Montana de Oro
I first discovered Montana de Oro State Park in the fall of 1979, a couple of months after I moved to San Luis Obispo from Ft. Collins, Colorado. After finding a place to live and a job working at the old Sebastian’s restaurant near the Mission, I started to explore the beautiful Central Coast. A friend told me that Montana de Oro was a must see, one of the area’s natural wonders.
I drove west along Los Osos Valley Road not really knowing what to expect. The Irish Hills to the south were promising, and I knew the park was right next to the ocean, so I hoped for some good views. Much more than I expected awaited me.
My first stop after turning south and climbing the hill out of Los Osos was the pullout to the right just past the park entrance. Even from this relatively low elevation I was stunned by what I saw: the astonishing curve of land to the north that included Los Osos; Baywood Park and the Back Bay; Morro Bay and Morro Rock; the coastal mountains sweeping out to Cambria, San Simeon and Big Sur. In front of me the dunes sloping down to the sand spit that stretched all the way to the break water and south to Hazard Canyon; rows of white crested waves rolling in from across the Pacific; the vast expanse of ocean extending west to a distant blue horizon.
That first day I walked the beach and even braved the freezing cold water for a swim. I explored Spooner’s Cove and the mouth of Islay Creek. I walked the bluffs and marveled at the blow hole on one of the finger-like inlets that reached in from the ocean. I sat on the beach of the little cove that harbored many seals and otters. I watched squadrons of pelicans skimming the bluffs and laughed at their gracefully awkward plunges into the waves. It was World Series time, and for some reason they reminded me of the “We are Family” Pittsburgh Pirates ungainly submarining reliever, Kent Tekulve. Overhead, red tail hawks searched the chaparral for mice, squirrels and rabbits. I was blown away but what I saw that day. If I needed any further convincing that I’d moved to the right place, seeing Montana de Oro did it.
Over the last thirty-two years Montana de Oro has been a regular playground for my family and me. I watched my young children windmill down the dunes, spend hours exploring the tide pools at Hazard Canyon, and, later, surf sand spit, south jetty and Hazard’s. I watched them crawl through the caves and over the rocks at Spooner’s Cove or build dams and skip rocks across Islay Creek. My wife and I have many times walked the bluff trail and enjoyed the spring wildflowers. When running became a big part of our family experience, my sons and I would run the long bluffs/Coon Creek out- and- back trail, starting and finishing at the parking area above Spooner’s Cove.
Lately, having retired from my career in education, I’ve started to hike the trails that lead to the park’s many peaks. I’d hiked to the top of Valencia Peak a few times, but never to Hazard or Oats Peak, both of which I’ve recently climbed. Hazard Peak is on the Ridge Trail which starts right next to the road a quarter mile from the Spooner’s Cove campground. It’s a relatively easy 4.6 mile up and back hike with a 1000’ elevation gain to a 1076’ summit. At the top the hiker’s reward is a view that includes everything along the coast from Point Buchon to Point Estero. It’s a great introduction to the inland wonders of Montana de Oro.
On an early November Tuesday I decided I would hike the complete Ridge Trail-Barranca Trail-Islay Creek Loop that would include Hazard Summit, an eight mile round trip. However, when I reached the trail head I found that the Islay Creek Trail was closed for a seismic survey, so I had to regroup. I checked my copy of Robert Stone’s Day Hikes Around San Luis Obispo and decided to try Oats Peak instead.
I parked near the park Visitor’s Center and started on the Oats Peak Trail at 10:30. It was a gorgeous day, with a light wall of fog hanging just off the coast. The trail is just to the right of the road leading to campsites, and I was quickly climbing above the fog, the campground and Spooner’s Cove with the inland side of Valencia Peak ahead of me and to my right. At 1373’, Oats is actually taller than Valencia by 26’, with a total elevation gain of 1300’.
On my way to the peak I traveled through chaparral and open meadows with views of Valencia, the Coon Creek drainage and the Irish Hills backcountry. I hiked for an hour, stopping to take pictures along the way, meeting no one, but noting the frequency of coyote scat along the trail, the lizards skittering into the brush and the red tails gliding and hovering above me.
It may be a stretch to call the Montana de Oro wilderness, but alone on the trail I felt completely removed from the busier life of folks in the close-by towns to the north and east. The only sound was the muffled roar of the ocean and the occasional passing airplane. With each step I experienced the increasing lightness and joy that accompanies good exercise on a splendid day.
At the top I ate an apple and a granola bar, wrote a poem in my notebook and enjoyed the beautiful view. Coincidentally, another solo hiker reached the top from the Coon Creek trail at the same time I arrived from the other direction. We said a brief hello, but each of us was lost in his own thoughts and didn’t pursue a lengthy conversation. He left within minutes and I was alone again.
I consulted my trail book and decided to hike down to the Coon Creek trail and follow it to the intersection of the Rattlesnake Flats trail which would take me back to the coast and eventually to my car. I estimated that it would be roughly the same distance I had planned on my original hike. After about 30 minutes on the summit I started down and found that it was steep with a lot of loose rock underfoot. Conditions improved after a while and I was rewarded for my choice by several lovely oak groves featuring gnarled trunks and branches, cool shade and more photo opportunities.
About half way to Coon Creek I caught up with the other hiker and we started a conversation that lasted the rest of the hike. Both former teachers and runners, both doing less running and more hiking due to persistent injuries from age-related wear and tear, we found that we had a lot in common, including mutual friends in the area. His truck was parked by the Coon Creek trailhead so I altered my plans, dropping the Rattlesnake Flats trail, and we talked all the way back on the same trail we had run many times when running ten miles on a Sunday morning seemed like a fun and reasonable thing to do. I checked my watch when we reached his battered pickup truck and was happy to see I’d been out for three hours.
Not long after my first visit to Montana de Oro, way back in 1979, I had a dream that I was standing on the beach at Hazard Canyon. My back was to the ocean. I was looking back over the curve of the continent and I could see my progress from my childhood home in Philadelphia to my new home on the Central Coast. I woke up feeling like the dream was a pleasant message that I had moved to the right place and that life, overall, would be good. Thirty-two years later, after a glorious hike in our local wonderland, it seems there was a lot of truth in that dream.
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