Although I’ve been here long enough to realize the weather is never perfectly warm, I’m insistent on wearing shorts and good amount of sunblock on my trip to Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve. I figure it’s never a bad idea to be over-prepared, after all Napoleon’s army learned that the hard way while trying to conquer Russia in the winter. Since I’m rarely the kind of person who likes to check the weather, I grab a pair of yoga capris and a jacket. With a packed cooler, G.P.S., and sheet of directions, I’m ready to start the day.
The day seems bright with the sun in the sky and warmth in the air, but further north on I-5, clouds continue to blanket the hills and homes around me. Arriving at Torrey Pines, everything is grey, and my disappointment sinks in. Rather than venture into the cloudy hillside with bare legs, I jump to my backseat and slip on my yoga capris. I wore my shorts for this? Pretty sure I shaved my legs too. I touch my legs quickly. Yep. They’re smooth. Damn.
With newly covered legs and Camelbak, I begin hiking up until reach the first trail, Guy Fleming Trail. It becomes obvious to me why Torrey Pines Natural Reserve is a highlight of tourism here. To my right the land is covered with twisted trees and flowering cacti, to my left steep cliffs rolling down to the ocean below. Ahead of me, a cluster of twisted Torrey Pines shades and covers the trail. It’s canopy is something I’d love to have in my own future secret garden. I’ll “Pin It” in my mind for now….
After maneuvering the winding paths of Beach Trail, I find my way back to my car–it’s beach time! With the instruction of my GPS, I find my way to La Jolla Cove. I do question this so-called “trusty” device, however. It continually tells me I’m going to “L-ah J-oh-l-lah” when I know I’m looking for “L-ah H-oi-yah.” Historically many nations have believed more than questionable leaders’ promises and flowery speeches and at times it ended into a complete and utter downfall, but what have I got to lose? I lose my mind occasionally, but I always seem to find my way back.
Amusingly, the difficulty is in finding a parking spot, not the coves. People surround the area, peering over the rails to catch a glimpse of a seagull or a seal on the rocks. Everyone wears designer labels–a girl passes me with Chanel sunglasses, another woman clutches a Louis Vutton purse, and another carries a Coach handbag. Everything seems polished and perfect, even the beach has soft brown sand, the right amount of rocks, kelly green moss, and pure blue water with soft white foam. I hear seagulls squawking and a seal barks in the distance. Now I know where, “Mine? Mine?” came from.
I climb down the rocks below. Some are covered with barnacles, some are covered with etchings and carvings of names and drawings. Small crabs swim and crawl in the tide pools in the crevasses of the rocks. A sea anemone sways its tendrils in the water as small crustaceans swim by. The sun is out now and people flock to the water below. I feel fortunate to have those shorts now, there’s nothing worse than a surprise attack. Only one thing can be certain about the weather–a weatherman can be 100% wrong and still get paid. Maybe I should think about switching professions…