In a state of acute post Avenue-of-the-Giant-Half afterglow,  I went in search of an ocean in which to stick my feet, an ocean for walking in the freezing cold water, with waves up to my knees, maybe higher to make up for my PR sins.  (My chiropractor had warned me in no uncertain terms~ no PR for you, young lady but then my watch GPS didn’t track so I got confused on my the pacing and the trees were so beautiful and it felt so easy and I just couldn’t help but run as fast as I could…, no really, I couldn’t, I swear).  So off to the ocean for me. 

Except for the real estate scandal at the height of the boom, Sheltered Cove is an idyllic beach where one can see how you would be so easily fooled into thinking this was undiscovered paradise.  Cars park along the stretch of sand as if it is the 1960’s as young boys squeal trying to catch the crab playing in the waves.  The tide is calm and swimming is safe.   Kids are laughing, old men are fishing and families sprawl out on towels and eat picnics laid out on back doors of their cars, folded down like a table.    This officially Lost Coast is where Route 1 leaves the coastline providing a pristine vista for those who venture down the long windy one way road down to the sea.  A light house displaced from its original home looks at peace in its new home on the cliff.    I poked through rocks and seaweed, had a nap in the mustard flowers listening to bees buzz while sniffing the honey sweet smell of the abundance of flowers.

Then headed back down the long windy road back to Ferndale where I was staying before it got dark.  Ferndale is stuffed with Butterfat Mansions, the Victorian tributes to the money made by dairy farmers, cows grazing in the fertile rolling landscape 5 miles inland from the sea.  It was empty there but I had a good meal at the bar to fill my empty stomach, watch Obama announce the capture of Bin Laden, had a glass of wine before I wandered over the Victorian graveyard before dusk.  All in all a good day.