It’s possibly one of California’s (and certainly Big Sur’s) worst kept secrets.
McWay Falls (part of Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park), flows year-round into the Pacific ocean, and has become a go-to spot to stop off for that iconic view of paradise along the famous Route 1 coastal highway.
But between challenges with weather, tides, landslides and coastal erosion, getting the the “perfect shot”, for me, has become a never-ending quest that presents itself each and every time I visit.
More than 10 years ago, together with friends, I strolled down the main trail with my (relatively new, at the time) Phase One 645DF+, IQ280 digital back and 45mm AF lens.
It was mid-afternoon, unplaned, and despite having some heavy ND filters attached, I only managed to produce, at best, what I’d call a “prototype” for the shot I’d eventually try to capture properly the next time around.
Compositionally, it ticked the box – but light and sun direction was critical here (as was a “cleaner” ocean with either more flow, or less movement). Add in the fact I normally live 5,500 miles away, this would need some planning.
And, as we all know, there’s no such thing really as “planning” when it comes to the weather.
Over subsequent visits, over the years, I enjoyed rain, fog, wind, storms and everything in between.
All the things that make the Big Sur Coast what it is: rugged, challenging and real.
Of course, it didn’t always turn out that way – I got a few epic sunrises sprinkled in amongst my failed attempts, but when it comes to producing prints for a wall, sometimes that “wow” of a red fire in the sky can be just a bit too much.
Amazing to see, incredible to capture, but just too jarring on a wall for many customers – especially when it forces our subject into either shadowed silhouette or fake HDR’d flatness as software and filters are used to “balance” what our eyes never saw…
Plus, it wasn’t really sunrise that caught my attention in the first place – it was the way the sun fell across the ocean, specifically, between early March and mid-June each year.
As a C-shaped cove, it’s those 4 months that give us a near-perfect alignment at sunset – allowing the golden glow of the last rays of light to hit the falls, the beach and those rugged cliffs at just the right spot.
But, alas, I’d often find my “pre-sunset hopes” dashed about 30 minutes prior, as the persistent clouds and fog of the Pacific Ocean would roll in across the horizon.
Travelling south from Monterey each day; to make the most of my time away from home, I’d try night shoots, midday shoots, abstract versions – alongside my planned golden hour attempts – through every type of weather, sat out on those overlooks wishing for better to arrive by miracle-mail.
I’d seen laybys and parking areas closed (that hill is annoying when they do!) – landslide restrictions, trail suspensions, even a SpaceX launch early one morning while stood there waiting…
…but I never quite managed to get “my shot” – or at least the one I had in mind.
While I wasn’t prepared to stop trying, the extra travel time each day from staying in Monterey (and that asociated cost) was starting to grate. Worse, coastal weather is just way too changeable and varied across relatively small distances to be able to judge if it was “worth it” from nearly 1.5 hours away to the north.
So at the end of last year – I got to researching: While there were other hotels and “resorts” a lot nearer to the cove, surely there was a way to get even closer still, for a dedicated period of time, to maximise my chances of capturing what I was looking for?
And so, to camp…
Ah, the word “camping” – the difference in meaning always makes me smile.
To me (and most of the world), it conjures up images of sleeping under canvas (or nylon), trekking in to a remote area to pitch your tent, the relative wilderness, no services, sleeping on the floor alongside all things nature, carrying in (and out) everything you’d need to exist…
In the US, however, it tends to mean rocking up along the highway in an obese truck (sorry, ahem, “RV”) or pop-top van – having brought the entire contents of your home along for the ride, in an effort to avoid nature and remain on-grid throughout via a “hook-up” and every other imaginable creature-comfort.
Now I’m not into unecessary pain, but having done both – I’d much rather stick to the more rustic option when aiming to explore the natural world.
“Environmental Camping”
Sadly, most of my searches brought me to fully-facilitated “campground” options. All were further away from the falls than I wanted and each spec’d out with power lines and even restaurants on-site. But then, in a tiny link on the Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park site, I found a rare alternative.
In a wonderful twist of fortune, it seems the state park has recognised that some visitors still like to put location over facilities – and they’ve maintained two primitave (their words) “environmental camp” spots at Saddle Rock – right above the falls!
The problem? They’re highly prized, booked out 6 months in advance (the very second the next date opens), and have a waitlist that seems to include half the population of California on it.
