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Nude Beaches By Adam MartinI COME FROM north Orange County, where the word beach means a mile-long strip of sand covered in oil droplets and half-naked bodies. The scene is bisected by an elevated pier, at the end of which sits a '50s diner, and under which junkies hang out. Oh, and water. It has water near it too. By comparison, all northern California beaches are wild. Even Ocean and Stinson might as well have glaciers and bald eagles nesting in the drinking fountains. Plenty of beaches around here look wild, devoid of diners and junkies, but their popularity precludes them from joining the ranks of the truly untouched. Just because a beach doesn't have an ice-cream stand and lifeguard tower doesn't mean it's wild. High human traffic can make any virgin spot seem like a Patagonia-draped episode of Baywatch. But within an easy hour-and-a-half drive from San Francisco, one can find a few real coastal diamonds in the rough. They are tranquil and relatively untouched by development (save for a few park service amenities), and they can provide a glimpse into the natural past of this increasingly developed region. Humans are the factor to be avoided here, and what do huge groups of humans need more than anything else? That's right – plumbing. Any beach that gets enough traffic to warrant a flush toilet is, except in the dead of winter, not going to be the isolated strip of paradise you had in mind. For our purposes, anything fancier than a pit toilet is a deal-breaker. You would be well-advised to pack toilet paper to the following four destinations. About half an hour south of San Francisco, just past Half Moon Bay, Cowell Ranch Beach sits below the bluffs of the peninsula coast. The signed gravel car park right on Highway 1, just a few hundred yards south of the Half Moon Bay city limits, can fit only 10 automobiles, but there was only 1 other car in it on my last trip. A gravel track leads straight from the car park through a half mile of still-working farmland on the edge of Cowell Ranch State Park. The thrilling and bare vista point at the end is accessible by wheelchair, something of a rarity on the wild-beach scene. Since the beach is at the bottom of some steep cliffs, the first glimpse will make you say, "Oooohhh!" every time. Stairs lead to the sand, where a nice-size swell breaks just a little too close to submerged rocks for a novice surfer like myself to feel comfortable. You can hang out waterside to the north of the point, but to the south it's "look but don't touch." That beach is protected from humans so that a colony of harbor seals can hump and scratch themselves and wiggle around like hilarious, fuzzy bags of blubber. The park service has thoughtfully placed a mounted telescope at the tip of the vista point for easy spying. The golf course that drops out of view as you descend the stairs stops short at the farm that surrounds the land side of the beach. A farmhouse and acres of artichokes have been the only human-made changes to the terrain for the last hundred years or so. The area has gone from one of the first spots settled by people on this coastline to a welcome, green respite from expanding sprawl. And with Half Moon Bay a mere mile to the north, a picnic lunch here could even include cold beer and hot chicken. Further south down Highway 1, about 14 miles north of Davenport and just before you pass into Santa Cruz County, Gazo Creek Beach caps the northern tip of Año Nuevo State Preserve. The creek flows across the sand and into the Pacific in front of a car park and two portable toilets. Though quite close to Highway 1, the beach provides immediate access to Año Nuevo's well-protected coast. A wide peninsula juts into the ocean, and the rough seaside triangle of wilderness is isolated from development. A couple hundred yards from the road, traces of civilization disappear, save for the cute but seemingly permanently closed Beach House restaurant. It's roughly a two-mile walk from the car park to the beach, a protected area of sand dunes and wildlife just above where elephant seals roost. Gazo Creek Beach has no swell to speak of, but the mild surf, shallow creek, and proximity to the car make it a good place for little kids to get wet on a warm day. One of the most wild beaches – in the sense of being untrodden and undeveloped – also has the least-wild climate. Marshall Beach is the last bay-side sand on Tomales Point peninsula approachable by land. From San Francisco, go north on Highway 101 to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, and drive straight through John Muir Park out to Olema, about 35 miles. Turn right at the stop sign, staying on Sir Francis Drake for about three miles, past Inverness. Veer right on Pierce Road and follow that to about 200 yards past the turnoff to Hearts Desire Beach. Take that uphill road to the right and follow it straight to the unpaved L Ranch Road. Go four miles along the top of a ridge until you see a car park where, on a good day, you will be the only person. A 1.2-mile hike follows, treating you to views of the grassy spit dividing the ocean and the bay. Once you hike down almost to sea level, a grove of oak trees consumes the path, forming a pastoral backdrop to the drowsy beach. In contrast to the wind and surf that define the Pacific coast, the rim of Tomales Bay is quiet, sheltered, and contemplative. Marshall Beach boasts a couple of pit toilets, but aside from them and the path, the only signs of humans are the occasional sailboat passing down the bay and the seaside houses along Highway 1 across the water. Coarse sand fades into seasonal Spanish grass usually reserved for rolling hillsides, complete with fallen boughs and pinecones for your campfire. To the north, up to the tip of the peninsula, beaches perforate the coastline, approachable only by kayak or other shallow-bottomed boats. Camping and fire permits can be obtained at the Bear Valley Visitors center, on Bear Valley Road in Olema (415-464-5100). You can camp at Marshall Beach, but there is no overnight parking. Fortunately, Blue Water Kayaks in Inverness (at the Golden Hinde Inn, 12938 Sir Francis Drake Blvd. 415-669-2600), will rent you a boat, life jacket, and paddle for $30 for two hours ($125 for 36 hours). It offers guided tours and stays open during the summer and the occasional sunny winter weekend. Marin County is not all oak knolls and solitude. Nearby Limantour Beach marks the only car access to a vast stretch of coastline that truly exemplifies the wild Pacific coast. It's backed by steep hills on the western side of the Philip Burton Wilderness Area, and it's within hiking distance of at least four campsites. The south-facing beach that includes Limantour makes up most of the 10-mile coast from Drakes Estero at the northwest end to Bolinas at the southeast. Between those points, sand and grassy dunes receive a mild pounding of well-shaped surf (almost enough to merit breaking out the surfboard). To get to Limantour, follow the directions above to Olema. Turn right in Olema, but instead of following Sir Francis Drake, turn left almost immediately onto Bear Valley Road. Follow Bear Valley for a mile or so to Limantour Road, which will take you over the coastal ridge and straight down to the beach. From Limantour Road you can access myriad trailheads, most of which will eventually take you down to the beach. A youth hostel sits off Limantour Road and will afford you a night's rest for as little as $16. At least one trail, the Fire Lane trail, heads at the hostel and leads straight to the beach, affording guests the opportunity to park the car and explore the coast on foot, drinking in the miles of trails and sand in blustery silence. Note that Limantour gets a pretty constant 15-mph-or-so wind, and at points the beach is as wide as a quarter mile. Plenty of other wild beaches dot this great coast of ours, and the intrepid traveler seeking solitude will find them. If San Franciscans want to have their gourmet bakery cake and eat it too – on a nearby expanse of untouched sand and surf – these are just a few nearby destinations that represent some of the area's best coastal wilderness. |
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