To Sur, With Love By Tom McNichol Special to The Washington Post Sunday, March 15, 1998; Page E01

"If the soul were to choose an arena in which to stage its agonies, this would be the place for it," Miller wrote. "One feels exposed -- not only to the elements, but to the sight of God."

After only one visit, Miller decided to settle in Big Sur, living and writing in the area from 1944 until 1962. Miller wouldn't be the only one to hear the Siren call of Big Sur. Many would come to consider Big Sur as a kind of Mount Olympus, a place where the gods still show their face. Poet Robinson Jeffers, who lived nearby, sang the praises of Big Sur in verse decades before Miller discovered the area. "When the whole human race has been like me rubbed out, they will still be here: storms, moon and ocean, dawn and the birds," Jeffers wrote. In the late '50s, Jack Kerouac drifted down from San Francisco and wrote "Big Sur," a jangled homage to the hallucinatory beauty of the region. In the late '60s, nomadic bands of hippies would stage their own Big Sur hallucinations, setting up ragged tent cities in the stream-filled canyons. The Esalen Institute, the cradle of what came to be known as the human potential movement, would take root in Big Sur, and continues to attract seekers from all over the world.

Geographically, Big Sur consists of about 90 miles of jagged central California coastline. Carmel anchors the northern end, about 130 miles south of San Francisco; San Simeon and Hearst Castle are its southern limit, approximately 240 miles north of Los Angeles.

Big Sur is an unspoiled and unforgiving land of mythic proportions. The name is derived from "El Sur Grande" ("the Big

South"), the appellation given by Spanish settlers who lived near Monterey. The coastal area to their south was huge, craggy and almost comically inaccessible. The murderous surf and boulder-strewn coastline were treacherous to ships, and the Santa Lucia Mountains, which seem to be frozen in the act of falling into the sea, made walking Big Sur a big pain.

Today, Big Sur is only slightly more approachable. California Highway 1 -- the two-lane country road that coils like a snake around the coastal mountains -- is the only major road in all of Big Sur. Fewer than 1,300 residents live in the region, and it's one of the few places in America that was more populous at the turn of the century than it is today.

Electricity didn't come to Big Sur until 1949, and some residents still don't have power. Besides a handful of people with satellite dishes, no one in Big Sur watches television because the reception is so bad. There's no local newspaper, and only a few small grocery stores carry the San Francisco paper. Most striking of all to the late-20th-century visitor, Big Sur is a land without trademarks. For more than 100 miles along Highway 1, there's not a single fast-food restaurant, supermarket, bank or national chain store. No Golden Arches or Nike Swoosh, no Col. Sanders or Starbucks coffee goddess. (There are a few gas stations, but they're 40 miles apart, and even at $2.05 a gallon, you're glad to see them.) Tough zoning laws adopted in the early 1960s, combined with the region's remoteness, has left Big Sur a world apart, untamed by the commercial forces that make it possible to drive clear across America and see the same things over and over.

Just south of Carmel, a sign on Highway 1 offers a clue that the rules of the road are about to change up ahead:

HILLS CURVES NEXT 74 MILES

The first thing you have to let go of on a trip through Big Sur is any notion of making "good time." Highway 1 sits precariously on a ledge that threads between the craggy Santa Lucia Mountains on one side, and a sheer cliffside drop to the Pacific on the other. On many parts of Highway 1, it's impossible to travel faster than 30 mph, which is just as well. Big Sur is best appreciated at a contemplative pace.

Completed in 1937, Highway 1 is a marvel of civil engineering. More than 15 years in the making, the road was built in part by inmates from California state prisons, who for each three days of highway work had two days taken off their sentence. In a way, the work on Highway 1 has never stopped -- sections of the road periodically have to be shored up to prevent them from tumbling into the sea (and this winter's El Niño storms have taken their toll; see box on Page E6).

