Editor's Note: Cranking up the wave machine

Laura and I headed out aimlessly for a walk late Saturday morning. Maybe a jog. We didn’t have a specific plan until we saw something special at sea.

There’s an unusual access at the north end of the Pebble Beach Drive bluff, just before the road curves into its descent toward Washington Boulevard. A long stairway takes you not all the way to the beach, but to the flat top of a rock wall. It’s a mini-adventure getting down to the sand from there at low tide. You wouldn’t even try at high tide.

We often descend these stairs partway to a perch perfect for watching sunsets. If the tide is way in, the waves crashing against that rock wall provide their own entertainment.

On Saturday, we just happened to arrive when the tide was way in. It was the peak of the highest tide in many weeks, and we didn’t need a chart to figure that out. Muscular waves were lining up for their crack at the shore.

Some incoming waves suddenly shot up in an awkward dance while still offshore, undercut by predecessors ricocheting off the wall.

We were above the spray, just barely, and so intent on watching this free-for-all that we didn’t notice for a while that we were getting soaked by rain. It was the kind of show coastal storm-chasers would drive a long way for. But as usual, we took in Del Norte’s splendor in solitude.

I’ve written before that if this place really wants to attract more visitors (not everyone does — “locals only” was spray-painted on a guardrail near the top of the stairway), part of the promotional pitch should be the fact that you can be alone here. Enjoy world-class scenery amid the redwoods and the sea stacks, but bring along your companionship if desired because otherwise you’ll be listening to the sounds of silence.

We weren’t alone when we returned a few hours later to find the ocean impossibly far away. It’s not lost on beachcombers when a minus-tide follows an especially high one, and they were doing their thing. We walked beneath the rock wall that had taken all that abuse. Then we skirted past the ’combers and stepped gingerly upon long stretches of newly exposed rock.

There was a lot less sand than a few hours ago. This had been one of those storms that radically rearranges Pebble Beach. Usually we happen upon their aftermath. This time we got lucky.

Maybe we’ll start studying that tide chart.