Mendocino Blues

This article submitted to Northstate Outdoors by Meade Fischer who can be reached at tripper@ebold.com




Something's lost when something's gained. For example, I finally

have some disposable income as opposed to being ill disposed to

having income. As a result, I can afford a state park or private

camp ground, not that I'm acclimated to actually paying for one.

Case in point is my almost annual trip to the Mendocino coast.

I can afford, assuming they are not full, to stay at one of the

three state parks in the area. In prior years, that would have

upset my travel budget for the summer. So, state parks are nice,

clean, have restrooms and showers and noisy neighbors. They also

cost plenty. Bottom line is convenient but kind of mundane.


I've been camping in the Mendocino Coast area for quite a few

years, and I know all the free places. In fact, I am to free

camping what Warren Buffet is to investing.

One of my favorite spots, a place I may not camp at again, is

Blue's. There is no sign, no gate, no delineated spaces, no

restrooms, no amenities. This is one of the few access places to

the coast along the rugged and almost empty stretch of coast from

Fort Bragg to Leggitt. It is about fifteen miles north of Fort

Bragg, and a short drive from the wonderful Pacific Crest Winery.

You got to know this place, a dirt road leading off of Highway One

for a short ways to a small dirt parking area at the edge of the

beach. This is a great surfing area, if you don't mind the great

white sharks, and the surf is the reason I first checked it out.

Since it isn't a regular camp ground, there are no fees, and the

restroom is the dunes. There is room for six to eight vehicles to

park and/or spend the night. It's used by hippies who have a bias

against establishment camping, people with pets that are not

allowed in some camp grounds, and people like me, coast bums who

search for cheap adventures rather than getting a real job.

The first time I camped there, I ran into a hippy couple who were

delightful, and we shared stories. The next time, there was a

wonderful octogenarian who traveled all over in a camper with his

dog, and thus couldn't use some of the developed camp grounds. We

sat in his camper, looking out the window and the crashing waves

and drinking wine until the wee hours.

My last trip there, a group of local blue collar workers were

getting drunk off Miller beer and making no end of noise. Another

camper, in an actual camper (I was in the back of my van), got out

and shouted at them to quiet down, it being after 10. They

responded by getting louder, so I pulled further up near the

highway, out of range.

A few minutes later, these guys, in three cars, drove past me as

if the devil were after them, so I drove back to my original spot,

speculating on what the camper did to get them to flee so rapidly.

Perhaps he pulled a gun. It doesn't matter. I had a peaceful

sleep, lulled by the breaking waves and the ocean breeze.

You don't have these moments at a state park.