Introduction

A year ago last April my wife Molly and I backpacked a ways up the Little Sur River Trail from the Old Coast Road. My intention had been for us to try to make it to Pico Public Camp—certainly among my favorite places in the Ventana Wilderness. For a variety of reasons I had not returned there since sometime in the 90s.

I had just turned 65 the previous month, and had initially thought the date of April 4th would be an auspicious one to retire on, as it marked my ninth anniversary with my employer. It’s hard to make changes though, so I had pushed that date out in my planning by a few months. So in a sense this hike would partly serve as a pre-retirement jaunt for me—certainly the idea of my impending freedom was on my mind.

We were met with obstacles on this hike, and so ended up not completing the trip as planned. Despite this we found this corner of the wilderness a beautiful place to be.

Our route.

Day 1, Friday: A hike to the Little Sur

1. Cow alongside the Old Coast Road, El Sur Ranch.
2. Dire warnings at the Little Sur River trailhead.
3. The flowing Little Sur River by our first night’s camp.
4. Again, the flowing Little Sur River by our first night’s camp.

Driving down from the Bay Area on a Friday in early April 2025, we arrived at the seasonally locked southern gate of the Old Coast Road by early afternoon. Getting to the actual trailhead then required an approximately three mile hike north along that road. Although it felt like kind’ve a bummer to have to tack this segment onto the start and end of the trip (I recalled previously being able to simply drive to the trailhead), it was in fact a pleasant stroll. The road gently climbed and wound northwards along the rolling green hillsides of the El Sur Ranch above the Big Sur coast, sprinkled here and there with bouquets of golden California Poppies.

Passing a group of curious cows, the road wound down into a redwood canyon past a private ranch house. Finally we arrived at the little wooden gate for the start of the trail proper. A sign affixed to this promised a strong possibility of dire outcomes should we choose to continue, but throwing caution to the wind, continue we did! We descended the narrow trail through encroaching ferns and other woodland vegetation through a forest of dark towering redwoods. Before long we reached the banks of the South Fork of the Little Sur River, where we stopped for a late lunch.

Continuing on we soon reached a spot where the trail climbed a bit and seemed particularly sketchy. The bank cliffed out below this, so we chose to cross the river here instead. A short distance further on we crossed back over as the streamside trail on the opposite bank became evident again. A fixed rope leading down from the section of trail we had bypassed reinforced Molly’s conviction we’d chosen wisely.

We hiked a bit further up the river through the redwoods, and arriving at a pleasant spot for a camp in the late afternoon we decided to call it a day.

Day 2, Saturday: We are defeated

1. Molly hiking through the redwoods.
2. Looking up the drainage of the Little Sur as we begin to climb.
3. Douglas Iris alongside the trail.
4. Molly at camp.

Awaking refreshed in this beautiful forest we continued our hike up the South Fork of the Little Sur. Before we’d gone very far we were passed by a young energetic fellow with a brightly colored pack—he thought he might be going on to our goal of Pico Public, or perhaps further! The trail climbed again, somewhat overgrown and marshy from recent spring rains. It became quite narrow, cut into the steeply wooded slope some distance above the rushing waters of the Little Sur below us. Molly became increasingly uncomfortable with the precipitous exposure. But finally it dropped down to a large flat camp area on the river, which we then had to cross.

As we then climbed the trail on the opposite bank, it switched back and up into a chaparral zone of sage and other scrub. An enticing view up the wooded canyon came into view. Shortly we crossed the private road and back into the redwoods for a bit. But before long the trail began climbing in earnest up through brushy chaparral country.

As we proceeded the character of the trail deteriorated, becoming quite narrow with an unfortunate outward sloping tread. High brush impeded the way forward. Molly became increasingly uncomfortable with this—I wasn’t super happy with it either. Before long we decided to stash her pack so that she could negotiate the increasingly difficult trail unencumbered. The idea was I would return and portage it forward once we reached a more tractable section of the trail. Admittedly this was a fairly desperate idea on my part, in an attempt to keep some semblance of forward momentum going.

