Mount Shasta, far and away Northern California’s dominant peak, rising two vertical miles above its surrounding landscape, is by any metric a serious mountain, 14,000 feet of rock and ice (oh, and on the inside: lava).
People really die up there (though in fairness, it hasn’t been lava’s fault for at least a quarter of a millenium- probably longer).
They call them King Tides; and for about three days each year, they hurl the ocean harder and higher against the coastline than at any other time.
I made my way down to the Cliff House and Sutro Baths this morning, arriving about a half an hour after the peak high tide.
There sure was a lot of water being tossed about – all the more noteworthy when you consider that this was a day with no wind and no other aerial, aquatic, or tectonic upsets that might stir the soup up that much more.
Standing in a spot where I’ve stood and stayed dry many times before, I got myself soaked.
I’ll tell ya, it was touch-and-go with the camera triage for a little while there.