POINT REYES NATIONAL SEASHORE: A 9.4 Mile Hike to Fog-Cloaked Tomales Point, with a Brief Stopover to Revel in the Oceanic Power of McClure’s Beach

About a mile in, atop a small crest known as Windy Gap, a swooning cleft in the hillside provides perfect pasturage for two dozen elk hanging out at one of their favorite spots – a tranquil and pastoral redoubt sheltered from wind and just far enough down slope to be sufficiently removed from the threats and hubbub of gawking humans.

A big antlered adult bull, standing about five feet tall, measuring the length of an NBA center, and adorned with a massive set of antlers that must add thirty pounds to his third of a ton bulk, unleashes a piercing bugle cry – perhaps signaling his preference for a mate.

















Along the route, diversions include stopping off at a hidden marsh, or pulling over at Abbott's Lagoon for a mile stroll to a beautiful beach and sand dunes to explore and play around on and bird watch.




















It is surely one of the great wildlife sightings one can experience in the Bay Area, or anywhere in California, given that massive ungulates or congregations of any megafauna are generally are not found in large concentrations outside of protected reserves.
Well beyond the midway point of the hike, we pass through areas of bush lupine and come to an arboreal oasis comprised of a few gnarled Bishop Pines and Eucalyptus trees, planted maybe a century ago.
These are the extent of the trees on this fingertip of the peninsula – most everything else that grows is waist-high bush plants or ground-clinging shrubbery. The sculpturally expressive trees provide some measure of visual relief.
A short 100 ft. spurt up a sandy hillock next leads us to a post with directional markers pointing straight ahead and indicating about a mile and a half left to the point. “Straight ahead” turns out to be any which way, however, as the overgrown trail branches off into multiple segments and false spurs, often meeting back up every fifty paces or so.
The key is to keep trudging in the direction of the “point” – stay the line, and don't veer too far off to either side or you'll wander perilously close to treacherous cliff edges. The terrain for the final mile is sandy, making navigation more of a challenge.
But the lay of the land, despite being “nothing more” than flat coastal scrub plains with no apprehensible reference points, provides highlights of the narrow blue band of Tomales Bay to one side, and the Pacific on the other; it is beautiful and intriguing in its own small charm way.
It takes your mind off the travails of hiking, the pain from an inflamed ankle. Wispettes of fog hover and vanish, revealing ‘neath the shroud of liquid smoke snippets of land formations, small rises and hummocks, and hints of beach and shiny reflections off a few rock outcroppings.
Dillon's Beach is viewed through rising fog as a scimitar of brown, curving shoreline, where Tomales Bay kisses the great Pacific – a roiling area of strong undercurrents and turbulent tides where great whites roam searching for anything they can swallow whole – including errant kayakers who might get swept out to sea.
Once, such a scenario nearly happened to a friend and me as we were out paddling around and got caught in a nasty downwind late in the day that forced us to abandon our craft somewhere below Marshall’s Beach on a rugged purchase of land.
We then bushwhacked for three hours up and down gullies and hills before finally coming to L Ranch Road – not having a clue where we were – and finding a ranger, who, on hearing our story, congratulated us for not having been swept to the sea’s outlet – where, he intoned with dead seriousness, we would have been little more than "shark bait".
Finally, our first glimpses of rocky cliffs at the tip of the world – Tomales Point. Weather conditions have changed suddenly and dramatically – we're blanketed in a chill of wind-swept fog which limits visibility.
I'm perched precariously at the edge of a cliff, barely peering out at sharp defiles slashing down and rocky promontories falling away a dizzying 200 ft. below to the swirling waters crashing foam and spray onto jumbles of black boulders splotched white with bird guano.
Farther out, visible in fog like a mirage, is a chunk of rocky earth, sitting cut off from the mainland, known as Bird Rock; it is white-coated from years and tons of avian droppings. Pelicans fly by in formation, gulls swoop and loop, and cormorants come to rest.
At the tip itself, small rocky outcrops break away from the mainland – I christen the biggest one Sea Lion Rock, in reference and homage to the dozens of pelagic pinnipeds congregating one on top of the other in close, near orgiastic, confines.
It is a wet, blasted world unto its own, terribly inhospitable and forever unwelcoming to the human spectators – me, Cat, and another party of three hikers. From the safety and comfort of our cliff top perch, we find shelter from the wind and enjoy a snack and sit back to watch the unscripted drama on the nature channel.
We take it all in, trying to fathom the unfathomable wildness of it, gazing in silence, watching in awe, as gigantic swells build up and come crashing repeatedly over the rocks.
But it barely raises a ruckus among the fifty or so endangered sea lions (Eumetopias jubatus) hanging out at what may be one of their prime rookeries. Observing closely through binoculars, I notice several of them have big scars – are they the result of run-ins, close escapes, from great whites?
It's easy to see why German naturalist Wilhelm Steller named them sea lions – their tawny hides and Leonid-like bellowing weirdly approximate doppelganger status.
Protected by the Marine Mammal Protection Act and the Endangered Species Act, Stellers can live up to 20 years or longer, grow up to 11 ft. in length, and weigh more than a ton, and, though generally they prefer an onshore habitat, they regularly travel 250 miles in search of marine edibles (fish, squid and octopus).
What a reward, right here in front of our eyes – privy to yet another fantastic wildlife viewing opportunity – imagine that! – two sightings of megafauna in one day within two miles of each other, one if by land, two if by sea!
This is truly what makes Point Reyes National Seashore extra special. (And consider the astonishing reality of the total constituted biomass of unseen insects – ants alone! – which surpasses in magnitude the weight of all the elk and sea lions combined!)
Before our muscles tighten up too much, and lest our creaky bones mutiny against the chill setting in, we pack things up and begin the hike back . . . I'm dreading the several miles of slogging it on my inflamed ankle, but what choice do I have?
Away from the point, the wind abates and the sun comes out to brighten prospects. The scenery, conversation and company are wonderful – Cat is relating her perspectives and adventures at her first Burning Man experience – and the miles tick off one by one until finally we crest Windy Gap, round the bend and the old Cypresses and white barn come into view – a welcome sight.
Cat has taken off ahead the last mile, charging along on an aerobic pace I cannot keep – I'm limping by the time we get to the car, but recharged enough to suggest a brief diversion to McClure's Beach to get a healthy dose of big, wide, open, wild Pacific surf in our face.
It is truly all that. McClure's Beach is a cove that curves gracefully, is backed by rocky cliffs, and lacquered with soft brown sand.
It brims with bird life, is studded with sea boulders and artfully sculpted beach rocks and is littered with driftwood and humongous strands of kelp and all manner of flotsam and jetsam – it is a beachcomber's dream and nature lover's delight.


