But before we had gone much further we encountered a significant deadfall, being a fairly large tree which had fallen across the trail. Its abundant branches formed a thick screen before us. I had no tools with me with which I could prune it back. Looking at it I thought I could probably shimmy along on my belly, dragging my pack behind me, although that wasn’t a particularly pleasant prospect given the steep drop-off down the slope to our left. But it was all too much for Molly, and I had to reluctantly agree with her. We turned around and began retracing our steps. Pico Public would have to wait for another year  😢.

Mulling over this disruption of our plan we discussed what to do. It was tempting to succumb fully to defeat and simply hike back out to the car and home. I found myself starting to feel a bit bummed out. But hiking a bit further I realized of course that we had provisions for another day, and we’d spent not insignificant effort to come this far. Why not embrace the obstacle we’d encountered as a fresh opportunity instead? Talking it over with Molly she agreed—here we were after all in this beautiful place on a lovely day together.

Retreating and crossing back over the river, we took advantage of the attractive camp we had passed by earlier. A family was picnicking there, but before long they departed and we had this lovely spot to ourselves.

Day 3, Sunday: The hike out

1. Morning on the Little Sur.
2. Molly beginning to hike out.
3. Trillium above the Little Sur.
4. Redwood Sorrel and foliage.
5. Fern by the trail.
6. Pico Blanco from the Old Coast Road.
7. Poppies with Pico Blanco in the distance.

We awoke to a beautiful morning on the Little Sur on our final day there. The river flowed gently beside us, and the morning sun was beginning to shine on the redwoods upstream. Affixing my camera to my tripod, I spent some meditative time searching for a pleasing composition of the river: I found one with foreground rocks and illuminated trees in the background.

After a relaxing breakfast we reluctantly bid farewell to this lovely spot, and climbed up the trail as it S-curved through a carpet of Redwood Sorrel. Hiking out down the canyon I found myself entranced by the woodland flowers and vegetation, stopping often to take photos. Molly was once again uncomfortable with the exposure on this section of the trail, so we both felt some relief when it finally dropped back down to the level of the river.

Climbing up out of the valley, on the Old Coast Road again, we were treated to an expansive view of Mount Pico Blanco rising above a fenced pasture before us. As the road crested a ridge, the low hill to our left was resplendent with poppies. Dropping my pack I crept carefully between them with my camera and tripod. Finally I found a composition, filling the frame with a splash of poppies in front of me, the peak of distant Pico rising beyond. With its brilliant cap of white limestone it truly is a noble mountain!

I found myself reflecting on the fact that the bulk of the mountain is owned by Granite Rock Company out of Watsonville California. The limestone, which much of the mountain is comprised of, is of a high grade, and would be worth a considerable amount were it to be mined. They have been prevented from doing this thus far, but it’s concerning that the possibility of this desecration remains. As we hike back towards our car I wonder if perhaps there might be some creative works I could undertake to raise public awareness of the beauty and value of this most sacred mountain.

I’ll close this missive with the words of Robinson Jeffers, a renowned poet of the previous century, who spent much of his life in the Monterey/Central Coast area. This is one of my favorites:

Return
A little too abstract, a little too wise,
It is time for us to kiss the earth again,
It is time to let the leaves rain from the skies,
Let the rich life run to the roots again.
I will go to the lovely Sur Rivers
And dip my arms in them up to the shoulders.
I will find my accounting where the alder leaf quivers
In the ocean wind over the river boulders.
I will touch things and things and no more thoughts,
That breed like mouthless May-flies darkening the sky,
The insect clouds that blind our passionate hawks
So that they cannot strike, hardly can fly.
Things are the hawk's food and noble is the mountain, Oh noble
Pico Blanco, steep sea-wave of marble.