and they'll let you know if there are any spots available.

Me: But, I can't reserve them.

Them: No, not for tonight.

Me: I'll take whatever number you can give me to call. Thank you.

The park ranger who answered said there were nine spots available and asked what time I might arrive. They couldn't put my name down, but it was a pretty solid chance they'd have something available. Onward we drove.

When I arrived at the entrance gate for Half Moon Bay State Beach, the ranger in attendance was a super kind woman who walked asked me my preference for number of nights to stay, circled things on my map, and then reminded me that no dogs were allowed on the beach. She also gave me a piece of advice I had never heard before, "Don't ever turn your back to the ocean." There were sneaker waves, she said, and last week a 60 foot wave had hit the beach with no warning until it just rose up out of the ocean. Welcome to the Pacific Coast.

Our campsite is just to the left of this view of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Check out the clouds!

Three nights paid upfront for a plot of land to pitch my tent. Aside from being right near the entrance, everything else about the site was brilliant. The grass had not been cut (good if you have grass allergies!), the soil was soft and comfortable, and you could hear the waves crashing. As soon as the tent was up - and staked down - Piper and I took a walk to the water.

I'm used to hurricane evacuation route signs, this was something else entirely- they're everywhere. 

View looking south from the pagoda by the stairs. 

The first thing that is really different about the Pacific Ocean is that the waves SLAP. Literal and pop culture-wise, these waves are crushing. The tubular waves I saw rivaled those at a kamikaze-rated beach on the northern coast of Oahu. The first 50 feet of water was all churned up white foam. The receding shore waves were running perpendicular to some of the incoming waves. The energy of the water sliding back out into the larger ocean created massive seaspray spurts where the reflected energy from the beach was still so strong it slowed down the rush of tide. It was intimidating.

I have grown up along the East Coast of the United States. I know the Atlantic Ocean. I've seen it with waves and hurricane tides, I learned to body surf and avoid stinging jellies in that water. I have only rarely - and more of the dark at night than anything else - been afraid to get into the Atlantic Ocean. The Pacific Ocean is another beast altogether.

However, it is one beautiful beast and it puts on a show at sunset.

Massive surf beneath the open gates of heaven.

My travel buddy on the berm. As close to the beach as we could get without breaking the rules.

Cuddled up in a puffer blanket and staring off to the horizon.

Cotton candy clouds over the campground. Mostly RVs, but a few other tent campers were out.

The next big difference on the west coast is the plant life along the water. I used the Seek app suggested by my uncle and learned that the fabulously resilient succulent ground cover were sea figs! Didn't even know that was a thing, but would 10/10 recommend for any sloped area in a yard where they can grow.

Sea figs covered the slopes the way dune grasses would back east. Smooth, shiny, and succulent.

Finally, the last huge difference I noticed is usage. Yes, it's winter, however almost no one was in the water. Or near the water. They were sitting on driftwood, walking, or just gathering to watch the sun go down. The water was ambiance, a border. In three days, I only saw two people get even their feet wet and both of them were serious surfers.

This is not passive-aggressive or anything. Like a hot beverage warning on coffee. Also, the shorelines really can be that steep. There were steps down or actual sandy switchbacks to descend from camp.

We're still actively working on training. New waist leash is terrific, however, she legit pulled a muscle in my back when she decided to bark like a maniac at a dog passing by our site. This was a calm moment. She LOVES to play in the sand and we found a wide spot on the berm to dig and lay out.

Had to wear our winter coats to the beach the first night as the wind was whipping us as soon as we got within sight of the water.

Camping high for this spot: Great sunset views and a fabulous wave soundtrack.

Weird sensory smell notice:the beach didn't smell salty.

Camping first: Was woken up by nature sounds in the night; namely, some massive waves that crashed in a menacing way.

Camping low for this spot: Everything stuck to our feet from sand to fallen tree needles. The muddy mat in the tent vestibule couldn't collect enough and we got sand in the sleeping bag.

To see how long it takes for me to get back from this shining sea to the one I'm used to, you'll have to keep coming back!