Northern California

Back in Dublin, I came across a YouTube video explaining why California’s north coast and southern Oregon are so sparsely populated. As usual, the reason lies in physical geography: the hilly terrain, cut through by a dense network of small rivers and lined with rocky coastline, is ill-suited to most types of human activity. Agriculture requires fertile plains, while industry needs landscapes fit for roadbuilding or navigable rivers and deep seaports.

In the early 20th century, residents of this region launched a campaign to form their own state—Jefferson, named after the third President of the United States. With typical American bluntness, they proposed featuring two Xs on the state’s emblem, symbolising how the governments of California and Oregon ignored their needs in land use regulation, access to natural resources, infrastructure development, and more. Since then, the idea of the State of Jefferson has periodically faded from and returned to public discussion, but has never advanced beyond talk.

The most popular comment under that video ran something like: “The main advantage of this region is that no one lives there”—hard to argue with that.

Here and there you find place names with “Russian” in them: Russian Gulch, Fort Ross, Ross Bay, and Russian River. Some clearly have historical links to Russian settlers—for instance, Fort Ross is quite literally a “Russian fort”. The origins of others are lost in the mists of time. As for why this particular gulch is “Russian”, the internet has no definitive answer. One story suggests a settler may have fled Fort Ross and set up home some 80 km further north—but that’s far from certain.

Overall, the coastline looks remarkably like Ireland’s Atlantic shore. To spot the differences, you have to study the details: there’s more sandstone and less basalt here, plenty of trees, and none of the glacial boulders scattered across Ireland’s coast. Over the sea, alongside the usual gulls, you’ll see cormorants and small flocks of three or four pelicans.

The beaches and meadows running down to the ocean are overrun with rock squirrels. Google Translate insists that rock squirrel in Russian is “рок белка” (“rock squirrel” as in music). We decided that many years from now, after the inevitable ecological catastrophe, our descendants—under the wise guidance of some future heir to ChatGPT—will be rebuilding Earth’s biodiversity. They will have only scraps of information from the shattered remnants of the internet and the advice of artificial intelligence to go on. Through genetic engineering, they will create squirrels that, instead of squeaking, will shriek “Yeee, rock!”

One of the few “must‑see” attractions near Mendocino is Glass Beach. Until the 1970s, this spot—right on the ocean shore—was a dump for glass and scrap metal. When the municipality decided to clean it up, the metal went off for recycling, but the glass shards were left behind. Over time, the waves tumbled them into tiny glass pebbles—hence the beach’s name.

From internet photos, you might think the entire beach is made of glass, but that’s just a well‑chosen angle. In reality, it’s mostly pebbles with small patches of colourful glass—fun, but not jaw‑dropping. And tourists take pocketfuls of glass and stones home as souvenirs. At this rate, the beach will soon have about as much glass as there are Russians on the Russian River, and its name will be all that remains of its past.

Between Mendocino and Glass Beach lies another popular stop—the lighthouse at Point Cabrillo. Historically, it’s nothing extraordinary, but it sits in a stunning location and has been neatly restored. Beside the lighthouse is the keeper’s house, converted into a small museum and gift shop. It may feel like there’s nothing to do here, but in the quest for the perfect lighthouse view, watching sea creatures in the museum’s aquarium, and picking out the most amusing fridge magnet, you can easily while away an hour or more.

The coast north of San Francisco struck me as an ideal place for “slow tourism”. There are no marquee sights, vast museums with priceless collections, or world‑renowned architectural masterpieces. Instead, you can spend hours wandering along the cliffs listening to the surf, breathing in air laced with the scent of pine resin, sipping coffee on a bench overlooking the ocean (just don’t order a “dry cappuccino”), and waiting for the moment when the setting sun slips for a few minutes into the narrow band between the low clouds and the horizon.

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The next morning, we stocked up on craft sandwiches from the local supermarket in Mendocino and set off north on Highway 101 towards Redwood National Park.