From the Gladstone Legacy Co. for "Never Climbed His Mountain"


Walking down the hill upon which the little town of Carmel By The Sea was ensconced, I could see the ocean below at the end of the street. All I wanted was to find a place to lie down and close my eyes, to stop the throbbing. Reaching the beach, the sand-so pure that it squeaked underfoot-was being blown into a white haze by a strong wind. I stacked two driftwood logs to make a wind break, dropped face down behind them, inhaled cool sand-free air and fell asleep. The squawking of seagulls woke me.

Vaguely remembering a dawn, sunlight and darkness-I must have slept around the clock. It was dawn again, I felt alive and as unfettered as the sand pipers on their stilted legs pecking into the wet sand or the white sanderlings running to the edge of the froth and then pattering back ahead of the next incoming wave as though afraid to get their feet wet. A seagull dropped a mussel on a flat rock, and then dove down to extract a morsel from the broken shell before clusters of fellow gulls could take flight to chase after the tidbit. Behind me, perched on the hills, a dozen homes, partially hidden by black pine, yew and junipers, peered through eyes of window-glass at the sea. Soon people appeared in ones and twos along the beach-I was no longer alone.

Strolling up the inclined main street, stopping to admire the windows containing knick-knacks in marine motifs, I realized that I was ravenous. A restaurant served abalone almondine-it was delicious but could have been shoe leather-I was that hungry. Divers along this part of the coast make a good living pulling up this sponge-like creature-sea otters being their only competition; this delicacy was so scarce that California law prohibited their export to other states. Running out of time to go to Pebble Beach and Monterey, I decided to head back south on route #1 along the coast road.

Hitching a ride with a family going on a picnic until they turned off at a wood sign pointing to a State Park, I got out-to watch their car disappear, dwarfed by tall red woods in this sheltered valley, the sun's rays shut out by the canopies of these immense trees. Hanging my jacket on a curled finger over my back, I slowly trudged up the ever steepening hot road, stopping a few times to wipe the sweat off my face-the soothing humming of the wind through the topmost branches contributed no breeze, no relief to the road below. Somewhere a bird chirped, and now and then chipmunks made a mad dash across the road, standing briefly on their hind legs to look at me, probably chattering, "You didn't catch me" before vanishing.

A strange new sound, a muffled roaring came to my ears. I couldn't identify its source, but as I climbed, it grew louder. A welcomed cool breeze doused my face and yet the red woods still surrounded the road. Where did it emanate? What was that sound? I couldn't comprehend. Unexpectedly, the trees had stopped their march behind me, my road vanished to appear again along a distant cliff, I was standing on the edge of a precipice; I was standing at the gates of heaven! As far as the eye could see, gentle pulsating ground swells were marching towards me to finish their journeys to shore in swirls of froth of ultramarine, deep blue and lavender with light blue fingers of spent water pushing parallel to the cliffs. The hills dropped down to meet the water so sharply that I could not see the beach directly below me-only those in distant coves. The roar that I had heard was now apparent-of waves pounding resisting shores, of the very ocean resonating a response to the caressing winds against the cliffs.

A phenomenon of nature? Perhaps. I believe that I had felt the presence of God before and perceived the grandeur of his works, and surely He was at my side when I asked for help in my torments, but never in such beauty that was living, moving, sounding-indescribable! Now I was close to His heart, His majesty was in my soul, I knew it to be true. I dropped my jacket and knelt on the cliff, my arms outstretched to embrace Him, tears streaming down my face. In gratitude: "Thank you Oh Lord" came out of my mouth drowned by the thunderous surf when a car crunched to a stop on the gravel. Not wanting to explain my actions I hurriedly stood up as two Japanese, complicated-looking cameras around their necks, came prattling over to my vantage point for a better shot of Big Sur.