But I had a (slight) advantage back in the UK : My time zone, when it came to “overnight” date releases back on PST. Being willing to book 6 months out (October booking for an April stay) – I managed to get us a slot – for 4 nights. Perfect.
Fast-forward 180 days and together with travel-buddy Ben, we arrived.
Permit collected, we headed to an entrance that suddenly looked very familiar – it’s a parking area I’ve driven past hundreds of times, but never stopped. You need a permit to leave a car there, only this time we had that golden ticket.
When they say it’s a “walk-in” site, they’re not lying – you’re going to be bringing everything you need for your stay down there on your back. It’s not a relaxing hill either…
Surprisingly, there’s a toilet facility there, which I wasn’t expecting – but that’s it. No water supply, no other services; while you’re relatively near to the road, they’ve done a good job of keeping this place feeling like a wilderness of sorts.
At the bottom, the two “sites” are marked – there’s a bench, a bear-proof food storage cabinet, and a pit to keep any fires under control (for very obvious reasons!) – it was perfect.
As a benchmark for our “luck”, a local hiker came by, commenting that they’d been trying to book the site for as many years as they could remember and never quite managed it. Turns out GMT wins…!
Now, the first rule of camping when arriving in good weather: Get your tent set up.
As who knows, especially on the coast, if or when that weather will roll in. Plus, I wanted to get out exploring before focusing on our first sunset.
Pitched, unpacked, and ready for later – it took a few moments to realise just how incredibly lucky we really were to be staying here. I was literally sleeping above McWay Cove, and the falls, right on the Big Sur Coast looking out over the Pacific ocean.
Now THAT is camping.
And for context – not only had the parking spot evaded me for all these years, but the fact this site existed without me knowing meant I’d actually been photographing our very campground for all that time too.
Exploring a bit further from the tent with my phone, the geography (and geology) of the area really captured my attention.
Looking at things from “the other side” really does help you to understand the view you’ve been looking at before. Giant trees – from redwoods or sequoias, to pines and oaks, surrounded us in every direction while the ocean waves roared in the background.
I soon got my bearings, and noted how differently that cove appears to someone looking at it from the south.
My internal mantra of “half the world is behind you” really did play true here – if you only saw this area while looking north, you’d never even know there was a waterfall down there. A lesson that’s handy to refresh every now and then, I guess.
Beyond the falls.
Of course, spending time on Big Sur isn’t all about that one waterfall.
This coastline has a magical quality about it that’s been fairly unique in my travels. No matter where you are, whatever the weather, regardless of time of day, those rugged shapes of the rocks and cliffs ensure this stretch of California is nothing short of stunning, 24/7/365.
Add-in a decent punch of sunrise or late afternoon colour, and you have a recipe for picture-perfect postcard views that just keep you clicking over and over again.
Better – put the camera down, stand still, breathe and just enjoy the moment.
Popular though it is, you can often find yourself completely alone on this stretch of coast; I’d recommend, if you get the chance, to cherish that time.
Sunset brings those reliably warm tones that seem to transform the lush green vegetation into California’s iconic golden scenes when you look back along the hillside.
Watching those last rays of daylight light fade away, the shadows constantly project new shapes as they dance across the cliffs for “golden hour”. You don’t need a “big camera” – your iPhone will do a cracking job at capturing every moment – allowing you to focus on being there as much as you do on recording the scene.
So with our first “explore” out of the way – it was back to camp for some (ahem) “tasty” American freeze-dried treats with an incredible ingredient list of 5-syllable words which I’m not entirely sure are actually “food”.
And no, I’m not even going to bother with a review…
But camp was peaceful – idyllic, in fact.
The moon was out, the fire pit was crackling, the waves crashed and trees swayed in the breeze through the night – you couldn’t sleep to a better soundtrack.
Remember I mentioned the weather here could be changeable at best? In fact, I’d say the only reliable prediction out here would be its unpredictability.
The next morning, we woke to thick fog hugging the coast.
But, as quickly as it came in (having skipped sunrise thanks to the advantage of staying near!) – it burned off again; it was time to head out for the day.
Having taken both the Phase One XT and Fujifilm GFX100RF out to the overlook for a spin at midday, I wanted to explore the area further south of us, having watched the news over the past few years as it documented the challenges they faced.
The changing coastline.
For those new to the area, the “deletion” of towns and mileages from road signs along California’s historic Route 1 may seem a little disconcerting, but sadly it’s become a way of life as different landslides and rockfalls close off sections of this iconic highway and make different places inaccessible, year after year.
