Getaway to Fort Bragg

Housebound for three-plus months is tough for anyone. I decided to take a spur-of-the-moment trip north on Highway 101, through the former home of racehorse Seabiscuit (and infamous pot-growing region) of Willits across the great divide on Highway 20 to Fort Bragg. Fort Bragg considered changing the name of the town recently; upon examination, the town's namesake, Braxton Bragg, turned out to have been a wildly racist, embarrassingly incompetent Confederate General who never set foot in the area. They've since dropped the issue. 

It's been a good 15-plus years since I visited Glass Beach, which is now part of McKerricher State Park. Last time I was there, it was little more than a dump site that had been thoroughly ground down by wave action, leaving thousands of bits of multi-colored beach glass. Nothing remains the same.

But first: I lucked out on AirB&B to find a place rarely unoccupied - it couldn't have been a better choice. It was a separate, fully equipped small cabin, surrounded by a gorgeous garden, enclosed in a redwood forest. The space itself was squeaky clean and full of books, pillows and every imaginable comfort, including full kitchen and bath. Kay, the owner and hostess extraordinare, met me at the gate.

No wonder this place is hard to book - if you're interested, definitely jump on it during an opening. It may be foggy at the beach, but here, a mile inland, it's sunny and quiet.

The first thing I did after settling in was a trip to Glass Beach. It's not a dump site any more. There's a big parking lot and beautiful trails throughout the bluffs, plenty of informative signs - but alas, not a lot of glass. They should rename it "Glitter Beach" or "Sparkle Beach" or some such, because tiny bits of old clear glass (colored grayish white from the waves) are littered among the shells and stones.

The sandy beaches were nearly empty; the weather was typical for a Northern California beach: sunny but windy in the early evening, about 62 degrees F.

A number of wildflowers grow in the region, some of them rare. Many were in full bloom, and to see them popping out of the waving grasses in mounds was a thing of beauty.

The old trestle - a good place to watch the sunset.

Wait, is that a body in the water?

Nope. It's someone's old beach towel/chef's apron that got away.

A note on dinner, alas. As a travel writer, I'm used to eating alone, and I seldom run into any kind of "special" treatment. Fort Bragg is a fairly large, isolated town with few sources of income for anyone except the tourist trade, which is less than half of what it usually is. That's why I was surprised by the oddly rude behavior of my waiter at Silver's at the Wharf. The staff, including my waiter, were laughing and joking with other patrons in groups of two or more - especially those that ordered from the bar. When I didn't, and ordered an inexpensive menu item, my waiter practically sneered at me. The fish and chips came quickly (decent rock cod and exceptional hand-cut fries, by the way), and timing was adequate, if somewhat unfriendly. Maybe I reminded him of his first wife.