Pescadero Memories

email John: benloudman@sbcglobal.net

Please read Parts I and II below

Hi June,

The next day, full of anticipation, but tinged with doubt, we headed for the beach. Parking along Highway 1, above Long Gulch, I decided a little cliff-top exploration would be wise, as the tide wouldn’t ebb to its lowest point for several hours.

Besides, if there was a tunnel in the cliff-side that the military had used as an observation post, they certainly hadn’t required the observers to rappel up and down the cliff for entrance and egress to their post.

Stumbling through the pathless, waist-deep scrub that covered the cliff-top, I was able to approach the edge of the cliff, above where I judged the hole I had seen on the CCRP photo should be. I saw no evidence of an overgrown entrance or anything else for that matter. There certainly was no sign any Intrepid Traveler had ever come this way. A ten- foot drop to a sloping, very unstable-looking ledge below prevented me from peering over to see if the tunnel opening was in the sheer cliff face just beneath me.

Actually, it was the fact I didn’t want to make my only sight of the tunnel opening a brief one– as I hurtled by it on the way to the beach, nearly 100 feet below –that made me decide to try another path for my first view of it.

Returning to the highway, we found the little used path through Long Gulch, to the beach below. It was a gentle descent for most of the way and only got steep the last 40 feet. Even there the support pipes for the giant plastic drainage pipe that transported rainwater from the eastern side of Highway 1 to the beach provided excellent handholds.

The flat-bottomed, sand-filled canyon below it was quite nice. Protected by the canyon’s walls from all but westerly winds, and hidden from the highway above, it would be a nice clothes-free sunbathing-hideaway for those so inclined.

Coming out of the canyon mouth, we turned north and hiked along the narrow strip of sand the waves weren’t playing on, the towering cliffs with their loose rock looming above.

Oh No! A 100 yards ahead a small rockfall, visible on the 2005 picture, had grown immensely and was projecting far into the surf and blocking our way. Approaching the huge pile, it was obvious that it was quite recent by the amount of soil still mixed with its giant rocks, many of which looked ready to start rolling the rest of the way into the surf. Hopefully not with us embedded in them.

Meg offered to be the Official 911 Notifier/Eulogizer, and I clambered over this last obstacle, eager for my first sight of…a sheer cliff. No tunnel, no hole, no story. There wasn’t even a deep indentation. I had been fooled by a shadow. I was feeling fool was the operative word about then.

I took a panoramic sequence of photos of the cliff face for later analysis; clambered to the top of the rockfall and took a few more shots; then climbed down with the bad news. I delivered that with a joking reference to Geraldo Rivera’s infamous hour long special on the “Mystery of Al Capone’s Vault.” But, at least he opened an empty vault; I had found nothing, except disappointment.

I then suggested we pick up our consolation prize and try to get some photos of the cave with the possible Zane Kesey’s initials. That’s better then nothing or even an empty vault, if it’s not another will o’wisp. So off we went. We weren’t sure exactly where it was, but knew its photos were near the end of a long sequence that had started at San Gregorio Beach and continued as we had headed south.

Being close to Pomponio Beach, which is about two miles south of San Gregorio Beach, we figured we ought to start there and save some walking and maybe some face too. End Part 3. Enjoy. John Vonderlin

email John: benloudman@sbcglobal.net

Please Read Part I, see below

Hi June,

With my new Quest inspiring me, I began my search to find the site of Ken Kesey’s band of Intrepid Travelers encounter with the Great American Tsunami that was spawned by the Good Friday Alaska Earthquake and their subsequent transmutation to the Merry Pranksters, a ragtag band of apostles who inspired their own culturequake and tsunami. A culturequake that launched a media tsunami of psychedelicism that swept over the public’s imagination and altered the mental landscape of a generation.

I started by using the California Coastal Records Project website to virtually fly down the part of the coast where George Walker’s, vague memories indicated the sacred site might be found, examining the cliffs for any tunnel openings.

Just south of Pomponio Beach, in Picture #6242, I was sure I’d found it. In this picture of a stretch of beach I’d only walked on once in my countless expeditions to gather Marine Debris, I could see there was an opening, halfway up the cliff, its interior in deep shadow, its top a perfect arch. It had to be what I sought.

I was excited.

With a good low tide of minus .6 feet coming up in the late afternoon in just a few days, I was almost there. Sure, I’d have to carry my 20- foot extension ladder on my back a half- mile down the beach from the Pomponio Beach parking lot under the bemused stares of a gauntlet of tourists, or the hostile gaze of khaki-uniformed authorities, but who cares?

My journey of seeking was laid bare before me.

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Hi June,
I’ve got a new Quest. No, I haven’t given up on reaching “Acid Beach,” the reputed Merry Prankster’s Ultimate Beach Party place. But, now after two attempts to reach it, I realize it is inaccessible by dry land even during the lowest of tides and that the alleged spot to rappel down a crumbly cliff of sharp rocks looks more like the access to the Emergency Room then to a picturesque beach and the stunning, nearby Warm Water Lagoon with its giant arch.

So while I wait for my lateral epicondylitis (sounds more excusey then Tennis Elbow, doesn’t it?) to heal, so I can kayak along the isolated, rocky, wave battered coast a couple of miles to reach it, I’ve switched goals.

This happened while I was trying to verify the truth about “Acid Beach.”

After all, the only place I’d ever seen it mentioned is as a caption below pictures on the California Coastal Records Project website. And even that’s squirrelly, as Picture #6419 in 2002 has it in a different spot then Picture #200506751 in 2005.

Was I just being led on a snipe hunt by somebody’s pipe dream of the non-metaphorical type? It didn’t help my confidence that Picture #6418, captioned “The Notch,” Picture #6420, captioned Warm Water Lagoon, Picture #6421, captioned Amb’s Beach and Picture # 6429, captioned Trefiret Beach all were previously unknown to me and apparently everyone else, as I found when I tried websearching them. No such places. No such names.

Finally, while breezing through a number of the websites created by Merry Prankster’s or their fans I came on this website: click here

It recounted a wild story about the origin of the Merry Prankster’s name as related by George Walker, one of their members. I’ll let you check out the site, but basically he relates that on the day the Alaskan Good Friday Quake hit (March 27, 1964) they heard a tsunami was generated and coming towards California.

Like any good leader of a thrill-seeking group, Ken Kesey, led the band out to San Gregorio Beach to a cave that had been used as an observation post during World War II to watch for the thought to be imminent attack on our coast by the Japanese. While in the cave, probably “tripping”, the sea began to recede for hundreds of feet only to soon return with a vengeance, trapping them, flashlightless and bewildered. At some point, Ken Babbs, or Cap’n Skypilot, as he is known, yelled, “Have no fear, The Intrepid Traveler and his Band of Merry Pranksters will find a way to get us out of here.” The rest is psychedelic history.

Being familiar with the caves of San Gregorio, I decided I’d go out there, get some photographs of them and write a story about the origin of the Prankster’s name, apparently a little known bit of trivia. I’ve attached some photos of the two caves.

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