The most noteable (by nature of its ongoing, and complete, closure) is the Regent’s slide – just a few miles south of McWay Falls.
Effectively, this landslip has cut off the north from the south along the coast. It’s no longer physically possible to get from one side to the other, without a 151 mile, 3.5 hour detour inland – for what should be a 20 mile journey from Slates Hot Springs to Mill Creek Bridge.
I recall, many years (now decades!) back, being able to drive the legendary Route 1, all the way down the California coast, non-stop.
Sadly, that’s not been the case for a long time now, as with each season, new slides occur with reconstruction taking longer and longer as they try to keep up with the constant erosion that hits this area – hurting wildlife, homes and businesses alike with the shifting hillsides and moving road-blocks.
Along with that, it means trails are often restricted, closed, or simply missing on some visits – which I take as a sign to always “explore while you can” in this area of the world; who knows if you’ll be able to next time.
The main tunnel (under Highway 1) from the parking area of the McWay Falls trailheads to the overlook has managed to stand the test of time, however – with its reassuring glow projecting through the opening every day as we head towards sunset.
But, as with my past experiences, that glow can still be short-lived. Sure, the clouds are cool in their own way – but that perfect sun position at McWay Beach always feels “wasted” when its blocked by formations on the horizon.
Instead, in such situations, it can be worthwhile exploring a bit further north or south to captue the “nuggets” that reach out to sea. Often, you’ll find the cloud structure actually helps these scenes by creating mood and tone that can be lost in the direct sunlight of a clearer day.
Of course, shooting with 151 megapixels and frame averaging gives me flexibility in terms of both dynamically timed long exposures, as well as any final crop decisions can make on-screen when I come to edit my shots.
But, sadly, that was all the light we’d be getting that day – positive outlook aside – so, it was once again time to head back to camp.
Alvin the git.
Those of you who share my age bracket will recall a kids TV series when we were younger – Alvin and the Chipmunks.
On TV, they could be pesky, cheeky, trouble-makers, but I remember their adventures being fun to watch.
So what joy it brought to finally see one “in the wild” – not in a zoo showcase, but out and about in our camp earlier that morning.
How cool…
Only, it wasn’t.
You see, it turns out, this particular chipmunk (and presumably its friends) had a particular craving for tent material.
With no food in the tents (that was in the bear-storage) – the only explanation we could think of was if someone previously had thrown out something that smelled of food onto the ground I’d now camped on.
But regardless, I no longer had a tent – I had a chipmunk’s work of art, or large format seive – and neither were going to work long-term.
In fairness, once they’d finished laughing at my “live updates” from camp, the guys at Terra-Nova (my tentmaker) were super helpful, supportive (between chuckles) and have sorted it all out for me – but there’s a lesson with wildlife: Trust no-one.
To help – in what I believe to be an effort to dissuade any further animals from thinking there would be more edible items in our camp, Ben set about “cooking” cinamon rolls on an open fire.
Note to self: Never let Ben cook food that’s intended for human consumption. (Although he assured me “the top part was edible.”)
Whether that tent was a tasty snack or not – I fear the chipmunk got a much better deal than we did that day.
Sunlight Karma.
I’m a big fan of “earning” a shot.
Whether that’s through a super-long hike, a bad weather event, or a chipmunk eating your temporary home – it generally turns out that prior bad luck can deliver well-earned rewards in photographic terms.
And on the coast, it felt like McWay Falls should be no exception to this rule.
While the daytime can consist mostly of guarding against future chipmunk attacks, Ben sending post-cards (as the last person on the planet to do so), and visits to a questionably stocked General Store – it was still that sunset glow I was ultimately hoping would deliver the goods.
That top lookout point really can deliver if it’s given the right amount of light and sky-diffusion (well, clouds!). If you’re lucky, you’ll get a mix of softened, cool, pastel colours like those above without needing to worry about polarising for the reflections on the sea…
…and the “pop” of golden glow hitting the waterfall as the sun finds its way through a little hole in the sky can be the icing on the cake.
Once that direct light disappears, don’t make the mistake of packing up compeltely – if you’re occupying the roadside top-down view of the cove, a quick 100m walk north in the pull-out will bring you to another lookout, this time straight across the other side of the coastline.
