California Coastal Trail - Ragged Point

California’s Coastal Trail (CCT), established in 1976, is a work-in-progress, made up of a variety of segment types–sometimes a footpath, sometimes a highway shoulder, occasionally long sections of pristine, sandy beach. In some places it is still no more than a state of mind, which I found out recently at Ragged Point.
CCT enters San Luis Obispo county using Highway 1 as its throughway until it reaches Ragged Point south of San Carpoforo creek (the topographic Ragged Point, not the Ragged Point Inn).
After parking on a large turnout next to Highway 1, I put Dexter on a leash and we followed a muddy trail through the fence across a meadow of berry bushes and ferns. This is private property and access is limited–the Hearst corporation allows hikers access to the beach, asking that the public stay on established paths; do not camp, build fires or smoke; and keep dogs leashed.
We passed through a row of pine trees and crossed a marine terrace covered with drab coastal scrub punctuated by colorful bursts of wild iris, poppies and open-faced daisies. At the edge of the bluff, we descended a steep trail to a narrow strand of sand and gravel–California’s coastline.
The beach was small and landlocked at both ends. We scrambled to the top of a rocky point and looked down at San Carpoforo creek where it pooled behind a sand bar. On our left, early morning sunshine spotlighted white-churning breakers marching in to shore.
Back on the bluff, we worked our way through thick brush and occasional piles of dead sticks–wood rat nests. I kept thinking that eventually we would intersect CCT and the going would get easier, but I was wrong. I tried to avoid creeping tendrils of poison oak and that meant that we sometimes made long detours, all the while trying to maintain a southerly heading.
When we reached the thin forest of pine trees that parallels the coastline, the ground underneath was clear of brush and walking was a lot easier.
On the south side of the headland, a trail descended to the base of a sea stack at the end of a long beach. Rock formations offshore spit up great plumes of spray as heavy storm swell slammed into them.
The beach was littered with rocks striated with swirls of color that looked like partially mixed paint on an artist’s palette.
A half mile south of the sea stack, we waded across Arroyo Hondo creek. Dexter thought it was great fun but he wasn’t wearing boots and socks and didn’t mind getting his feet wet.
We climbed over a knife-edged ridge and down the other side through boulders to a crescent shaped beach on a cove that was smaller and quieter than the tidal flat we had just crossed.
A tiny waterfall trickled down the cliff face and ran across the beach through a rocky channel it had carved out. Two pairs of raccoon footprints tracked through the wet sand. Cormorants perched on an orange-colored seamount that was mottled with streaks of guano. A snow-white egret flapped by, just above the water, and disappeared over the southern ridge.
The beach ended in a cul-de-sac and I climbed up a poorly defined track to the top of the bluff, clutching at clumps of poison oak to keep from sliding back down in the slick mud.
On top of the terrace, a colorful array of iris, morning glory, California poppies and purple daisies with yellow eyes spread across the green meadow all the way to Point Sierra Nevada.
We walked through the pasture, staying as close to the coastline as we could, to the headland that forms Breaker Point. Rich tide pools lay below the bluff and a nylon rope, wound around a metal stake, snaked down the cliff to the beach.
South of the point, an arroyo filled with poison oak cut across the meadow and blocked our progress. We had gone about as far as I wanted to for the day anyway, so we walked to the highway, following a cow path, and back to the car.