Moonstones

I still have some moon-snails, still looking for my moonstones.

When I was young and foolish, I once hiked out to Arch Rock, or was it Double Point, I don’t remember which, I was hiking south along the deserted shore below Alamere Falls, when I came to a rocky outcrop and I couldn’t get to the other side. So I climbed up it and there was a big sinkhole down to the beach, and the arch looking out to sea—Double Point, I assumed. There are several arches along that part of the seashore. 

So I jumped down into the sinkhole to the beach below and went out the second arch and continued on exploring the isolated southern strand. Moonstones and moon shells galore. A treasure trove. By the time I returned at sunset, the tide was coming in and time was running out. What I hadn’t planned on, was the problem of climbing back up out of the concave walls of hole. For a while there I thought I was a goner.

Luckily when I jumped up I could just reach the lip overhang of the sinkhole with my hands, I held on for dear life, but I was sweating it trying to gain purchase on the eroded, not to mention slippery, concave walls of that sinkhole. A vertical wall would’ve been a piece of cake. I hadn’t counted on the curved walls. 

I utilized all my gymnastic moves and rock climbing skills, with a lot of adrenaline—which helped. I pulled myself up via a chin-up and hoisted an elbow over the edge. Victory. But getting my much heavier legs up to rim level without anything to use as leverage was much harder. As I flailed my legs, I thought for sure I was a goner. 

And yes, I was a little more than a teenager, so I guess we could blame my prefrontal lobes. Luckily, I had massive upper body strength, and I didn’t weigh very much. I pretended the cave lip was a horse, and eventually got a leg up and wriggled myself to the top. I was more than a bit shaken. I lay facedown on the rock counting my lucky stars. 

I remember the utter thrill of jumping down from the cliff into the sand. I felt like an intrepid explorer on an adventure. I never once thought about my personal safety. I’m sure there were moonstones in the sand egging me on as I was collecting them at the time. I felt invincible, it was a real Robinson Crusoe moment. Until I had to return the same way I came. Oops! Then, the long hike back along the Palomarin Trail to Highway One in the dusk.

I recently tried to find the sinkhole on Google maps but I think it’s long gone. Eroded away after 50 years, a collapsed sea arch becomes a sea stack. When I think now upon that escapade, I cannot believe how utterly stupid I was, or was it fearlessness? I guess I thought worst case scenario was that I could swim around the point. I would never consider that now. But I was a strong swimmer.

What was cool about looking at Google maps was the realization that I had been to almost every beach listed. I was fearless hiker. I remember camping one time at Wildcat Beach. It was miserable as the wind blew all night, and we were well sandblasted by morning, but morning on Wildcat Beach was utterly beautiful, and profound. Also, I used to ride my horse from Bear Valley Ranch in Olema over Mount Wittenberg to Limantour Beach. Other stories for another time.