1 South

Surf trips aren't like other road trips.  Waves are fickle.  Swell direction, wind and and hydrodynamics dictate how they break. When the stars line up, you move slowly.  Driving down the coast, you make frequent stops inspecting the waves, looking at maps and debating before pulling out the boards and the wetsuits. When the waves are bad,  you make up time, speeding along highways to get to another area.  Everything gets sandy and your wetsuits stay wet.

Stopping in San Francisco, Dan and I met up with Nolan, a friend from Maine, and headed south.  Nolan works for Grain, a company that makes wooden surfboards from locally grown cedar trees.  With four days of free time and 470 miles of roads snaking along the coast, we left the Bay Area on Sunday night.  Unlike most of my travels in the last two months, this time we parked at night in open lots and poached campgrounds, leaving before daybreak to avoid fees. Measuring our latitude by the quality of the Mexican restaurants, we headed south towards LA.  Once in the morning and once in the  afternoon we stopped to surf.  All day we searched.

A.M.

"The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." Mark Twain.  This was late September, but you get the picture.

Wet sands.

Empty Road along Big Sur.

Inaccessible.

Get up and go.

White water.

That way.

I pulled the shift lever out of third,  let off the clutch and coasted to a stop on the shoulder of Route 1.  Peering over the out of the passenger's window I turned down the music.

"Damn,  those are huge."

"Ehhh,  I doubt they are rideable.  There's no consistency and the outside sets would fuck you."

"Not to mention, the paddle would be a chore."

"Keep going?" I said shifting into first.

"Keep going."

Here are some more links,

1 South (Picasa).

Out of Reception

Following an ongoing theme here on A Restless Transplant, I have a new tumblr I am updating called Out of Reception.  The project started a few years back with photos taken on my iPhone.  From there, it evolved into my Instagram (@fosterhuntington) feed.  The lack of shareability of Instagram photos with none iPhone users prompted me to build a new site to house them.  In addition, I am taking more photos on my year long trip than I know what to do with.  A lot of these photos work their way in to stories here on ART, but some of these orphans need another home.

Out of Reception is a home for these orphan photos and a selection of my Instagram feed.  The format is simple; a photo and a location.

 Elk Lake, OR.

Crater Late, OR.

Updated a few times a day,  Out of Reception will be an on going and much more immediate documentation of my trip.  If you're on Tumblr or into RSS,  go ahead and follow it.  It's a fun medium for me to mess around with.  Also, for all things ART, check out the facebook page here.

Here are some more links,

Out of Reception (.com),

Out of Reception (ART),

A Restless Transplant (Facebook).

The Lost Coast

Two roads lead into an area of Northern California known as the Lost Coast. Matolle road snakes in from the north, leaving the small picturesque town of Ferndale and cutting through the region's infamous rugged hills. Turning off 101 and heading through the Redwoods, a filming location for Jurassic Park,  Briceland Thorn road is the "mellow way in."  Due to these vehicle constraints and constant erosion, roughly 50 miles of coastline and the surrounding hills have not been developed beyond the occasional house and ranch.

After driving through central Oregon with a quick stop at Elk Lake,  Dan and I met up in Arcata and headed towards the Lost Coast.  Despite its relative proximity to the Bay Area and the Northern California cities of Eureka and Arcata, the area remains unknown to most outside of the hippy, backpacking, and libertarian communities.  At a gas station in Eureka, a little more than an hour north of the Lost Coast,  an inquisitive clerk asked where we were headed with our "Bajaing Rig."  "The Lost Coast," we respond, prompting a dumbfounding look on his face and another question, "Where is that."  After a brief explanation, we topped off our tanks and headed south.

Crashing with a friend of Dan's in Petrolia, we spent three days surfing, exploring the rugged coast line and photographing locals for The Burning House Book.  Think of Big Sur without route 1 and one road going in and out.

Anyone know what kind of cattle these are?

Dan in the distance observing the coast.  No one for miles.

According to the 2010 census,  roughly half of the residence in the largest town in the region, Petrolia, are off the grid.  Harvesting solar in the summer and hydroelectric the rest of the year,  people live an isolated, community based life.  Because the nearest police station is an hour from town,  people in Petrolia use a community based phone tree as opposed to 911.  As for the economy,  lets just say that a marijuana leaf graces one side of a Petol coin, the local currency.

Breakfast.

Travel magazine refers to the area as, "too lovely to be believed, perhaps too beautiful to last." Based on its remoteness and difficulty to navigate, I think it will be around for awhile.  Its one of the wildest places I have been on the West Coast.  I will be back soon.

Here are some more links,

The Lost Coast (Picasa),

The Lost Coast (Wikipedia).

1995-2011

"The hole could be a couple inches bigger on each side, so it fits in better," my dad said holding a shovel in two hands and staring into the  hole. "He.  I think it fits him pretty well."

After a long pause, Tim added, "He sure loved to dig."

I never thought in advance about what to do after Skookum, my childhood dog, died.  My energy and stress focused on fear of losing a dear friend of the last 16 years and closing a chapter of my life.  Logistics of the aftermath fell within the lee of the stone.  The size of the hole or what my brother and I were  going to dig with didn't come into consideration until after I had pulled out of the animal hospital parking lot.  Unavoidable details erode preconceived notions of what an experience will be like.  They make a story powerful and life real.