“Twice Blessed” by Gregg LeFevre
Copyright 2020
Whenever I have had a particularly beautiful experience in nature, I have this strong feeling of being blessed to have taken part in the experience, even though I don't believe in any god or spiritual being in the traditional sense. If I’m in a bad spot psychologically or physically, I try to escape by taking my mind back to a fantastically beautiful place in nature that I’ve visited in the past, and find some peace and solace there. The spot you’re about to read about, while it required a perilous journey to reach, is one of my all time favorite places on earth.
Big Sur
The first time I was in Big Sur I went looking for sea lions in the early morning along Highway 1. This was before sea lions were doing so well that they were starting to become a nuisance in marinas and on crowded beaches. They make a lot of noise barking and roaring, so I thought that I could simply drive along the highway, pull over and listen, and I’d hear them. There was one problem with my plan though, because in the early morning the steep hillsides that drop down precipitously from the highway to the Pacific, are often buried in fog. So I might be able to hear them, but I could not see them.
My first wife was along for the ride, but not really on board with the plan. She had no intention climbing down to see the animals up close, but was concerned for my safety. This was near the conclusion of our 11 week honeymoon, slowly driving a VW beetle across the country. I had gotten us into a number of dangerous jams along the way, so naturally she was concerned. After only a few stops I found myself gazing into the shifting fog as I listened to the sounds of a colony of sea lions below. Their roars intermingled with sounds of the sea and the calls of the gulls, echoing off the surrounding rocky cliffs.
“I’m going to take a quick look” I called to my wife over my shoulder as I jumped over the guard rail and disappeared down the steep embankment into the fog. I neglected to read any of the signage by the guard rail. I got into trouble almost immediately. The steep grade was composed of an accumulation of thousands of thin broken pieces of shale, and as I started down and dug in my feet, the whole field of shale I was standing upright on began to move. I realized that there was nothing I could do to stop it, and based on the sound of the crashing waves that I could hear more distinctly now, I feared the field of shale might slide over the edge of a cliff, so I spun around and flattened myself onto the moving gravely surface. Everything continued to move for a few seconds and then came to a stop. Through a passing hole in the fog I could see that I was about 10’ uphill from a sharp precipice of unknown depth and I was now afraid to move at all. At that point two things happened simultaneously as the fog closed in again. My wife called down to me
“Are you OK?”
I was fearful of even yelling out and starting everything moving again but did respond loudly. “No I am not OK. I might fall off a cliff. GET HELP.”
Then everything was quiet. I lay perfectly still and tried to get control of my rapid breathing. Time passed and cold wet clouds of fog rolled by. Just then a very small grey field mouse moved furtively across the jumbled shale directly toward my face which was pressed down against the flinty surface. He stopped a foot away wrinkling his nose and smelling, trying to figure out what he had encountered. Then he decided all was well and he moved right up to an inch from my nose.
“God” I said to myself, “Please don’t bite me”
He did not but what he did was even worse, he put one of his forepaws against my cheer and then proceeded to insert his little nose, whiskers and all into one of my nostrils to explore. I did everything in my power to keep from sneezing. Luckily, he quickly lost interest in any further exploration, turned around and headed back from whence he came. At this point I found the whole situation extremely amusing and again I had to restrain myself, this time from laughing. Finally as the fog began to burn off, I got everything completely under control. Then I waited and waited and waited.
The crackling sound of a bullhorn wielded by a California Patrolman interrupted my wait “Are you OK down there?”
“No I can’t move.” As I drew a breath to explain further the shale field moved a bit and I just froze. I didn’t dare raise my voice at all.
“Are you hurt” I didn’t answer.
“Are you hurt” again I didn’t answer, then it was back to waiting.
I had no idea how long I waited but eventually a lot of shale started sliding down the slope from above me as someone repelled down the slope, carrying a separate line and harness for me. By the time they got me up and out, scattered applause came from some of the many onlookers above who had assembled against the railing. Traffic was stopped, a helicopter hovered above and a number of patrol cars were jammed together in the middle of the road.
The rubberneckers were all smiling but the cops were not. After a big hug from my wife who whispered in my ear: “I love you baby but you’re a total idiot.”
On the way back to where we were staying we passed the famous Eselin Institute where someone had spray painted the word HELP in all caps on the sign which I pointed out to my wife and we had a good laugh together.
The next day, my wife had decided she couldn’t bear another adventure so after promising her that I wouldn’t do any more rock climbing, I headed out to the scene of the crime, but this time during the afternoon when all the fog had lifted. After all, I reasoned, my real problem was the fact that I couldn’t see what I was getting myself into, and now I could.
