As some know, I am a near-native San Francisco. I grew up in the avenues. June through August were gloom and doom, with no sun in sight sometimes for weeks. September and October, our Indian Summer, were sublime. November was hazy. December could be perfect, especially on a still, clear day.
Lands End is just that: the end of the continent, of a dream. Nowhere further to go. If you’ve read On the Road (Kerouac), you know what I mean.
Park you car in the lot, be sure to hide your valuables, pray that no one takes an interest in your car, and prepare to go Back to the Future. No, not Hill Valley. But, to a San Francisco that has not changed in any measurable way in the past forty years.
On a clear day, such as today, you can see as far north as Point Reyes, probably at least fifty miles away. Stinson Beach and Muir Beach seem not more than a stone’s throw away. Mount Tam beckons. So do Angel Island and, just north of it, Tiburon. Cypress, Monterey Pine, and Eucalyptus trees abound. The air is cool and crisp, the water glassy. The Coastal Trail leads to Sea Cliff, a gated community without a gate. Continue past China Beach. There is beach access from Sea Cliff, but for that, and the exact itinerary, you might need to buy my book. Just kidding. Or, maybe not.
On a hot day, and there a few of those in San Francisco each year, Baker Beach is the place the be. The water is calmer than Ocean Beach and perhaps a degree or two warmer. You will find a volleyball game or two. Silent disco yoga. A clothing optional section, closer to the Golden Gate. Quintessential San Francisco. End of the continent. Anything goes. Kerouac writes: “And before me was the great raw bulge and bulk of my American continent; somewhere far across, gloomy, crazy New York was throwing up its cloud of dust and brown steam. There is something brown and holy about the East; and California is white like washlines and emptyheaded – at least that’s what I thought then.”
Up the Sand Ladder and past a battery of Batteries (Godrey, Boutelie, Marcus Miller, etc.), under the Bridge, past Fort Point, Crissy Field glistening below, and then up through the Presidio, Park Trail, left on Battery Caufield Road, and down the hill to the Fifteenth Avenue Gate, then west, ultimately to a San Francisco tradition, Gordo’s Taqueria on 24th and Clement. Lunch at mile 7. A steaming hot burrito on a clear, cool day, just as good as it would have been years ago. A cup of coffee on the next block for those so inclined. A quick stop at a local produce store, to pick up an orange or a banana to help power the remaining two or so miles. Just a few of the joys of urban hiking. A slight detour on 41st Avenue to recreate a 35 year old photograph. Then, continuing west on Anza to Sutro Park and back to the Lands End parking lot, cars intact, and another hike in the books.
Is this the real San Francisco? Maybe. It is the San Francisco of my youth, and it is essentially unchanged. This is reassuring, especially given the turmoil in the world. At the same time, the City felt a lot smaller, beautiful but provincial, reminding me that I had covered this ground a really long time ago, and it was time to move on. Comments welcomed.
The Peninsula Hiking Club 