IF YOU GO
Big Sur Bakery and Restaurant
47540 Highway One; bigsurbakery.com
Ewoldsen Trail
Trailhead in Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, about 34 miles south of Carmel; hikingbigsur.com
Ventana Inn and Spa
48123 Highway One; ventanaresort.com
“Oh my God, look at that!”
My wife, Sara, and I have just driven around one of those hip-hugging turns on Highway 1 in California’s Big Sur. They used to make me nervous — you know, the fact that there’s nothing but a guardrail between you and the death-fall. Now they make me greedy for what I know is coming next. And sure enough, this one has opened up onto a straight-shot view down miles of coastline: the jutting cliffs, the shining sea below.
We’ve been coming here for more than 25 years, in the early days with our three young sons, stopping at Nepenthe for an Ambrosia Burger and a vista, then continuing on to Jade Cove Beach and a night of camping on the foggy bluffs. One time, 20 years ago, Sara and I left the boys at home and got away for a memorable night at Ventana Inn and Spa, the ocean-view resort that was founded in 1975 by Hollywood investor Larry Spector, who helped produce “Easy Rider.” Now the kids have grown and flown, and we’re simply getting away, heading back to Ventana for a re-pampering.
We intend to earn it, however, by hiking a steep trail up into the Santa Lucia coastal range. The trek requires fortification, and so we precede our Big Sur adventure with a stop at that foodies’ paradise known as the Big Sur Bakery and Restaurant.
11 a.m. The sandwich
The bakery is in a converted ranch house built in 1936 by a descendant of William Brainard Post, the 19th century pioneer who worked at a Point Lobos whaling station before moving to Big Sur as a ranch foreman. He married Anselma Onesimo, who was of Costonoan Indian heritage, and their family became famous on this twisty stretch of coast. All that history adds to the bakery’s rustic ambience, though I’m not prepared for the cost of our little meal: $41 for two coffees, a ham and cheese croissant and a couple of sandwiches to go? Come on!
But the coffee is rich, the croissant is, like, ridiculous. And when we get into the car and begin the drive toward our trailhead, Sara and I are groaning, literally, as we pass Sandwich No. 1 back and forth. It’s overstuffed with curling ribbons of fresh Italian meats — ham, salami and mortadella — spilling out of the perfect, crusty sourdough, accented with pepper jack mayonnaise and mustard. Profuse with flavor, it’s a full meal. (No need for $10.75 Sandwich No. 2).
And now we are ready for the Ewoldsen Trail.
Noon. The hike
Leaving the trailhead — alongside the parking lot in Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park — we follow a babbling creek, hopping across rocks and roots, and then begin our climb. The trail slants steadily upward, switchbacking through redwood groves, cleaving to the sides of McWay Canyon, passing over small wooden bridges and breaking into dramatic cloud-shrouded views of the Pacific. The silence is profound. Dotting our way are redwood sorrel and wild sweet pea with pale lavender blossoms — and sporadic poison oak, blooming early this winter.
At the 90-minute mark — about halfway through the 4.6 mile loop — we come to a fork, with a sign pointing up toward the Waters Trail. We climb another 100 yards or so, hang a left and plunk ourselves down on a bench marked with a rickety “End of Trail” sign. More than 1,000 feet above the ocean, we are practically at cliff’s edge. It feels like the top of the world, as the delicious cold mists fly up into our faces. On our way down, following a ridge overlooking Highway 1, the clouds suddenly vanish, and there’s nothing but open skies and endless waters, along with the mingling fragrances of forest and ocean.
4 p.m. Happy hour
The decadence begins at Ventana, our Shangri-La. We sip two glasses of excellent pinot — a 2010 Cedar Lane from Carmel Valley’s Chesebro Wines — and dig into the spread of oozy cheeses, curated by chef Paul Corsentino. Guests wander about in white robes, fresh from massages and hot tubs. We speak sotto voce, as do all the other couples here in the Bistro.
We take refills on the pinot, and amble along the winding, wooded pathways back to our room, where we munch grapes in front of the fire, then grab a blanket and flop, slightly tipsy, into the hammock out on the deck, enveloped by forest.
7:30 p.m. Dinner
The Restaurant at Ventana is a sleek and intimate place, softly lit. My four-course meal ($75) includes a grilled New York strip steak with hen of the woods mushrooms and other accouterments, a mingling of flavors that demands slow eating. Sara is silenced by her roasted duck breast; that’s how good it is.
We linger for three hours over the meal, drinking good red wine, overindulging in dessert. And then we stroll back to our room, don our robes and — laughing in the dark — find our way to the Japanese bathhouse, where we slide into the warm waters and stare up at the sky, naming the constellations, counting our good luck.
10 a.m. One more hike
There’s a storm coming in the next morning, but trail guide Greg Ambrosio is ready to lead his daily tour of the Ventana property: 243 acres, a mere corner of the surrounding Ventana Wilderness, which is 165,000 acres large. “Let’s take a hike,” he says.
He’s a raconteur, a local, and it isn’t long before he’s pointing out tracks in the earth: bobcat, rabbit, wild turkey, deer. Ambrosio takes us to a secluded redwood grove. Looping the property, he seems familiar with each blossom and tree. He snaps off fragrant sprigs of white sage, yerba buena and penny royal. He picks a leaf of California bay laurel, snaps it in half and offers us a whiff of the menthol aroma: “When I was a boy, my great aunt told me, ‘Smell that every day, and you’ll never catch cold.’ “
He offers to take us several miles down the road to a spot with 15 waterfalls. But now the wind is picking up, the rains getting ready to wallop. Fifteen waterfalls? We’ll be back.
