Morro Bay is for the Birds

Life is one beautiful trip.

Whoever named Chicago The Windy City, never drove up Route 154 through the Los Padres National Forest. You know it’s a harrowing experience when I tell Joelle she is now qualified to audition for Ice Road Truckers. She grips the wheel with bear-like strength as the winds shimmy Steady Betty like a tiny boat in a choppy bay. We are on this road for two hours? Or possibly 36. Thankfully, we drop back to the 101 and pick up Route 1 again.

We putter up the road and do a bit of a reality check. Which coast are we on? As we drive into Morro Bay, past the camp ground, meandering down into the seaside town, we are reminded of New England – not only because of the residential architecture and craggy seaside rocks, but the chilly temps and brisk breezes.

We swing into the State Park and land a prime spot for Steady Betty. We are sharing the campground with what appears to be a lady fly fishing jamboree. 

Next morning, our coffee ritual continues. Camp chairs out, serapes wrapped around our shoulders, coffee mugs in hand. As I look around at our verdant surroundings, I notice a large shadow pass overhead. The shadow lands in the tree in front of me. We have been joined by five vultures. They swoop among the trees, then land on a high branch and spread their wings to warm in the sun. The eight-foot wing span is impressive.

There is no rock she will not climb, no mountain she will not scale.

We hike into town and encounter even more birds. Impressive in their number and size, they appear to be roosting in the trees above our heads. Five, ten, 20. We look up to see hundreds of birds above us. We are walking through a Heron Rookery. It is home to the great blue heron, the black-crowned night heron, the great egret, and double-crested cormorant. We have breakfast at a café on the dock and are joined by a rather insistent seagull.