Big swells, ripping undercurrents, and frothy surf pounds relentlessly, and high winds add to the drama. Rogue waves crash over giant rocks, pouring forth ephemeral mini-waterfalls, as riptides swirl deliriously, making it a dangerous place to do anything but admire from a distance – it is awesome and scary and glorious to behold.
There may not be a wilder, more pristine stretch of beach along the entire California coastline, with the notable exceptions of Big Sur in Monterey County and the fabled Lost Coast in Mendocino County.
It is another magical payoff moment – famed outdoor writer Tom Stienstra attributes it to the "power of place" – and the ineffable beauty draws me back here time and time again to bask in the visceral sensations, confront primal elements, and experience raw nature in a soul-baring epiphany.
It is an all-encompassing realization, that no matter how humble or insignificant of a being I am in relation to my surroundings, I am one with it, a part of, not apart from, it – an integral cog in the mystical machinery of Mother Nature.
Not that I would ever wish such a thing to happen, but if one of those rogues waves were to sweep me off my feet and out into the engulfing waters, I would surrender to my fate and accept my death as a homecoming.






5 Comments:
Beautiful post Tom. I love the Point Reyes area.
Great post. This is one of our favorite hikes, do it a couple of times a year. I particularly liked the background info on the tule elk.
As always, Gambolin Man doesn't disappoint, artfully delivering another adventure in a truly wild and rugged place of beauty! wish i was there right now!
For me, this blog was especially enjoyable given I was there! Was it really almost 10 miles? Didn't seem like it - but then I don't have a bum foot. :-)
Tommy, you so eloquently recaptured the visit. The entire write-up was really well-done. Your ending paragraph was particularly poignant.
The elk background was great. I have an idea for how to balance their population. Excess dogs and cats aren't shot by hunters. Why not spay elk as well?
Or maybe set them up with birth control somehow. Both would be better solutions than them being killed by animals (human or otherwise).
My wife & I just hiked the 10 mile roundrip from the ranch.
We happened to get lucky with sunny weather in the 70's rather than fog. Better yet, we watched as the male Tule Elk head butted and screamed at one another over the women elk. It was quite a show.
A simple FYI for the readers here:
the mystery of the two missing women has not been solved, yet. About 6 months back, one woman went missing at McClures beach just below the ranch on the Western side. The other woman went missing about 8 miles South at North Beach, I believe it was.
Both went missing about 3 weeks apart. Official searches by sheriff's and park rangers and volunteers didn't turn up anything. The only thing that was in common between the two missing women was that their cars were found unattended in the Pt. Reyes parking lots.
One theory is they got caught by wild, dangerous ocean surf & pulled out to sea. But, yet, another person familiar with the area said that she had never heard of two people going missing there and within 3 weeks of each other.
If the victims had been attacked by animals such as mountain lions, the remains of some kind would have been located.
Its the Pt. Reyes mystery of year 2010.
Post a Comment
<< Home