Photo by Dillon Pena
Point Dume
Niles Reddick
We were attracted to and decided to visit Point Dume at Malibu, California, because of the iconic volcanic cone that had been sacred to the native Chumash and later used as a guide to steer ships away from underwater rocks close to shore. When we pulled into the parking lot, there wasn’t a guard on duty, and since the parking lot was more empty than full, we weren’t sure if we should pay the meter ten dollars on our credit card or not. We paid the fee mostly because it looked like others had paid and placed their tickets on their vehicle dashboards. We also paid because we had planned to stay a while and weren’t sure if someone might come along and write a ticket.
We noticed there were some beach nesters, feathering their patch of sand with towels, coolers, and umbrellas, and we could smell marijuana mixed with suntan lotion wafting on the sea breeze. A family was having a photo shoot for their sixteen-year-old daughter. She was the only person on the beach dressed in a skirt, blouse, and draped in a glittery sweet sixteen sash. We wished her “Happy birthday,” and she thanked us while her parents nodded. We noticed the racing motorcycles parked in twos further down by the rock cliffs, the same bikes that raced past us and in between traffic lanes on the Pacific Coast Highway, but my heart skipped a beat when I saw a young man rappeling off the volcanic rock cliff, and I shared with my wife that I simply didn’t believe I would ever do that. My fear of heights had been with me since childhood, when my family had climbed a fire tower for a view of the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia, while alligators sunned themselves on land or floated like logs in the tea-colored water.
There was a sand trail that weaved its way through the tapestry of cacti, sagebrush, and sea grasses and up to a lookout on the cliff. “Let’s go up for the best view,” Anne said.
I told her, “Go ahead and I’ll catch up,” but my wife knew I would likely not climb.
“We’ll go slow. Come on,” she said.
We moved aside for other hikers, some who seemed to glide through the sand in their hiking shoes and sandals unlike me who stopped and emptied sand and small pebbles from my shoes because of pain along the mostly flat arches of my feet. As the path zigzagged up the cliff, which increased in elevation and difficulty, there were rusted railings for those who needed assistance. We pushed on, taking breathers as needed, and before too long, I stood on the one-hundred-foot plateau and saw the waves crashing against the rocks below, spraying anyone or anything in the way. It was a sight to behold, with incredible and long-range views of the sea to the horizon, the entire Santa Monica Bay, and even Catalina Island in the distance. The only disappointment was we didn’t see the gray whales like we’d hoped.
I recalled seeing Planet of the Apes, with Charlton Heston (Astronaut George Taylor) and Linda Harrison (Nova), their horse ride along the beach, the partial Statue of Liberty in the shallows by the rocks and recalled Heston’s realization that he’d returned home to a civilization that had literally turned upside down, where humankind was no longer at the top of the food chain and in control. For a young boy who heard a lot about nuclear proliferation, the possibilities seemed more real than the simple entertainment factor, but I hadn’t realized that mother liberty was papier-mâché and that the scene was filmed at Point Dume like other film and television episodes, including Iron Man, I Dream of Jeannie, Baywatch, and more.
The Chumash tribe had much the same view we had at the top a few hundred years earlier, but their selfies were likely etched in their consciousness while jets had transported us to some of the most beautiful points in the world: Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Mount Desert Island, the Keys, and others. Our experiential abundance wasn’t to be taken for granted, but it likely didn’t mean as much as the Chumash’s view had.
Our view was interrupted by screams, a rock climber running down the trail, and a motionless body at the bottom of Point Dume’s cliff. As we hurried down the trail toward the small crowd gathered, my wife ran ahead to see if her nursing skills might be of value. By the time I arrived, Anne had checked the young lady’s eyes, taken her pulse, had her move her arms, and tried to get her to wiggle her toes, which unfortunately, she couldn’t do. I had heard Anne talk about accidents enough to know that the young lady had likely broken her back and might be paralyzed. I gazed up the rock cliff and wondered at which point her equipment failed.
After she left in the ambulance someone had called, and after Anne had talked with authorities and her rock-climbing friends, she told me that if the woman hadn’t regained feeling within a certain time frame, the paralysis might be permanent. She added that she may need surgery and injections with stem cells could assist her in regaining her mobility, though she shared the controversy with using perinatal and amniotic stem cells.
“Did you put the lawn chairs in the back of the SUV?”
“Yeah and a cooler with iced water.”
“Let’s get them out and enjoy the sun and sound of the waves crashing.”
“I had hoped to watch a surfer today, but the sea looks rather calm.”
The motorcyclists revved their engines and sped away, the teen and her family left, and the rock climbers had followed the ambulance. The beach wasn’t crowded at all, and we enjoyed the sounds and watched beachgoers
Anne elbowed me and asked, “Did you see that spray of water there?”
“No,” I said.
“Think it was a gray whale?”
“Maybe.”
After a while, Anne said, “Let’s beat the crowd to the Malibu pier and have brunch. I’m hungry.”
“Sounds good to me.” We folded our chairs, and I grabbed the small cooler. “I guess we didn’t have to pay that ten-dollar parking fee. I haven’t seen anyone checking passes on dashboards.”
