The 30-Mile Plan

It’s just past sunset on the Olema Inn’s patio, and I am washing down a plate of local oysters with an Alexander Valley Chardonnay, awaiting a seafood pasta that even the waitress had cautioned was “a little rich.”

Only a dull ache in my calves reminds me of the previous two days’ physical exertion, which had earned me the right to ignore such calorie-conscious advice.

With two women friends, I had flown to the San Francisco Bay Area on Friday night and the following morning embarked on a three-day, 30-mile hike that began at the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge and would end Monday afternoon at Point Reyes National Seashore.

Our goal was to push hard during the day, then pamper ourselves with fine food, wine and comfortable beds in bed-and-breakfast inns along the way. The bonus: Since we weren’t camping, we carried only day packs, into which we each had tucked a basic black outfit for evenings.

Even the inn-to-inn splurge was earned. Two years earlier, two of us lugged 40-pound packs down an Eastern Sierra canyon. While exhilarated, we learned that our 40-something bodies were not anxious to hit the trails again after a night of sleeping on the ground.

So across the Golden Gate we went, then under the bridge and up into the Marin headlands. Our route for the day was chosen for scenic beauty without sacrificing directness, using several well-marked trails to link portions of the Pacific Coast Trail. Good maps were key, and we had two that overlapped: “Trails of Mt. Tamalpais and the Marin Headlands” by Olmsted & Bros. of Berkeley and a waterproof map of Point Reyes National Seashore by Tom Harrison Cartography of San Rafael, Calif.

Ann, Therese and I took turns spotting hawks, ravens and turkey buzzards, which we later would joke were focusing their death circles on us. We talked of our families and our dreams. We were feeling strong, our sense of getting away from it all marred only by the proliferation of mountain bikers--bundles of muscle and metal whizzing by at terrifying speeds.

By lunch, we had hoped to reach Tennessee Valley, a little past midpoint on the day’s 12-mile hike. But long before then the unseasonably hot temperatures and a detour around a trail closed for re-vegetation made us crave more than our trail mix.

When we finally reached the verdant valley, we were too worried about our waning water supply to take the added 1.2-mile walk down to the cove. It was a good thing, too, because soon after, we hit the most rugged terrain of the three-day hike, trudging up and down and up again along rocky seaside cliffs.

At 4:30, our estimated time of arrival at the Pelican Inn, we passed day hikers headed out from the Muir Beach parking lot. When they learned we had started in San Francisco that morning, the woman’s eyes widened; she turned to her companion and asked, “Is it possible?”

Finally arriving at the Pelican half-an-hour later, we limped up to Room 1, a soothing vision of white bedspreads and dark wood furniture. Though the seven-room hotel is only a decade old, an Englishman built it to accurately resemble the 17th century half-timbered houses of his homeland, right down to the weathered wooden ceiling beams.

Showered and changed, we made a beeline for the pub and a cold pint of Pelican Ale, sidestepping a rowdy game of darts to relax in the guests-only parlor known as “the snug.” At dinner we were famished and gobbled up mixed greens tossed in a balsamic vinaigrette. We did not hold back on the bread and butter. We did not say no to a second glass of Clos du Bois Chardonnay. We did not have to.

Then came the main courses--Therese and I tried the roasted lamb shoulder special, while Ann ordered grilled chicken and an ample mound of garlic mashed potatoes. Though the cuisine is billed as “country inn-style,” not gourmet, our choices were still disappointing--fatty and drenched in undistinguished gravy.

In the morning, back in our hiking clothes and packs, we waited out front for the taxi that would take us to the Olema Valley trail head about 13 miles away. With four free days, a determined hiker could include that stretch, dropping down to Stinson Beach and over to Bolinas for the second night. But with only a long weekend to spare, we had opted to prearrange the ride with Radio Cab out of Larkspur, at a cost of $45 including tip.

The second day’s hike was far less grueling, a welcome respite for toes and knees still tender from the extremes of the previous day. We roamed through a horticulturist’s selection of native California-sun-scorched chaparral interspersed with cool glens of live oak and fragrant bay laurel. We saw far fewer people than on Saturday, though we did encounter a man carrying a five-iron--for protection against mountain lions, he said.

The last leg of the trek took us through the Vedanta Retreat--a meditation center that politely asks passersby, on sign after sign, not to veer off the trails. In addition to the retreat’s herd of black cattle, we saw two deer, the hike’s first sign of wildlife aside from the raptors and an occasional bunny or skittering lizard.

The buzz of California Highway 1 was like a painkiller as we rounded the corner near Olema. We stopped at the little store for ice cream bars and lunch supplies for the next day, before becoming the Olema Inn’s grungiest guests.

Though this hotel was built in 1876, 110 years before the Pelican, it actually looks newer inside, thanks to modernization, with tight windows, ceiling fans and, in Room 1 (again), a deep bathtub.

Bathed and changed, the three of us made our way to the table at the edge of the patio. While I dined on my oysters and pasta, Ann and Therese sampled appetizer salads, followed by a grilled fish special and a Mediterranean-style chicken breast.

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From the start, we had left open our exact destination for Monday. If we were too tired, we would wander around the Bear Valley Visitors’ Center. If we felt the urge to shop, we would hike along roads to Point Reyes Station. Because my mother, who lives in the Bay Area, was picking us up, we had ultimate flexibility. Hikers without a local friend might have to restrict themselves to spots reached by Golden Gate Transit buses, such as Inverness, or arrange a taxi pickup.

Over an enhanced continental breakfast of fresh-squeezed juice, fruits, cheeses and croissants, we mulled the options and settled on climbing over Inverness Ridge to Limantour Beach.

The flora changed rapidly, stands of eucalyptus and live oak making way for coastal pines. After we topped Mt. Wittenberg, we slipped into a network of fire roads--wider and flatter and easier on the sore spots. Then, we passed through the 12,000-acre wound of the 1995 Inverness fire. The land is gradually healing.

Since it was Monday, we met only four other hikers all day until, just before the sand dunes began, a woman pedaled past us, effusing over her shoulder, “You’re going to see a treat up ahead: a lovely coyote!” Sure enough, a large, rust-hued coyote scampered up the hill.

The coyote sighting turned the conversation to our wildlife tally: three deer, two bunnies, one snake, dozens of lizards, one coyote and, Ann added, one mountain lion tamer. Laughter carried us over the dunes where the enormous expanse of pristine beach awaited, virtually empty save for water birds and a couple of tiny human figures barely visible near the distant parking lot. We ripped off our hiking boots and slumped down in the sand, burying our feet into its heat.

Then, like a mirage, one of the tiny figures down the beach began growing. It was my mom, walking toward us, and we knew relief was in sight.

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Budget for Three

Air fare (Southwest): $312.00

Pelican Inn (dbl. w/extra bed): $214.50

Dinner, Pelican Inn: $93.45

Cab to Dogtown: $45.00

Olema Inn (dbl. w/extra bed): $126.50

Dinner, Olema Inn: $110.20

Drinks, snacks, groceries: $51.00

FINAL TAB: $952.65

Pelican Inn, Hwy. 1, Muir Beach, CA 94965; tel. (415) 383-6000. Olema Inn, 10000 Sir Francis Drake Blvd., Olema 94950; tel. (415) 663-9559.

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Pyle is The Times’ Education writer.