Southern California Day-Trippin: September 2006

Two weeks later, after taking Aurora for her first bath at Huntington Beach Car Wash (18971 Beach Blvd, Huntington Beach, CA 92648 –one structure South of Edinger, West side of Beach Blvd.), we re-visited Crystal Cove.

Don had bought a “Jogger” at a garage sale along the way. His inventive proclivities were claiming it for it’s wheel base, but as long as we had it, we employed it to carry our reading material and beverages on our stroll to the shore.

It was delightfully cool and misty. The Beachcomber Café wasn’t scheduled to be open until August so that was still undergoing construction. We sat at the picnic bench with our bottled water and our books, until the pull became irresistible; the mist muted colors, the waves rolling up the sand, the convention of Dowitchers breakfasting on Sand Crabs at the tide line, weathered wood posts—everything patiently posing.

Along the path from the car lot to the Beach

Well, yes they LOOK crooked, but it's the hill they are on.

On the path to the beach.

The beach

What's that? A bird? A plane? No, it's not Superman.

.33◦ 34’ 32” N.
117◦ 50’ 21” W.
(33.5789, -117.8077 Laguna Beach, 92651)

“Was Sunday July 9^th ground hog’s day,” you ask?

No, that was February 5^th.

“So how come we’re stuck on this day?”

Yes, I’m STILL writing about Sunday July 9^th. . .

You know that in the morning we took our newest family member, the little Acura, Aurora, to Balboa and road the Ferry with her—well, Don was with her. Upon his suggestion, I actually crossed ahead of them so I could take photos from the boardwalk of their arrival. You know we wandered South until we landed at the Birch Aquarium in La Jolla. But I glossed right over the part where we stopped at Crystal Cove (in Laguna Beach), and I really shouldn’t have because it was the first time we’d explored this particular little piece of the beach. We’d been to Crystal Cove State Park before and hiked along the trails on the cliffs that overlook the ocean, but we hadn’t seen the bungalows on the shore.

Don had read, on a few different occasions (including the previous morning), in the Orange County Register (our local newspaper) about these houses right on the water at Crystal Cove that are being restored, billed as a “Historic District,” and rented out for vacations. So he decided to see if we could find them.

We paid our $10.00 parking fee and asked the kiosk woman where the Historic District is. She said the easiest access might be to enter the park on the North side of Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) and walk through the tunnel that goes under the highway. “It’s a bit of a walk but it takes you right there.”

So that’s what we did. We parked in the State Park lot on the North side of PCH and walked down a wide path lined with trees and shrubs . . . .

to a tunnel … through the tunnel,

up a path that wends past some storage buildings (at least that’s what they look like) and to some cottages. We passed a place on our right that promised to be a café (Beachcomber) within a month. We stopped at the sand where a volunteer, in what looked like a studio cottage, handed us brochures and told us what she knew about how the reconstruction was going and how, if you are really lucky when placing reservations, you might hit a time, like she did, when someone has just canceled, and not have to wait the usual 6 months to rent one.

It was a nice cool morning and we decided that even if we didn’t rent a cottage we’d be back for another such morning—earlier next time, with our reading materials. Perhaps by then the café would be open, we’d get some coffee, and a muffin, if not a complete breakfast, and between paragraphs of Don’s Wall Street Journal, Orange County Register, or L.A. Times and my Architectural Digest/Country Living/Dog Fancy or what-have you, we’ll gaze up at the waves breaking on the shore, the Dowitchers (shorebird-Sandpiper type affair) sinking their noses in the sand, and the sails of boats billowing in the distance.

We headed back the way we’d come—but before returning to the tunnel we decided to scale the steep cliff up to PCH where a little Shack stood waiting to trade us ingestibles for dollars.

“You SCALED the cliff?”

Yes, well. Maybe that was a little misleading. We found a flight of wood steps that seemed to go up nearly as steeply as a ladder.

At the top, while Don bought the edibles, I pointed my camera at the bungalows below, despite the unsightly phone wires destroying my sense of aesthetics. Walking back toward him to collect my hot dog and lemon-lime soda, I ignored his pointing behind me, thinking he was pointing at the look-out perch that he must not realize I knew all about; had just left in fact. The jabbing gestures grew more vigorous so finally I turned, not too late to spot the flock of approaching seagulls.

Back to my perch, quick!

After they passed we consumed our brunch and headed back down the stairs, down to and through the tunnel, back up to our car, and past the empty kiosk to PCH. (It's possible we were here early enough not to have to pay, but we'd already paid on the other side so no savings there.)

THEN I got to drive us to San Diego and you know the rest.

There. After the pics here I am done with Sunday July 9^th. Yes, I promise.

Restored Cottages