Piedras Blancas Lighthouse

several miles north of San Simeon stands the Piedras Blancas Lighthouse. construction of the lighthouse began in mid-1874 and the first-order Fresnel lens was first lit in February 1875. the U.S. Lighthouse Service oversaw operations until 1939, when it was transferred to the U.S. Coast Guard. the tower originally stood 100 feet tall but a series of earthquakes damaged it and, following one in 1948 centered just 6 miles away, the top three floors were removed – including the watchroom and lantern. the original lens now sits on display in Cambria.

from 1906, the station also used a sound signal to alert passing vessels of danger. the sound alert was removed in 1975 when the station was automated; the Coast Guard continued to operate it until 2001 at which time it was handed over to the Bureau of Land Management to allow “structured public access.” the light continues to operate, but the land now serves as a natural sanctuary and  research station, offering tours of the light station and wildlife refuge throughout the week. the largest colony of elephant seals on the west coast makes their home on a beach about a mile south of Piedras Blancas.

there are plans to move several miles of Highway 1 near Piedras Blancas farther inland in anticipation of rising sea levels. there are portions of the highway jsut north of the lighthouse that are only protected from the ocean by an artificial embankment and cement traffic barriers, which high swells periodically over-top, causing traffic hazards.

California’s Highway 1

SONY DSC

one thing I’ve wanted to do since I first lived in California was to drive along Highway 1. the few times I drove up to the Bay area while living in San Diego, though, I had time constraints and no one to enjoy the drive with me. in hindsight, I’m glad I waited because we had a great time driving back from Monterey along Highway 1 as part of our mini-moon. neither the drive nor the weather disappointed as we set off early on a late-August morning.

the highway, which runs along the coast from Orange to Mendecino County was constructed in segments starting in 1910 and sported many names over the last century, until a legislative act designated it all California State Route 1. between 1915 and 1964, all the different segments had numerical designations, but only highway planners and legislators ever referred to those numbers; designations never appeared along the roads themselves.

the stretch between Carmel (just south of Monterey) and San Simeon (site of newspaper magnate William Randoph Hearst’s famous castle) received initial state funding in 1919, followed by some federal funding in 1921 and support from the New Deal later. much of the highway went up because of the labor of convicts. the San Quentin State Prison set up three camps along the route, paid inmates $0.35 a day and offered reductions in sentences in exchange for their unskilled labor.

View of Coastal Hwy 1

the stretch of highway we drove required the construction of 33 concrete bridges, including the iconic Bixby Creek Bridge near Big Sur. prior to the completion of the bridge, residents of Big Sur often endured months of isolation in winter; the single-lane stagecoach Old Coast Road, which connected the community to the inland, became impassable with rain and the rugged coastline made deliveries from Monterey or San Francsico by boat difficult. the bridge (and creek) are named after a gent who moved to the Monterey Peninsula in 1868 and purchased a large tract of land near Big Sur to harvest lumber and produce and distribute other wood products from his sawmill. the bridge was designed by F.W. Panhorst who, along with highway engineer C.H. Purcell, opted for a cement span for its lower material and maintenance costs (a steel span! that close to the ocean! what kind of fool would do that?!) and for its more natural aesthetic. it took 14 months to construct and, upon completion, was the longest concrete arch span bridge in the California highway system. the bridge itself is 714 feet long, the main arch is 320 feet long, and over 280 feet high. extensive seismic retrofitting occurred in the late 1990s but even after the updates, the bridge remains classified as “functionally obsolete” because it is less than 32 feet wide, as required with newly-built bridges.

the route finally got consistent numbering in 1964 thanks to legislative action, though different segments of highway have different names (Pacific Coast, Cabrillo, and Shoreline) going up the coast and local roads often weren’t changed to align with the numbering. the entirety of route 1 is a Blue Star Memorial Highway, honoring armed forces and the section between Big Sur and Carmel is a national scenic byway, declared in 1965 and dedicated in 1966 by Lady Bird Johnson from the Bixby Creek Bridge. and all around well worth the drive time!

driving down the Keys

I’ve heard that expression before “driving down the Keys,” but never fully appreciated what it meant before. you’d think “archipelago, obviously it’s a bit of a drive” and yet … I was also surprised at how quickly we got out of Miami and onto the coastal highway. once we cleared the snarly right outside the airport, it was a nice, easy drive with only a slow-moving gawker or two.

in its early days, Key West was a bustling town as it was so accessible by water; even before Henry Flagler built his railroad link, the city was home to 30,000 residents. Flagler developed an interest in Florida towards the end of the 19th century and became a resort developer, constructing a series of hotels down the east coast, culminating with the Casa Marina hotel in Key West.