And while it may not be the not the “boom” picture I was originally here for – I do find these single-toned images of golden light particularly calming when printed on a wall. Indeed, to some, this is much more “Big Sur” than a little waterfall down the road…
Back at camp for our next evening, it seems that nature was on the cards once again, following the chipmunk savage of my home.
Meet Ricky the Raccoon.
Ricky’s a cheeky little git (must have learned from Alvin) – walking proudly past our bench as we ate, exploring every corner of the bear-proof food storage, then looking at us as if to say “are you gonna open it then, or what?”
Far from being concerned about any food supply – I remembered, my wine purchases were in there too – there was only one thing for it: I needed to show Ricky who’s boss.
And boy did I do that – making myself huge, I flapped, I yelled, I ran towards him – and he was so afraid he…
…did nothing.
Instead, allowing me to put on the brakes, unexpectedly, via a lump in the ground – going flying into a raised rock, smacking my leg, cutting it open, and feeling an almighty blunt pain across my shin.
Maybe it was my imagination, but I’m certain I saw that raccoon snigger, as it turned and ran off into the darkness – leaving me to bandage up my “ouchie”.
Oh well – tomorrow’s another day. Karma, right?
Further north, nearer to the world-famous Bixsby Bridge, I’ve always enjoyed shooting nearer to the waterline than relying purely on the views from above.
For those who want to do the same, there’s a small shoulder right next to Whale Peak (near the Soberanes Canyon Trail) that provides exactly that opportunity, with a short little walk down to the edge of the cove.
Again, it’s those details that matter – and I’d always choose to shoot wide with a view to crop later on, but with soft, diffused, light – you really can capture an entire orchestra of textures and tones from the ocean to the hills on these lookout points.
And while the daytime may be a challenge in terms of clouds, with increasing coverage blocking most of the sky – remember to never write-off a sunset along the Big Sur coast.
It can, and often does, deliver some wonderful surprises.
Maybe it was back to that principle of “earning” a shot. Maybe it was just “luck”. Or maybe, we earn that luck by putting ourselves in the right place for the right, or extended periods of, time.
It didn’t really matter.
In a period of under 30 minutes, we went from a day with too many clouds and a gusty wind – to those warm pastel tones, calm winds, slowly repeating waves, a little bit of sea mist and a soft glow in the sky.
I’ll take that as a win.
Cropping in to the larger 151 megapixel shot, I had that reassuring ghost-like layer of long-exposured tidal patterns, beating against the rocks and the sandy base of McWay Falls itself.
The fact this would all come wrapped between both foreground elements and that sweeping cove that stretched out to sea?
Paradise.
A true “hideaway”.
Camping on Big Sur had been quite the experience.
In no small part, because I’d managed to provide a tasty SilNylon dessert for the local chipmunk population, entertainment for the world’s cheekiest raccoon, and road-tested some of the worst “food” products on the planet.
But in a much bigger sense, it provided me with the focus and unavoidable position of being forced to go and shoot at every possible opportunity – given I was temporarily living on my subject’s doorstep.
And that, for me, was priceless.
If only we could do it in more places around the world.
What goes down must come up.
Packing-out camp was a relatively easy process down at base – lugging it all back up the hill to the car, not so much.
Thinking we must have used at least half of the weight of things we’d brought down was a mistake – if anything, I’m sure the bags had gotten heavier.
But hey, it’s all part of the deal, and these environmental camp sites absolutley rely on each guest thinking of the next, or they’re soon shut down – and I’d hope nobody wants to be “that person”, right?
Reiffer’s travel assessments, camping Big Sur edition.
It would be rude not to at least mention some of the local learnings I got from this extended little trip to the coast.
First up, according to the posters on the “bulletin board”, there are a LOT of people wanting free accommodation here – in return for (sometimes questionable) value of work. Given both the colour, and crispy texture, of the papers on which they were advertised, I’d say the take-up has been slim.
Slim – a word that cannot ever be used to describe $7 petrol prices at the “remote” gas station (when there are indeed several others only 20, 30 and 50 miles away)
Nor can it be applied when assessing the microwaved sausage and melted cheese croissant abomination at the General Store for which I fear the French would demand the return of the Statue of Liberty if only they knew.
And then, with french culinary standards in mind, the pièce de résistance…
Setting aside the incorrect use of the word “biscuits”, let’s focus on the inclusion of “pork sausage” within this devil-wrapped product from REI, as we consider the likely nutritional benefits of a freeze-dried packet of “food” that claims to be at its best for the next…
…30 YEARS.
No.
Just, no.