“True,” she said.
Niles Reddick
We were attracted to and decided to visit Point Dume at Malibu, California, because of the iconic volcanic cone that had been sacred to the native Chumash and later used as a guide to steer ships away from underwater rocks close to shore. When we pulled into the parking lot, there wasn’t a guard on duty, and since the parking lot was more empty than full, we weren’t sure if we should pay the meter ten dollars on our credit card or not. We paid the fee mostly because it looked like others had paid and placed their tickets on their vehicle dashboards. We also paid because we had planned to stay a while and weren’t sure if someone might come along and write a ticket.
We noticed there were some beach nesters, feathering their patch of sand with towels, coolers, and umbrellas, and we could smell marijuana mixed with suntan lotion wafting on the sea breeze. A family was having a photo shoot for their sixteen-year-old daughter. She was the only person on the beach dressed in a skirt, blouse, and draped in a glittery sweet sixteen sash. We wished her “Happy birthday,” and she thanked us while her parents nodded. We noticed the racing motorcycles parked in twos further down by the rock cliffs, the same bikes that raced past us and in between traffic lanes on the Pacific Coast Highway, but my heart skipped a beat when I saw a young man rappeling off the volcanic rock cliff, and I shared with my wife that I simply didn’t believe I would ever do that. My fear of heights had been with me since childhood, when my family had climbed a fire tower for a view of the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia, while alligators sunned themselves on land or floated like logs in the tea-colored water.
There was a sand trail that weaved its way through the tapestry of cacti, sagebrush, and sea grasses and up to a lookout on the cliff. “Let’s go up for the best view,” Anne said.
I told her, “Go ahead and I’ll catch up,” but my wife knew I would likely not climb.
“We’ll go slow. Come on,” she said.
We moved aside for other hikers, some who seemed to glide through the sand in their hiking shoes and sandals unlike me who stopped and emptied sand and small pebbles from my shoes because of pain along the mostly flat arches of my feet. As the path zigzagged up the cliff, which increased in elevation and difficulty, there were rusted railings for those who needed assistance. We pushed on, taking breathers as needed, and before too long, I stood on the one-hundred-foot plateau and saw the waves crashing against the rocks below, spraying anyone or anything in the way. It was a sight to behold, with incredible and long-range views of the sea to the horizon, the entire Santa Monica Bay, and even Catalina Island in the distance. The only disappointment was we didn’t see the gray whales like we’d hoped.
I recalled seeing Planet of the Apes, with Charlton Heston (Astronaut George Taylor) and Linda Harrison (Nova), their horse ride along the beach, the partial Statue of Liberty in the shallows by the rocks and recalled Heston’s realization that he’d returned home to a civilization that had literally turned upside down, where humankind was no longer at the top of the food chain and in control. For a young boy who heard a lot about nuclear proliferation, the possibilities seemed more real than the simple entertainment factor, but I hadn’t realized that mother liberty was papier-mâché and that the scene was filmed at Point Dume like other film and television episodes, including Iron Man, I Dream of Jeannie, Baywatch, and more.
The Chumash tribe had much the same view we had at the top a few hundred years earlier, but their selfies were likely etched in their consciousness while jets had transported us to some of the most beautiful points in the world: Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Mount Desert Island, the Keys, and others. Our experiential abundance wasn’t to be taken for granted, but it likely didn’t mean as much as the Chumash’s view had.
Our view was interrupted by screams, a rock climber running down the trail, and a motionless body at the bottom of Point Dume’s cliff. As we hurried down the trail toward the small crowd gathered, my wife ran ahead to see if her nursing skills might be of value. By the time I arrived, Anne had checked the young lady’s eyes, taken her pulse, had her move her arms, and tried to get her to wiggle her toes, which unfortunately, she couldn’t do. I had heard Anne talk about accidents enough to know that the young lady had likely broken her back and might be paralyzed. I gazed up the rock cliff and wondered at which point her equipment failed.
After she left in the ambulance someone had called, and after Anne had talked with authorities and her rock-climbing friends, she told me that if the woman hadn’t regained feeling within a certain time frame, the paralysis might be permanent. She added that she may need surgery and injections with stem cells could assist her in regaining her mobility, though she shared the controversy with using perinatal and amniotic stem cells.
“Did you put the lawn chairs in the back of the SUV?”
“Yeah and a cooler with iced water.”
“Let’s get them out and enjoy the sun and sound of the waves crashing.”
“I had hoped to watch a surfer today, but the sea looks rather calm.”
The motorcyclists revved their engines and sped away, the teen and her family left, and the rock climbers had followed the ambulance. The beach wasn’t crowded at all, and we enjoyed the sounds and watched beachgoers
Anne elbowed me and asked, “Did you see that spray of water there?”
“No,” I said.
“Think it was a gray whale?”
“Maybe.”
After a while, Anne said, “Let’s beat the crowd to the Malibu pier and have brunch. I’m hungry.”
“Sounds good to me.” We folded our chairs, and I grabbed the small cooler. “I guess we didn’t have to pay that ten-dollar parking fee. I haven’t seen anyone checking passes on dashboards.”
“True,” she said.