At times, the road bed climbs more than 1,000 feet as it traces the rugged contours of the coast. The highway is dotted with more than a dozen large concrete bridges, the most famous of which is Bixby Bridge, at the northern end of Big Sur. Sometimes called Rainbow Bridge after the graceful bow shape of its 320-foot arch, Bixby Bridge is one of the most photographed sights in all of Big Sur, the only human creation that can compete with the area's natural beauty. (It was named after an early settler in the area, Charlie Bixby.) Pulling off the road at a turnout by the bridge, I couldn't quite bring myself to join the picture-snapping crowds. With the mountains soaring to my left and the white-capped surf crashing wildly in a canyon below, it seemed blasphemous to be taking a picture of a highway bridge, however graceful.

South of Bixby Bridge, the drive becomes even more challenging, as the highway squeezes between a sheer rock wall and an 800-foot drop to the sea. If you're traveling with children who incessantly ask, "Are we there yet?" you may want to try pulling off at a turnout slightly more than a mile south of Bixby Bridge and solemnly pointing to the bottom of the canyon hundreds of feet below. There lie the remains of several automobiles, ones that no doubt contained passengers who distracted the driver from the important business of concentrating on the road.

Dozens of auto turnouts along are Highway 1, all of them affording dramatic and often ethereal coastal views. But after a while in Big Sur, the spectacular starts to become almost commonplace. Before long, I felt as if I was peering through a red plastic Viewmaster, clicking through amazingly lifelike 3-D photos of Big Sur, rather than actually being there. As I soon discovered, the key to experiencing Big Sur, as opposed to merely looking at it, is to get out of the damn car.

Fortunately, Big Sur has several outstanding state parks that make exploring the area relatively convenient. Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park is the most popular park in the area, located about two miles south of the blink-and-you-miss-it village of Big Sur. A trail system meanders through mountain streams and redwood groves, and some of the park's trees are as much as 1,200 years old. But the park's popularity is also its greatest drawback. It's hard to conjure the power of the untamed wild when you're surrounded by more than 200 trailer sites and someone's cassette player blasting "Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo."

Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, a smaller preserve 11 miles south on Highway 1, is just as pretty, far less crowded and relatively uncluttered by Park Service interpretive signs. (The Pfeiffer family, pronounced PIE-fer, owned considerable land tracts in the area.) From the parking area, the short Waterfall Trail makes for a good leg-stretcher, a cliffside path that leads to a view of a 50-foot waterfall. The more ambitious Ewoldsen Trail, a three-to-four-hour loop, gives a truer sense of what's drawn so many seekers to Big Sur over the years. The trail follows rambling McWay Creek up a redwood canyon containing trees that still bear the scars of a 1985 fire that raced through the area. Coastal redwoods contain flame-resistant tannic acid that allows them to survive periodic fires. Many of the trees are charred black at the trunk but are still green at the top. The trail leaves the redwood canyon and climbs a ridge, where the terrain abruptly changes from damp and lush to dry and scrubby. The steep 1,600 foot ascent rewards the panting hiker with a panoramic ocean view.

Being out of breath, incidentally, is one of Big Sur's secret delights. The air in the region is incredibly fresh, lightly scented with sea spray and pine, and there's no heavy industry within 100 miles to foul the air. But keep a wary eye to the sky as you hike. Big Sur's weather is moody and subject to change at a moment's notice.

Not far away is another superb walk, down a steep twisting fire road to Partington Cove, a well-kept secret among the locals. (The unmarked fire road starts at a metal gate on the west side of Highway 1, about two miles north of the entrance to Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park). A foot path branching left off the fire road crosses a bridge and slices through a 50-foot tunnel that's been cut into a rock hillside. The trail emerges in a secluded cove, where the rusty remains of a landing launch can still be seen. The launch dates to the turn of the century, when timber and cattle hides were loaded onto ships, the chief means of export in the days before Highway 1. During Prohibition, the cove was used as a port for smuggled liquor. Partington Cove is Big Sur at its best -- pounding surf, splendid isolation and a hint of danger.

All of that hiking can work up a Big Sur-size appetite, but there are only a handful of restaurants in the area. By far the most famous is Nepenthe, the 50-year old cliffside restaurant and bar that's become a Big Sur institution. Located about three miles south of Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park, Nepenthe is a popular stop for both tourists and locals, offering stunning views of the coastline from its airy outdoor terraces. Local legend has it that Sen. John F. Kennedy stopped here for a bite to eat in the late 1950s, but was turned away because he wasn't wearing shoes. Besides proper footwear, you'll want to bring a Kennedy-size wallet with you to Nepenthe. A tuna salad sandwich, "cut into three pieces" as Nepenthe's menu gamely trumpets it, will set you back $10.75.

