True, it’s not a secret. Nothing really is anymore thanks to people like us who blab about everything we find on the internets. But if you’re looking for an up-close encounter with wild and endangered sea otters you may not find a better location than Moss Landing, California.

We never figured out what attracts them here. It’s certainly not the kind of quiet and pristine environment in which we found these reclusive marine mammals twice before (once in Big Sur and again in Point Lobos).

The murky canals and bustling harbor of Moss Landing don’t seem like optimal otter living conditions, but then what do I know about the comforts of sea otters? Maybe they enjoy an “all you can eat” buffet of fishing boat scraps. People have certainly settled places for lesser reasons.

Strange place for a sea otter.

Whatever draws them, it does so in large enough numbers that visitors have a reasonably good chance of actually spotting one; something that can’t be said for elsewhere on the coast. More than that, the otters who frequent these waters are a bit more acclimated to human activity and don’t dive under the waves and disappear at the first sight of people. Only in an aquarium are you likely to get a closer look.

This “secret” otter hideout is as easy to find as it is to drive right past. It’s a simple left turn onto Moss Landing Road off Highway One, about midway between Montery and Santa Cruz. I’d say “you can’t miss it” but, if you’re as good with directions as we are, you probably can. We’ve marked the location on the map below, but it still might work best if you plug it into your GPS . . . 36.8044° N, 121.7858° W.

National Steinbeck Center, Salinas, California

It was our second visit to Salinas, California and this time, just as last, we found ourselves spending the afternoon with an old friend; one whose own Great American Road Trip had not only significantly preceded, but also strongly influenced, ours.

During our stay it occurred to us that we really should share his story with our readers; some of whom may already know it but would nonetheless profit from a reminder. And as a writer of some accomplishment in his own right, we figured there could be no better way to introduce the trip that so inspired us than to hand over the reins and let him simply speak for himself.

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My plan was clear, concise, and reasonable, I think. For many years I have traveled in many parts of the world. In America I live in New York, or dip into Chicago or San Francisco. But New York is no more America than Paris is France or London is England. Thus I discovered that I did not know my own country. So it was that I determined to look again, to try to rediscover this monster land.

For this project I procured a three-quarter-ton pick-up truck, capable of going anywhere under possibly rigorous conditions, equipped with a camper top, rather like the cabin of a small boat or the shell of a learned snail. And because my planned trip had aroused some satiric remarks among my friends, I took to calling it Operation Windmill and named my truck Rocinante, which you will remember was the name of Don Quixote’s horse.

Under the big oak trees of my place at Sag Harbor sat Rocinante, handsome and self-contained, and neighbors came to visit, some neighbors we didn’t even know we had. I saw in their eyes something I was to see over and over in every part of the nation – a burning desire to go, to move, to get under way, anyplace, away from Here. I saw this look and heard this yearning everywhere in every state I visited.

Rocinante

Since I made no secret of my project, a number of controversies arose among my friends and advisors. It was said that my New York license plates would arouse interest, and so they did. But such contacts followed an invariable pattern, somewhat as follows:

Local man: “New York, huh?”
Me: “Yep.”
Local man: “I was there once. I hated it. Wouldn’t live there if you paid me.”

There was also some genuine worry about my traveling alone. For this reason I took one companion – an old French gentleman poodle known as Charley. Actually his name is Charles le Chien. He was born in Bercy on the outskirts of Paris and trained in France, and while he knows a little poodle-English, he responds quickly only to commands in French. Otherwise he has to translate, and that slows him down.

Charley is a born diplomat. He prefers negotiation to fighting, and properly so, since he is very bad at fighting. In establishing contact with strange people, Charley is my ambassador. I release him, and he drifts toward the objective, or rather whatever the objective may be preparing for dinner. I retrieve him so that he will not be a nuisance to my neighbors – et voila! A child can do the same thing, but a dog is better.

John Steinbeck and Charley

In long-range planning for a trip, I think there is a private conviction that it won’t happen. As the day approached, my warm bed and comfortable house grew increasingly desirable and my dear wife incalculably precious. To give these up for three months for the terrors of the uncomfortable and unknown seemed crazy. I didn’t want to go. Something had to happen to forbid my going, but it didn’t.

I knew that ten or twelve thousand miles driving a truck, alone and unattended, over every kind of road, would be hard work, but in my own life I am not willing to trade quality for quantity. For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. 

One epic road trip

The morning came, a bright one with the tawny look of autumn in the sunlight. My wife and I parted quickly, since both of us hate good-bys. And I, with Charley beside me, drove Rocinante to the Shelter Island Ferry for I wanted to avoid New York traffic and get well on my way.

After a time I pulled Rocinante into a small picnic area maintained by the state of Connecticut and got out my book of maps. And suddenly the United States became huge beyond belief and impossible ever to cross. I wondered how in hell I’d got myself mixed up in a project that couldn’t be carried out.

Inside Rocinante

I ended up having a conversation with Charley about roots. He listened but he didn’t reply. Could it be that Americans are a restless people, a mobile people, never satisfied with where they are as a matter of selection? The pioneers, the immigrants who peopled the continent, were the restless ones in Europe. The steady rooted ones stayed home and are still there. Wouldn’t it be unusual if we had not inherited this tendency? Charley had no answer to my premise.

