The Loast Coast

I can remember it very clearly. We had just left Chico and now in a town called honeydew we stumbled upon some folks whom gave us back road directions to the loast coast. Driving up and down windy roads in an old 1994 black honda, 3 male artists and myself about to embark on a journey that would open our eyes up to another side. Not knowing exactly where we were going, but with a confidence that there was a place at the end of the twists and turns it was a sight for all of us. We arrived at sunset with a few beers and the epic view as the sun went down and dolphins cruised the waters. Cody, an old man with silver hair and crystal, clear blue eyes appeared out of know where really. Hitchhiking back down that bumpy, dirt road we gave him a lift towards the beach and I will never forget his tattered, faded red shirt and jeans. Ian was full of stoke, because his nikon n70 was capturing the waves, the ripples and the light like no other. I was soaking it in and Ryles and Ryan were slinging back beers talking about the Badlands in South Dakota and the gnarley rainstorms we endured there. In the morning Cody showed us his home in the woods, where he had a freshwater shower, a roof made of twigs and branches and a big jar of mayonnaise for all the mussels he would catch in the ocean. It was an interesting journey. The best part of all is that this place was so hidden and on the DL that just having discovered it was a thrill. The imagination of the mind took over as we drove the windy roads listening to toots and the maytals belt out pressure drop. Northern California sheds a different light than any other place in this country.