initially, the Overseas Railway was referred to as “Flagler’s Folly” — who’d think that a 128 mile extension over a coral archipelago would succeed? it necessitated immense amounts of labor, as well as innovations in railway construction. work began in 1905 and trains began running to Key West in 1912. hurricanes disrupted progress in 1906, 1909, and 1910 and, ultimately, destroyed it. trains rain until 1935, when the Labor Day Hurricane struck at Islamorada and swept away several sections of bridge, in addition to killing nearly 400 people. the company didn’t have finances to repair or replace the damaged sections and, eventually, they sold the remaining tracks and roadbed to the State of Florida, which turned the route into the highway it is today. while many of the bridges were replaced in the 1980s some remain as pedestrian and fishing bridges. you could tell the locals — bronze figures either running along otherwise desolate stretches of concrete, or planted in one of the fishing alcoves with a rod or two.

portions of the road were tolled until 1954. the Seven Mile Bridge was one of the longest bridges when it was constructed and once crossed over Pigeon Key (home to Flagler’s railway company) but now bypasses it as the original structure is unsafe for vehicular travel. the road, now designated U.S. 1 runs from Key West to Fort Kent in Maine.

I’m thankful that we ended up making the drive while it was sunny out. being on the road, with the water on both sides and the sun beating down, set the tone for the weekend wonderfully.

cow mailboxes

have a glass of fresh milk!

today’s post strays from our usual theme of travel and general history in favor of something from my personal history.

it’s a drive that I’ve made many, many times in the last nine years, and one that I mostly hated half the time while I was at school and it stood between me and getting home or me and getting back to Galesburg. I can tell you precisely how long it will take to get from my front door to campus — with variations for a pit stop in either Savanna (where I turn south onto the River Road) or in Freeport (where I often stopped for a snack at Culver’s), how many counties the route goes through (9), not how many times I’ve been stopped at the train tracks that cross the highway in Fulton (because it’s been that many), where houses were foreclosed on long before it was the norm, where buildings have burnt down and been rebuilt … if you’d told me a dozen years ago that I’d make this drive dozens of times, I’d have scoffed. mostly because I’d never heard of any of the towns I drive through south of the border, let alone Knox and Galesburg. now that I only make that drive once a year, at most I’ve come to really enjoy it; it’s novel once again, rather than tedious from making it so frequently, and while I no longer get to watch the changes wrought by the seasons, I do get to watch the changes wrought by the years.

my absolute favorite thing about driving to and from Galesburg is passing the cow mailbox at a farm just south of Freeport, Illinois. over the years, I’ve passed three different versions, the most recent of which went up in the last year. unfortunately, I never got a shot of the first one, but haven’t made that mistake with subsequent ones. I always thought of the first one (above left) as Lucy. this new one seems more like a Buddy. we’ll see if the name still suits him the next time I drive past, or if he’s been replaced by someone new in a few year’s time.

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Badlands National Park

one upside to visiting National Parks like the one in the Badlands a second time as an adult is that my memories have faded enough to allow for a wholly new experience. I have vague recollections of our last trip to the monuments and parks of western South Dakota, but nothing concrete. I remember washing dishes at our campsite, being surrounded by bison on a drive through Custer State Park, going to a cave (but nothing about the cave), lights on the surface of Rushmore (but not the carving itself, really), the heat and dryness of the Badlands.
now that I’m older, however, and have a much more comprehensive understanding of the geological (or other) forces involved in the creation of these sties, I am much more in awe. the height of the buttes and spires is obscured as you approach from the north as they’re carved out of the plains moving southward. they’re impressive and, as the name suggests, impressively inhospitable-looking. true, a fair amount of prairie grass covers the top of the butte and on the plains below — enough that someone was conducting a controlled burn of the lower prairielands as we drove through the Park.

people have inhabited the area for more than 11,000 years, the earliest of which were mammoth hunters. the Lakota moved in during the 18th century and came to dominate the region in part because of the command of horses they learned from Spaniards (it’s much easier to hunt bison on horseback …). French trappers quickly encroached on the Lakota, and they were shortly followed by soldiers (see: Custer), miners (see: Deadwood), cattle farmers and homesteaders (see: Dust Bowl).

following Wounded Knee, the Lakota were confined primarily to reservations, including the Pine Ridge Reservation which shares oversight of the Stronghold Unit of Badlands National Park. during the Second World War, the U.S. Government took possession of more than 300,000 acres of the Reservation to use the land as a gunnery range. accuracy wasn’t always great and several buildings in the town of Interior (just south of the North Unit of the park) were damaged. nearby farmers often had to take cover to save themselves from falling or misdirected ordinance. among the many informational PDFs available on the Park website is one on the history of the gunnery range that includes information on identifying and avoiding unexploded ordinance (UXO).

the site was authorized to become a National Monument in 1929 but didn’t become one until a decade later. it was redisignated a National Park in 1978 and in 1999 took over supervision of the nearby Minuteman Missile National Historical Site.

