Beaches, such as Pfeiffer, have wave cut arches, blow holes, and offshore sea stacks, while, up above, the mist races across slopes of sagebrush, rags of cloud getting caught in coast live oak and pine. Sea otters bob by the score just off the coast at sunset, and brown pelicans plunge into the choppy waves.
Big Sur offers several kinds of wilderness all at once and the constant interaction between hill and creek; tree and ocean, all meeting at odd angles, results in such oddities as waterfalls that shoot directly down into the sea. On a single day in summer, in the inland valleys, the temperature can plunge by fifty degrees, as clouds cover the ocean, then suddenly lift: the weather itself becomes an hourly event.
The sea, too, is different in Big Sur because the waves are not washing up on a beach but foaming around rocks, there is a perpetual roar and boom and thud audible a thousand feet above in the hills. Around the motel-size town of Lucia the ocean has a pale blue-green clarity with almost a sense of sweetness that has never been perceived elsewhere on the Pacific coast. The ocean offers limitless horizons: there are seldom boats in the icy water, but never the oversize cruise ships. There are no oil derricks or islands in the distance. There is nothing but the occasional grey whale and a vast, unwrinkled blue sheet of water that seems to drift off towards Asia.
Last lights tint the land and air a dozen shades of violet and vermilion as pillars of wildfire smoke penetrate the fog that unrolls from the Pacific. It is hungrily devoured by a magical paintbrush that slides gracefully across the sky, adroitly mingling hues of tender grey with streaks of violet, harmonising with a subtle turquoise and the very slightest pigment of iridescent blue. The sky darkens like the slow fall of a heavenly curtain filtering out and enveloping the light of the day. By now the moon is like a delicate crystal dish pouring out its sensational contents of pearl onto the crisp waters below, creating a shimmering effect of silver radiating glow. The occasional seldom boat sails serenely in the veils of misty clouds that haunt the sky.
Most of all, Big Sur inspires thoughts of the heavens simply because it provides a humbling reminder of the forces much bigger than we will ever be. For many sightseers crawling along the cliff-top road in pea soup fog, haunted by the sound of the waves, the wrecks of cars and long-ago shops, Big Sur has a terrifying aspect. The lone road that makes its way through Big Sur is constantly cluttered with fallen trees and pieces of debris: the road itself is reduced to red earth in places by heavy rains and mudslides; and the asphalt is cracked, as if nature were reclaiming it.
Big Sur will remain, for now and forever even after man ceases to exist, and it will defy the forces of nature. It is this unparalleled beauty that therefore summons us, to bow down to incredible Big Sur.