Besides Nepenthe, there's not much night life to speak of in Big Sur. One exception is the Village Pub, an unassuming watering hole in the village of Big Sur. Even though I wasn't a local, I felt completely comfortable sitting at the bar, surrounded by men with long flowing hair, weathered faces and cigarettes tucked behind ears. In a back room, a husband and wife shot pool under the doleful watch of a rheumy-eyed basset hound curled up in the corner. A TV sat in another corner, but it wasn't turned on, a sure sign that I'd left the confines of mainstream America. At one point in the evening, a metal bar stool tipped over, and the loud crash brought the bartender rushing over to inspect the damage.

"Oh good, no one was sitting in it," the bartender said. "I guess it's still early in the night for that."

Overnight accommodations in Big Sur are somewhat limited, since there aren't any hotel chains keeping the light on for you. By far the most luxurious digs are the Ventana Resort and the Post Ranch Inn, both about two miles south of Pfeiffer Big Sur Park. Ventana is a 60-room country inn complete with rambling gardens, two swimming pools and private hot tubs, while the Post Ranch Inn features a complete spa facility. But being pampered struck me as inconsistent with the rugged spirit of the place. A Big Sur dinner shouldn't be served on a silver tray -- you should have to kill it with your bare hands. I opted instead to stay at Ripplewood Resort, which features 16 modest cabins nestled under a canopy of redwoods and a small restaurant that serves a pleasant country meal. Just outside my back door at night, I could hear the gurgling of the Big Sur River, which has flowed through the area for more than a million years.

You don't have to spend much time in Big Sur before you feel exposed to "the sight of God," as Henry Miller put it. Big Sur is an inescapably spiritual place -- powerful, remote and full of creative possibilities.

Some of Big Sur's spiritual communities are ancient, like the land. Half a mile south of the village of Lucia, a driveway leads from the east side of Highway 1 to a ridge-top hermitage overlooking the Pacific where a community of Camaldolese monks live, work, and pray year-round. Retreat facilities are available for extended stays, but day visitors are welcome to tour the grounds provided they respect the atmosphere of quiet reflection. The Camaldolese order dates back to the 11th century, and may be the only order of Benedictine monks that hasn't released a CD of Gregorian chants.

But the nexus of spiritual longing in Big Sur lies at the Esalen Institute, named after the Native American tribe that once inhabited the region. Founded in 1962 by two Stanford students interested in blending Eastern philosophy and Western psychology, Esalen has developed into a kind of New Age pagan monastery. Seekers come to the institute's 27-acre grounds for spiritual retreats and to attend weekend and five-day workshops that embrace everything from brain wave training to sports medicine.

Esalen co-founder Michael Murphy settled on Big Sur in part because his grandfather owned a hot springs resort on the grounds, one frequented by Henry Miller. But Big Sur and Esalen are also a perfect psychic fit. Esalen's goal of stretching the frontiers of human potential has a certain resonance when you're standing on a cliff at the western edge of the continent.

"I don't think it would have worked as well if we started Esalen in, say, New Jersey," laughs Murphy. "The sheer magnitude of the land and the power of the elements are what shape lives in Big Sur."

In some areas of inquiry, Esalen can rightfully claim to have been well ahead of its time. Joseph Campbell was giving lectures at Esalen decades before Bill Moyers discovered him. Alternative medicine guru Andrew Weil held forth at Esalen 15 years before he hit the cover of Time magazine. Once exotic Esalen classes in yoga and Feldenkrais are available today at most YMCAs. The groaning "Self Help" and "Personal Growth" shelves in bookstores everywhere are proof that the preoccupations of the human potential movement have been adopted by the larger culture.

"There are a lot of currents that came through Esalen that have gone mainstream," says Murphy.