Upon arrival I could still hear the sea lions and if I walked down the roadside a little, I could actually see one way down below, sprawled out on a flat rock ledge by a boulder, just above the sea swells of the Pacific. Walking along the highway, I also noticed that there were signs posted at regular intervals on the railing warning of the danger of landslides and falling rocks. I’ve never been one to read signs, or instruction manuals or even contracts for that matter.
I discovered a ravine couple hundred yards south, where I decided to make my descent. It was heavily overgrown with brush and small trees, so I wouldn’t be “rock climbing” as I promised not to, but I would be bushwhacking and I got scratched and chewed up pretty badly. Half way down I came to a small steep cleaning in the brush and stopped to have a drink of water and catch my breath. As I turned and looked back up the steep descent, there sat a big Golden Eagle on a branch of a dead tree. He was watching me and then leapt forward, spreading his huge wings and swooping directly at me. I ducked which wasn’t necessary because he missed me by a comfortable margin and disappeared out over the ocean. I think he was just warning me to back off. After some more struggling over the underbrush where at times I was walking on matted intertwined branches and ropey vines well above the floor of the ravine. Finally I flopped out of the brush and arrived on the broad flat stone ledge that I had seen from above. I backtracked to the area where I thought the basking sea lion lay, but there were a number of large boulders much taller than me, strewn around the ledge and so I lost my bearings. As I rounded a boulder very near the drop-off to the ocean, I found myself way too close to the sleeping sea lion who was much bigger than he looked from up on Highway 1. He was asleep on one side, his head reclining on the rocky surface and his wrinkled and leathery gray hide moving up and down with his breathing. I must have made a sound because at that moment he opened one eye, saw me and then in spite of his blubbery massive body, he leapt up and roared at me with his huge whiskered dark mouth wide open. It was a deep and resoundingly impressive bellow. Had he decided to attack he would have had me, but instead he turned and dove gracefully into the ocean, creating a circular tidal wave and re-emerging 20 yards out, fiercely roaring and barking. The rest of the colony then joined in and the noise of their combined distress calls echoed loudly off all the surrounding cliff side.
I decided that I was in no danger so I sat down with my legs dangling over the edge of the ledge and watched. Within a few minutes most of them had quieted down and returned to their places in the rocks. Only the old bull continued to express his annoyance with me, probably because I was sitting in his place, but finally he too disappeared. My perch was perfect, a light sea breeze carried a deep chill up from the ocean, while beds of kelp below me moved in languid dance. I relaxed and life seemed perfect.
When wind shifted I became aware of a deep gurgling sound punctuated by a hissing noise that sounded like steam from a geyser. I got up and wandered between the various boulders to locate the source, which was difficult to find because of the echoes. Finally I came to a very large 30 foot tall smooth rock outcropping with a crevasse that bisected it vertically. As I listened, first there was the deep gurgling sound and then the hissing sound of a rush of steam, as a cloud of mist poured forth from the crack. My guess was that a couple of minutes elapsed between the two sounds and so I waited for the steam to subside then I entered the crevasse. It quickly opened up into a fantastic smooth perfectly spherical radish brown cave lit by a wide shaft of sunlight from the terminus of the crack above. The gurgling was now deafening and frightening. Louder and louder, then a pause, and then a thick vertical column of seawater shot straight up, hitting the ceiling of the cave above and running down all sides of the spherical walls simultaneously, then came the mist and I was completely soaked. The cave was large and probably created over many centuries, by the sea swells relentlessly pushing up from under the rocky shelf below, forcing the briny water up through the craggy fissure, and relentlessly hollowing out this perfect space. It was by far one of the most amazing places that I had ever been in. Completely captivating and awe inspiring.
My guess was that given how difficult it was to get here descending the crumbling cliffside, and then navigating the labyrinthine boulder field, few human beings, if any, had ever been here before me. This was one of those rare moments when I felt blessed even though I don’t believe in any sort of spiritual being. After spending a couple of hours in the sea cave, I got a real chill and had to leave. I flaked out much like the old seal lion to enjoy drying out in his place in the sun..The trek back up to the highway was even more difficult than my descent, but just before sunset I threw myself out of the brush and climbed over to guard railing to my VW.
I made one big mistake on this glorious expedition, in part because I was so done in by the experience. I didn’t take note of the mile marker nor any of the landmarks, or the exact location of the place on the road map I had. Early the next morning we left to return the car to San Francisco. But the place always stayed clearly in my mind, and a few years later, when I visited SF again, I made a second pilgrimage to find my sea cave. I spent a whole day driving and looking with no luck. It was lost in the fog that rolled down across Highway 1, probably forever.