Wave Hunting in Big Sur

The hawk flew over the hood of my car.  I slowed down a bit, and watched as it perched on a fencepost, a squirming rattlesnake in its talons.  The snake’s tail flailed around desperately—with obvious terror—as the hawk bent down, and in one swift motion tore off its head. The hawk then began to voraciously rip away chunks of flesh, as the snake’s tail continued to writhe about sporadically. It eventually stopped moving.

That was the first thing I saw when I arrived at Big Sur.

Named long ago by the insightful Spanish explorer Gaspar de Portola for its vast uncivilized expanses south of the relative security of Monterrey, el pais grande del sur (or Big Sur) stretches nearly 70 miles from San Simeon to Carmel.

Even with the introduction of paved roads in the 1920’s, and electricity in the 1950’s, Big Sur is still a wild place, complete with colossal redwoods, roving mountain lions, and daunting cliffs straight from “The Land Of The Lost.” That rugged beauty has attracted pilgrims of all kind over the years: from common tourists and naturalists, to artists like Jack Kerouac, and even movie stars like Rita Hayworth; all drawn to this shrine of unadulterated natural magnificence like moths to a flame.

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Wave Hunting in Big Sur