On the other hand, Esalen is studiously indiscriminate in its spiritual pursuits. The wisdom of the ancient sages shares equal billing with astrology, inner-child discovery, and the sort of gassy pop psychology that rightfully gives New Age a bad name. A glance through the Esalen catalogue is a reminder that there's a fine line separating getting in touch with yourself and touching yourself too much.

A workshop titled "You Don't Have to Be Good" has participants use "movement and meditation, play and process, art and journal writing to explore the indomitable aliveness beneath the censoring critic." Another, called "Golf in the Kingdom: An Exploration of the Deeper Game," offers spiritual self-discovery through the game of golf. It includes a two-day field trip to a Monterey golf course, where participants "score" by writing down adjectives that best describe their feelings at each hole. Even getting a massage at Esalen turns out to involve "many levels of conceptual understanding interwoven with tactile sensitivity, elegant awareness, and heartfelt communication."

At Esalen, there's a whole lotta healing going on. Recent workshops have included "In Search of the Healing Self," "Healing for Everyone," "Healing From Trauma," "Spiritual Healing," "Healing and Health Through Ki Energy," "The Healing Power of Humor" and "Ojibwe Tribal Healing." For some reason, the "Healing Our Hearts" workshop cost $795, while "Healing of the Heart and Mind" -- seemingly twice as much healing -- cost only $425.

Although most people who stay at Esalen are attending one of the more than 400 workshops given annually, overnight guests are put up on a reservation-only basis. That's what I did to take advantage of Esalen's most prized resource: the mineral baths spectacularly perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. The geothermal baths are available around-the-clock to overnight guests, but open to the general public only from 1 to 3 a.m., in grudging compliance with California Coastal Commission regulations.

Upon my arrival at Esalen, I quickly settled into one of the cliffside mineral baths, the same revitalizing waters enjoyed by Henry Miller in the 1950s. From my hot tub perch, I watched a blood-red sun slowly drop into the Pacific and listened to the waves pound the rocky shore 500 feet below, a healing experience worthy of a thousand weekend workshops. Gently bobbing in a warm pool of mineral water, it wasn't hard to feel the elemental tug that draws visitors to Big Sur, a pull as ancient as the water, mountains and sky that define the area. The ageless architecture of Big Sur gives you a sense of your own creation.

That night, I slept like a baby. But maybe that was just my inner child asserting himself.

Tom McNichol last wrote for Travel about the Nike missile site in Marin County, Calif.

So, How's the Weather Out There?

A number of El Niño-related storms have battered California's coastline, periodically closing portions of California State Route 1, the main coastal artery leading from Monterey along the Big Sur coast. At press time, parts of the road from just south of Carmel to the Hearst Castle were closed, though alternate routes were available.

For information about the current road conditions in the Big Sur area, call the Caltrans Highway Information Network at 916-445-7623 or go to http://www.dot.ca.gov/hq /roadinfo on the World Wide Web.

Details: Exploring the Big Sur Coast

GETTING THERE: Big Sur lies on the central California coast between San Francisco and Los Angeles. San Francisco, about 130 miles north of Big Sur, and San Jose, about 90 miles to the northeast, are the closest large cities that have regular air service.

You may want to consider flying into San Francisco, driving south along Highway 1 to Big Sur, and then continuing on to Los Angeles and flying out of that city. Sure, that's an expensive way to fly. But this way you don't have to backtrack the same twisting route.

WHERE TO STAY: Big Sur accommodations are limited and it's best to book ahead. Campsite reservations for Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park can be made by calling 1-800-444-7275. The park also contains the Big Sur Lodge (1-800-424-4787), which features cottages with kitchens and fireplaces.

Other accommodations include a small but tidy Norwegian-style inn at Deetjen's Big Sur Inn (408-667-2377); riverside cabins at Ripplewood Resort (408-667-2242) and Riverside Campgrounds and Cabins (408-667-2414); and luxury lodging at Ventana (1-800-628-6500) and the Post Ranch Inn (1-800-527-2200).

Overnight accommodations at the Esalen Institute are available on a reservation-only basis; call 408-667-3000.

INFORMATION: Big Sur Information Station, Big Sur Station No. 1, Big Sur, Calif. 93920, 408-667-2315.

-- Tom McNichol