Monday, 20 February 2012
Driving down the Big Sur coast recently in the dark because I had left San Francisco a bit later than I planned, I overshot the campground where I had intended to spend the night. I should add here that driving the Big Sur coast is not for those with acrophobia, especially in the dark. I am not prone to the terror of high places but was taken aback by the precipitous cliffs and extreme angles of the drop offs on this drive. High drama and what a waste to be doing it by moonlight. So I overshot my desired campground and ended up at another state park several miles south. Waking early, I opted to retrace my steps back up the coast a ways to see some of what I'd missed in the darkness. I found the campground and understood why it had been recommended to me. Grassy green terraces on the edge of those steep cliffs and with high surf warnings the breakers below were record breakers. I drove through the small campground and all sites were occupied except for an especially beautiful one that afforded a view down that jagged coast. This was the ultimate coastal scenic spot and I was yearning to stop and spend a day just painting, but my inner voice was reminding me that I "should" keep driving south and keep to my schedule. Such a beautiful morning, and such a spot, should I stay or should I stick to schedule? Stay or go? What to do? I stood there torn. The campsite number card that said "unoccupied" had a note to "look on reverse side" to see the when and who had the next reservation was for after tonight. So I turned the card over and had to blink a couple of times seeing that the next reservation was for a party by the name of "Caldwell". So I stayed and painted at that magnificent site knowing that it was meant to be.
|Palms fronds and louvered shutters|
|A romantic balcony|
|Red shirt on night pier|
|Ready for conversation|
Old Florida. Does it exist anywhere any more? I think I found a few fragments at night wandering around on foot with my new camera ap.
Thursday, 16 February 2012
Big Bend National Park in December is bleak. Very bleak.
Easy to understand why there are all those signs saying you can die out there on those trails.
But, drop down to the Rio Grande canyons that are lined with Cottonwoods and you are confronted with color.
Especially at dusk on a clear day when the sky color is reflected by the river.