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POINT PINOS, MONTEREY PENINSULA, CA -- Under threatening gray thunderheads come the storm waves, dancing and leaping headlong, one after another, white foam streaking jade sea, rushing toward the rocks ... one burst of spray, then another, then an explosion, up, up, up to the sky, then receding, revealing the dark gray granite spines of the headland.
The smell of salt, smell of algae and mussels covering rocky flanks season the ocean breeze. And all around, there's the thunder of surf, the boom, the artillery report of water against stone. Click here to see more |
Point Lobos and the Battle of Sea and Land
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POINT LOBOS STATE RESERVE, MONTEREY PENINSULA, CA -- One hundred feet below me is a cauldron of raging surf. One after another, the storm waves advance, rear upward and burst against the granite cliff, sending foam and spray into the air. Then they ricochet backward, striking the next wave, sending more spray upward.
And yet, here on the trail, above the cauldon’s tumult, and the roar from the surf all around, I can still hear the barking of the sea lions crowded on a small, bare, rocky island a half mile out to sea. The roar of the surf and the barking of the sea lions ... that’s the sound track of Point Lobos. More |
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IN THE PEACE AND SOLITUDE of this mountainside overlook, a westerly breeze rustles through gray pines, and then dwindles away. A mile to the west and 1500 feet below, the farmland of the Salinas Valley is an expanse of pastel browns and pinks, with lines and clusters of trees scattered upon it. Beyond the farmland is the Santa Lucia range, its lowest slopes emerald green with vineyards of pinot noir and chardonnay, its flanks a bluish green wall up to the clouds.
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WINTHROP, WASHINGTON, is a time machine. |
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ON A FALL MORNING in the village, wisps of clouds filter through the greens and yellows of the forest, and drift in front of the gray wall of the mountains. The stores in the old town center are shuttered. Under the carved wooden balcony railings, all is quiet. The sun has yet to reach the peaked roofs. The timbered store fronts are in deep shade. But later in the day, colorful banners will be set out. The restaurants will serve wiener schnitzel and sauerbrauten. Store windows will tempt with chocolates and pastries. Beer and wine will be sampled, and the music of a brass band will drift from the plaza. No, this isn’t the Bavarian Alps. Nor is it Switzerland. It’s Leavenworth, USA, on the Cascade Loop in Washington’s North Cascades. More |
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IT’S 10:00 SATURDAY MORNING morning in San Francisco’s Marina district.
On Steiner Street the first of many food trucks is making a delivery to the restaurants. People are out and about getting coffee or walking the dog. Or enjoying a choice spot to sit and read the paper.
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IN THE CRISPNESS OF October, the fires of autumn come to Washington’s Cascade Range. Along the Cascade Loop, the big-leaf maples trace golden trails down the stream canyons. They make flaming yellow plumes by the hundreds among the green conifers, and along the river there is a madness of yellows among the reds and oranges of vine maples. On a drive across the range on an autumn day, each bend in the highway reveals a new, dazzling display of color.
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![]() in San Francisco Bay |
![]() on Scenic Adelaida Road |
![]() Big Sur |
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![]() San Mateo Coast |
![]() Crissy Field |
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