View of cabins from the Lodge restaurant.

We approached Big Sur under cover of fog illuminated by a full moon, the throaty rumble of our rented Mustang echoing in the stillness of a nearly deserted Highway 1.

I knew the ocean was to our right, but darkness and the concentration necessary to negotiate the corkscrew of scenic highway prevented me from seeing much more than an occasional lunar reflection on black water.

Our destination, Lucia Lodge, about twenty five miles south of the more populated areas of Big Sur, advertised its “unique cliff-side location” offering “unparalleled and commanding views” of the Big Sur coast and Santa Lucia mountains. Established in the 1930′s, the lodge is now operated by fifth generation descendants of the original owners, Wilbur and Ada Harlan. As we soon discovered, Lucia Lodge is basically all there is to Lucia with twenty-five miles of desolation north on Hwy 1, and about fifteen miles of the same to the south.  We were unaware of this geographical fact when, though famished, we decided to skip the Big Sur Roadhouse in favor of locating the lodge. Twenty-five miles after bypassing the last of civilization to the north, we arrived at 10 PM to a locked and darkened lodge and restaurant.

Cabins from the path.

In the lobby of the restaurant (discovered the next day after the complimentary breakfast of pastries, muffins, bagels, fruit salad, and bowls of hard-boiled eggs) hangs a framed 1984 San Francisco Examiner article which begins, and I quote:

“You’d swear you’ve seen the setting in some brooding film noir classic, maybe a 1940′s dark Howard Hawks thriller: a small coastal roadside gas station-restaurant-store with a few cabins off to the side overlooking a steep cliff.”

This description, sans the gas station which apparently was removed between 1984 and present day, could not be more accurate, and I experienced a very film noir feel as we doubled back about twenty yards to the steep, obscured little road that leads down to ten little cabins over-looking that steep cliff. These cabins make up all there is of Lucia Lodge’s accommodations.

Finding the key under the mat as promised we proceeded to drag our luggage into cabin #7, a cute little A-frame with a high, full-size bed at one end and gas fireplace at the other. In between were an armoire, a couch, a coffee table and a couple of wooden chairs; no phone, no TV, no radio. Oh and no cell phone reception; isolation at its finest. Make a note to bring good books and wine.

Our load considerably lightened we hopped back in the Mustang and roared south on Hwy 1 in search of sustenance, coming up on the Whale Watcher Café some fifteen miles down the road in the town of Gorda Springs. It appeared to be open and we made our way to the bar only to discover that the kitchen was closed. Thankfully the gentleman said the clam chowder was still available so we ordered two bowls and a couple of drinks.  My wife tried the Merlot but knowing I had a fifteen-mile slalom of a drive back, I opted for Sprite, which I find really brings out the flavor in clam chowder.

So the chowder was great, really hit the spot, very generous amount of clams and a good consistency (I hate watery chowder) but when I discovered that we were charged $10.50 per bowl it suddenly wasn’t sitting very well. Had the kitchen been open we could have ordered burgers at about $16.00 a pop (pricey yes but at least it feels like a meal). Personally, I would be embarrassed to charge $10.50 for a bowl of soup no matter how good it is or how famished my customers. But that’s just me. Needless to say we declined the gentleman’s offer to return for breakfast the following morning.

Next installment: A drive up and down and up and down scenic Hwy 1; windy beaches and more meals. Stay tuned!

All photos by Lisa Romano