the obvious reason to go down to the bluffs is that they’re beautiful. tangerine told me this morning as i was returning that she’d never heard anyone refer to them as “bluffs,” and i thought that was weird, since that’s what they are.
but you go down the hill, and among the redwoods and sequoias and doug firs and trucks and coastal california vacation homes and tourist traps and water towers and fog, you get the bluffs. rocky and majestic and filled with caves connecting all the beaches, and oh so much poison oak. you go down the hill and there is finally quiet. the bluffs. scary and dangerous and tempting and sexy. will said all the cliff faces were shit rock and he wouldn’t deign to climb them, but remember, this is the kind of dude who calls trees he doesn’t like “garbage trees.” opinionated, is what i’m getting at.
the bluffs are great because when there’s only this one beautiful thing to look at, it really doesn’t run out.