40
day
1
montereytobigsur:
InwhichRachel encounters
agrandstandingwhale, a
grumpyalbatross, anda
perfectlygrilledoctopus.
“What arewe thinking?!”blurtsmy husband,
Josh, as we cruise south onHighway 1,win-
dows down, the sparklingPacificonour right,
golden-green hillsides on our left.As native
EastCoasters turned longtimeSanFranciscans
contemplating amove back toBostonduring
blizzardseason,aCalifornia road tripmightbe
justwhatweneed.
Beforestartingourrambling,250-mile journey
fromMonterey toSantaBarbara,we pull into
Moss Landing, an old fishing village about
20minutesnorthofMonterey’sdowntown.We
have just enough time for eggs over easy and
boilerplate coffee at theMossLandingCafe,a
woodenshackwherecopsknockbackpancakes
andwhite-hairedmendiscuss local affairs.We
scarf down our eggs,watch an old-timer pour
himself aNegraModelo (before 9 a.m.), then
clopdown thebirdpoop–covereddock.
Waiting for us by the water’s edge is Kate
Spencer,of FastRaftOceanSafaris.She ush-
ers Josh andme—alongwith just three other
would-bewhalewatchers—ontoamilitary-style
boat:a33-foot,rigid-hull inflatable.According
to Spencer, the humpbackwhales have been
going off inMonterey Bay lately, as warmer
watershavepushedanchovies closer to shore.
TheNovember air iswarm and still.We zip
across thewater, eye-level with the lolling sea
lionsandpelicansskimming thesurface.“Look,
oneo’clock!”yellsSpencer,asexcitedas if it’sher
first-everhumpbacksighting(it ismine).About
100 yards away, a spurt ofwater.As thewhale
performs itsslow-motionpirouettes,we’reclose
enough to see thenicks on its underside.
Overandover,the40-tonmammal throws its
tail intheair,showingoff likeakiddoinghand-
stands in thepool.There’ssomethingespecially
magical about seeing the spectacle from sucha
small boat,with so fewpeople—though there
are limits to thisapproach.A lonekayakergets
a little too close,watchingwarily as thewhale
breaches circles around him for half an hour.
Eventuallywetearawayandheadbacktoshore,
with scores of leaping long-beaked dolphins
leading theway.
Invigorated,we go for lunch atMonterey’s
newWharfMarketplace:Cuban paninis and
agrilledCastrovilleartichoke,whichweeaton
thedeck,ravingaboutourmorningadventure.
On Cannery Row, where rubber-booted
workerswould clean,cut,and can the sardines
that once drove Monterey’s economy, we
wander past penny candy stores andmarine-
themed shops, then pop into theMonterey
BayAquarium,wherewegawk at trippy jelly-
fish and cuddly sea otters feasting on clams,
as kids clutching stuffed dolphins listen to a
docent describe the dangers of plastic bags to
albatrosses—like theone standingnext toher,
which looks onwith a stern expression.
We saygoodbye to thegrumpy albatross and
make our way south, past Carmel, to Point
Lobos State Reserve. It’s the kind of idyllic
coastal spot that people come from all over to
see (and thatwehave inourbackyard,I remind
Josh, just in case he’s still considering that
Boston job).We hike the trails and coves and
watch theseaottersbask.Two tourists inwhite
Around here, we
all kinda laugh
at the whole
sustainable,
mason-jar,
chicken-raising
hipster thing.
That’s just how
people have
always done
it here.
chelsea belle
davey,
artist
