Crystal Cove

For the third weekend in a row, I took a hike. But no heroics this time.

I spent the day in Crystal Cove State Park, a wilderness area just up-shore from Laguna Beach. These are typical southern California hills, which is to say that that they're covered with scrub brush instead of big trees and, at this time of the year, their foliage is almost all browned out, waiting for the rains that will come in late winter and spring. So the scenery wasn't as glorious and overwhelming as last week going up San Jacinto or even as ruggedly impressive as the previous week in Joshua Tree National Park. However, Crystal Cove has its own beauty and wonders. For instance, at almost any time on the hike I could turn to the southwest and see the Pacific Ocean, and the sea breezes constantly cooled me.

And there were exceptions to the dead, brown bushes, like this prickly pear in blossom—

—and this native holly all dressed up for Christmas.

By the time I got back to the visitor's center, I had hiked 11 miles with an 800' rise and descent. According to my Omron pedometer, I had taken over 21,000 steps and burned over 900 calories. And I had gotten up close and personal with another part of my childhood state that I had never seen before. All in all, a great hike.

But what's a day on the coast without a little beach? Although the largest portion of Crystal Cove is the wilderness I hiked through, the State Park actually takes its name from its extension along an adjacent strip of sea shore. So I drove across the Pacific Coast Highway to Reef Point and spent some time sitting on a barnacle-covered rock amongst the tide pools.

The sound of the surf punctuated by the cries of gulls, and the blessed scent of salt, fish, and seaweed soothed and refreshed me body and soul.

But Crystal Cove had still more to share. I visited the Historical District of the park, made up largely of vintage cabins. There I found the Beachcomber Cafe, situated right on the beach. I got a table on the veranda and watched the sun sink into the Pacific as I drank my heffeweizen. There may be, somewhere in the world, better shrimp linguini than they served me, but I seriously doubt it.

What a terrific day!

I've never been much of a hiker before, but I think I'm hooked. It's powerful exercise amidst marvelous scenery. So, in addition to getting the cancer thing whipped, I may have found a new hobby. I'm already plotting about where I might continue my walks once I return to Lubbock—other than just kicking up dust in cotton fields. I've got some ideas.

But for now, next Saturday's only a week away. Where will it be? I'm thinkin' maybe Old Baldy, the tall grey-back that sits dead north of Upland in the San Gabriels. I saw Old Baldy from the valley almost every day of my childhood. Maybe it's time we got better acquainted.

Treatment count (from yesterday): 29 down, 16 to go.