I was told there'd be jade?

The first place that we decided to visit in Big Sur was chosen because of its name and geological history. Jade Cove was a diving location, apparently full of actual jade that could be scavenged even by non-divers when the tide is low. Bolstered by the exquisite results of our previous tide pool experience at Endert's Beach, we figured we couldn't go wrong hunting for a rare and valuable addition to our vial collection, only a stone's throw away from our spectacular campsite.

Driving north, we found a sign marked "Jade Cove" on the opposite side of the street from a small parking lot. Here we put on good water shoes and headed through the dry, golden reeds to the trail. Looking down, we saw what was unquestioningly a cove, but no tide pools in sight. The waves were crashing against the rock, battering what was left of the small shore. Thinking that maybe, like Endert's Beach, we would have to explore some currently undetected secret area to uncover the hidden treasures, we headed down the steep trail.

Let me clarify that when I say trail, I do not mean the 3-foot wide flat snake that usually leads hikers from one point to another. When I say trail in this instance, I mean a sliver of slightly worn grass no wider than the length of a water bottle, razor-thin evidence that someone had traversed this particular path before. At one point, there was actually a bolt with rope in the soil, the trail's singular generosity, and I clung to it with bear-clawed fingers as I slowly lowered myself to the diminishing beach.

Here we were met with pretty much what we expected, massive rocks and the sea. Clamoring up onto the slick behemoths, we spotted no tide pools and certainly no jade. In fact, we started to doubt whether this was Jade Cove at all, but all the surrounding landmarks seemed correct. Since it was technically feasible to navigate the rocks around the outer lip of cove, Adam decided he would venture the jagged route as quickly as possible. There he would be capable of knowing what was around the bend and if maybe we were just a stony trip away.

As he took off, I settled down on a large rock that simultaneously let me safely hold all of our equipment, enjoy a good view of the water, and get to the trail quickly incase the tide continued to rise. What I did not know when I chose this rock however, was that I had unwittingly put myself in the epicenter of the Big Sur fly and gnat coastal highway. I froze with simultaneous fascination and disgust as I literally watched thousands of flies careen past my head in appallingly flawless lanes, all contained within a cross-sectional space of about 2 feet squared! I wager the flies must have been European; they followed opposite sides of the road from America. Many flies, clearly habituated to this standard traffic pattern, crashed into my head, confusedly hurrying back into line. I couldn't help but wonder where they were all going and mentally envisioned the expanse of the Pacific Coast serviced by these two opposing insect conveyer-belts.

Since I figured it would at least be a little while before Adam returned, I quickly repositioned myself to an adjacent rock about 3 feet away, and was instantly free of any atmospheric hazards. Here I sat watching the fly interstate from the side until Adam returned and confirmed that there was nothing beyond the massive rocks but more massive rocks. Disappointed and unsure of where we truly were, we climbed back up the trail empty-handed and landed in the swaying plain separating us from the car. We started and the air began fluttering, like the breath of the ocean quivering in its farewell. We had abandoned the ocean and walked away from it but the breeze traced our footsteps, following us on the ground rustling the dry grass to wakefulness, and you could hear their whispers of an intruder in the land.

{pri}