Pfeiffer Beach is not easy to find.
It’s located at the end of an unmarked, twisty one lane, two mile road, off the Pacific Coast Highway. We drove by at least twice, even with our GPS guiding us. When we finally found it, we discovered the road ended at a national park toll booth, where a aging hippie was collecting five bucks for admission.
We hesitated, because it really didn’t look like there was anything there to see except trees. Nothing against trees. I love trees. We were just looking for the beach, we weren’t really interested in a nature hike at that moment. We wanted to be near the ocean. We don’t get to see it often as we’d like.
We’d gone to all the trouble to get down there though, so we handed over a fiver and parked the car.
From the parking lot, we walked down a path though the wooded area, and as we turned the corner, we felt as though we’d been let in on a big secret.
I can’t even think of an appropriate word to describe it.
The beach was remote and unspoiled, making it seem like we’d stumbled upon another world. For a moment, I felt like a character in a C.S. Lewis novel.
The wind was bitter, but the sun and sand was warm.
It was so beautiful. My camera simply could not do it justice.