Doo Lough Valley

though gorgeous, the Doo Lough Valley is known for one of the more devastating tragedies I heard about the Famine.
 in March 1849, destitute tenants of Louisburgh were told to walk to the lodge at Delphi (where they were told they would meet an inspector who would determine whether they could continue receiving assistance). some six hundred people set out on the twelve-mile walk along a beautiful but desolate valley. when they arrived at Delphi Lodge, they were turned away. (the inspector was supposed to show up in Louisburgh, but went on to Delphi Lodge for some reason instead.) the people were already devestatingly weak from malnutrition and years of living under the oppression of the Famine. numbers are disputed (at least between the places i checked), but on the walk back from Delphi Lodge to Louisburgh as many as 200 people died. there’s a stone cross commemorating the tragedy just over the road from where i am standing in this picture. every year there is a Memorial Walk, and in 1988 (just prior to the abolition of apartheid) Desmond Tutu participated.
that’s the thing about Connemara; because it was so dependant on the potato, the area was particularly affected by the Famine. it seems that around every corner there is some reminder of tragedy on some scale. but in spite of that, life has moved on; can’t dwell on tragedy and loss forever, even if it has dramatically shaped the present and fundamentally altered the course that events might take.
(Joseph O’Connor has an interesting historical fiction novel that personalizes the effects of the Famine, in which the characters hail from Connemara (the nearest town is Clifden, and the Big City is Galway): Star of the Sea.)

vehicular travel

driving a manual transmission on the other side of the road was a great adventure in itself. apart from the motorways and major arterial roads designed to handle lots and lots of coach traffic, everything is two lanes. and by two lanes, i mean wide enough to accommodate two cars smaller than the one that i drive now (which is considered compact), and nothing else. no hard shoulder, hedgerows everywhere so if you’re not in open fields, like in parts of Co. Kerry or Co. Clare, then you’ve no idea what is coming around the bend. makes for exciting driving, that’s for sure.

when i didn’t have a car, i availed myself of the public transportation systems, local, regional, and international. for the most part, that meant Bus Eireann, the national bus service that connects pretty much everything in the Republic of Ireland. during the tourist season they run a bus from Drogheda to Bru na Boinne — very handy. round trip to central Dublin took about 40 minutes, and out to the beach at Bettystown in about 20. bus stations varied in size and amenaties — Busaras in Dublin, and Europa in Belfast are large and bustling, no surprise. and play host to all kinds of people. the one in Drogheda is mostly just a building to in which to shelter in colder weather. when i went through on my way from Belfast to Cork, our bus was heavliy subscribed (it was a Sunday), so they split us in to two groups: one heading to Cork city and one heading to points in between. it was there that i managed to capture a photo of a hairstyle that seemed to be quite the rage, in Belfast at least. not quite mohawk, not quite … i don’t even know, but certainly special!

driving adventures

driving in Ireland is a collaborative venture. you, those following behind you, the oncoming traffic, the tour buses, the local dogs, and the sheep. right out of Cork the road is pretty straight, with room to pass and wide enough that the oncoming coaches don’t make you quite fear for your life. things get more dramatic depending upon where you go. Galway city centre is manic (and i managed to arrive just about rush hour), but people in vehicles are predictable. even facing down tour coaches in the Ring of Kerry is somewhat predictable: they are big, and you’ll back up to make room for them if necessary.

our most harrowing experience came driving from Dingle town to Tralee to drop Nico & Kelly at the train station. a dog was hopping in and out of the road, going nuts over two people on bikes, and you could tell that my oncoming presence wasn’t going to stop him. sure enough, *bounce* into the road he came …. but i reacted fast enough to prevent dog-splatter on the road and the car.

sheep in particular take a degree of ownership over the road, too. in more rural areas it’s no suprirse as they tend to outnumber humans on a significant scale. you’ll see them sticking heads through fences to get better grazing, walking along the birm on the side of the road for their morning snack. coming out of Maam Cross, three of them were strolling along the N-road like they were out for their usual Sunday constitutional. later that same day, driving through Connemara, i had my first direct sheep-in-the-road encounter.

as i said, using the roads is a collaborative effort.

Galway

after two fantastic evenings in Dingle, I’m back in the bustle of a city in Galway. today’s drive through Clare and the Burren wasn’t nearly as windy or tiring as that around the Ring of Kerry, and nearly as dramatic. pictures eventually, including the Cliffs of Moher, where i got quite soggy this afternoon! i’m hoping that my pants will be dry enough by tomorrow that i might wear them, instead of getting creative with what else i have, or breaking down and buying something.

calling it an early night tonight with my book, but tomorrow night the plan is to go in search of some music. somehow i don’t anticipate a live music and dance session like the one that broke out last night at Dick Mack’s in Dingle, though …