For my part I know that when I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. I fear the disease is incurable.

- John Steinbeck
  Adapted from Travels with Charley

Filed under: California, Travel, United States Tagged: John Steinbeck, Rocinante, Salinas, Steinbeck Center, Travel, Travels with Charley ]]> http://everywhereonce.com/2013/05/20/travels-with-charley/feed/ 8 schmidtbd National Steinbeck Center, Salinas, California Quote Mark John Steinbeck Rocinante Camper Steinbeck with Charley Travels with Charley Map John Steinbeck Rocinante Camper Interior http://everywhereonce.com/2013/05/17/mighty-big-sur-part-ii/ http://everywhereonce.com/2013/05/17/mighty-big-sur-part-ii/#comments Fri, 17 May 2013 11:30:51 +0000 Shannon http://everywhereonce.com/?p=9447 ]]>

So mighty is Big Sur, its riches were too many to be showcased in a single post. Our tour through el sur grande continues…

Partington Cove

With only an approximate location and vague instructions to look for an iron gate along Hwy 1, we found the unmarked trail to Partington Cove on our second try. A short, steep hike leads through a wooded, wildflower-bedecked canyon before branching in two directions, one toward a secluded patch of rocky beach.

The other way leads through a century-old, 60-foot tunnel, once used to transport cargo onto ships and later a rumored rendezvous point for liquor smugglers during Prohibition. A wooden walkway leads to another rocky outcropping, where we spied on an otter frolicking in the water—our first sighting in the wild of the elusive creature, once nearly hunted to extinction.

Bixby Bridge

Spanning a canyon along Hwy 1, the arched Bixby Bridge was completed in 1932 and styled to blend in with its surroundings. One of the world’s highest single-span bridges, topping out at 260 feet, it’s a popular backdrop for car commercials and a favorite spot for camera-wielding visitors, including us.

Pfeiffer Beach

A $5 admission fee buys access to striking Pfeiffer Beach, where massive sandstone rocks stand among the waves just offshore. One boulder features a cutout in its center, as if framing the ocean vista, while purple-hued sand brightens up the beach, stained by minerals washing down from a hillside.

Henry Miller Memorial Library

Books suspended from the ceiling adorn the Henry Miller Memorial Library

Since novelist and one-time Big Sur resident Henry Miller makes a cameo in my forthcoming book, Writers Between the Covers, stopping by his namesake Library—a nonprofit bookstore, arts center and live music venue (the likes of the Red Hot Chili Peppers have played there)—was on the agenda. As it turns out, it happened to be the only place in Big Sur where we could connect during our media blackout. The Library offers wi-fi to customers, and we lounged on their porch among the redwoods checking email and sipping Earl Grey tea in exchange for a small donation.

Before we showed up I had affectionately dubbed the place the “dirty Henry Miller” Library because of what I had learned about his salacious relationship with the writer Anaïs Nin in Paris during the 1930s. And the Library does indeed manage the interesting combination of being both literary and playfully dirty. Along with copies of Miller’s books, including Tropic of Cancer, which was banned for obscenity in the U.S. for nearly thirty years, on display were tomes for those looking to spice up their sex lives.

Valentines Day table at the Henry Miller Memorial Library

One of many writers and artists drawn to Big Sur, Miller lived in the area for fifteen years. In Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch, he summed up the striking landscape by saying, “This is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look.”

Big Sur, California

After spending time in the high-intensity urban sprawl of southern California, Big Sur seemed like an alternate realm. Remote and rugged, this 90-mile stretch of land is bordered by the Pacific Ocean and the Santa Lucia Mountains. A single, winding road, Highway 1, leads travelers north and south into and out of the area. Strict property laws have kept Big Sur largely undeveloped, and its three towns consist of only a few buildings each.

With four days to explore and expectations running high after catching a glimpse of jagged cliffs and dramatic waves on the drive in, we parked the RV and set out to see what “el sur grande” (the big south, as Spanish settlers called it) had to offer.

McWay Falls

It’s no surprise that U.S. House Representative Lathrop Brown and his wife chose to build a house in the 1920s on land that’s now part of Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park. Nearby is an 80-foot waterfall cascading onto a beach, where at high tide it mingles with the turquoise waters of the Pacific. This natural wonder is one of the world’s few “tidefalls,” a waterfall that empties directly into an ocean.

Sand Dollar Beach

A short, switchbacking trail and steep staircase through a deep valley leads to the longest uninterrupted stretch of sandy beach in Big Sur. Perhaps the most pleasant, too, as the surrounding bluffs protect sun worshippers from the near-constant coastal winds buffeting much of the area.

More interesting, for us at least, was this cobblestone-laden section, where the outgoing surf would roll an untold number of rocks whose tumbling sounded like the efforts of a giant popcorn maker.

Salmon Creek Falls

Getting to Salmon Creek Falls . . .

The coastline is Big Sur’s most dazzling draw, but travelers shouldn’t turn their backs on the area’s other side. Tucked in the forested mountains, part of the vast Los Padres National Forest, are sights like Salmon Creek’s double water fall.

is entirely worth it.