Getting to the point

Traverse the rocks or stroll the bluffs—but be careful

A side trail rises to a precipice on the bluffs. (The Daily Triplicate/Richard Wiens)

The first time I saw Point St. George, I couldn’t help but wonder how hard it would be to traverse the length of its rocky finger perennially pointed into the Pacific. Impossible at high tide and not that easy at low tide, it turned out, but that’s getting ahead of the story.

This installment of Walk Your World doesn’t contain many specific trail directions, because there are so many ways to experience Point St. George. What it does contain is a healthy dose of cautionary notes, because whether you choose to go high on the bluffs or low on the rocks, this place can be hazardous.

I don’t necessarily recommend the low routes. They don’t require sophisticated rock climbing, but they do require low tides and a willingness to clamber over long stretches of loose stones and boulders. If that’s not your cup of tea, enjoy the bluffs, where you can gaze upon sprawling coastlines to the north and south, the St. George Reef Lighthouse to the northwest and the craggy coves below.

If you’ve been around Crescent City for any appreciable time, you’ve probably taken the unmarked, mile-long Radio Road that bears west from the intersection of Washington Boulevard and Pebble Beach Drive. Drivers can use the pull-off on the left that affords a nice side-view of Castle Rock or they can curve north and continue to the main parking lot at the road’s end. That’s where an impressive white building is shrouded in cypress trees. It’s a private residence now, but it started out in the 1920s as one of the Navy’s “radio compass” stations. It was converted to a strategic tracking station in the late 1930s and transferred to the Coast Guard in 1944.

A wave crashes near the end of a quarter-mile-long natural jetty. (The Daily Triplicate/Richard Wiens)

That’s just enough history to explain the name of the road and the presence of a prominent radio tower.

If you’re headed for the highlands, either approach works, and the bluffs are also accessible from a couple of places where you can pull off of Radio Road between the two parking areas. From the main lot, pass through the gate and head left along one of the faint paths that approach the bluffs. From the smaller parking area, take the right-hand trail access and then take another right to stay above a south-facing driftwood beach.

Either way, you’ll soon be well above sea level on a mile-long trail that follows the bluffs through grassy meadows and an occasional abandoned roadbed. You can’t really get lost, but the main trail does sometimes veer away from the precipice. At one of these places a side trail climbs a more precarious path to an outcropping that affords great views – straight down. I love this particular detour but it makes Laura nervous – in fact, she’s much less of a fan of hiking Point St. George than I am, so I tend to go solo out there.

Now to the lowlands. So low, in fact, that they’re frequently under water. First, a unique low-tide beach walk. From the main parking area, go through the gate and follow a straight-ahead trail that descends to the sea. Then go south, and you’ll soon leave the casual beach-goers behind as you scale clusters of driftwood and pick your way along the rocks. To your right is a long line of interesting, close-in sea stacks. To your left, a series of small coves – great shelters if not for that pesky tide that keeps coming back.

Few natural scenes are as pristine as a low-tide beach that gets a thorough scrubbing twice a day. The knowledge that you can stay for only a limited time adds to the allure.

Without having to endure too much rock-climbing (assuming you’re game for any), you’ll eventually round a bend and reach a wider expanse of coast, although it’s still full of rocks. At no point on this excursion will you think you’re on South Beach. You can retrace your steps, if the tide is still out, or you can keep going south and find a way back up to the bluffs for an easier return trip.

The other lowland journey will appeal to still-fewer “hikers” because most of it is over large piles of mid-size rocks. To reach that jutting finger of stone I referred to at the start, depart from the smaller, southerly parking area and head up the bluff trail. You’ll soon see it down to your left, winding around a huge, green-topped sea stack (easily visible from Pebble Beach; I’ve always thought it resembled the blocky head of a sperm whale).

There’s a couple of descent trails. If you really plan to go out to the point, make sure you’re on the ebb side of low tide, because retracing your steps is the only way back on this trip. At high tide, a section of the finger of rock is enveloped by waves coming from two directions.

First you scale driftwood. Then you look for a “path” through the rock yard (staying close to the sea stack works best). If you don’t decide to turn around early, you near the tip of the finger after covering about a quarter-mile in about a half-hour.

Why do it? You’ll ask yourself that a few times along the way. Still, at whatever turn-around point you choose, you’ll probably tarry awhile and soak in the scenes – stay well beyond the potential reach of the waves so that you don’t literally soak in the scenes. You get a view of Castle Rock normally reserved for boaters and kayakers. You’ll watch the spray of waves exploding into crevices. You’ll be closer than usual to soaring pelicans and geese that go screaming around the point as if it’s blocking their fast lane.

Is it what you want to do? Let’s put it this way. I plan to be a regular visitor to Point St. George’s bluffs for years to come, but I doubt I’ll ever again traverse the full length of the finger.

In the grand scheme of things, and it’s hard to imagine a place grander, I prefer rocks on the horizon to the ones underfoot.

A rock tunnel on Point St. George's northern beach.