GLOBETROTTERS
This One Waterfall Will Show You the Way
What Is McWay and Where Do I Find It?
What were they talking about?
A path to salvation through ocean fast food?
The worst name for a fake ID?!?
“Well if you’re going to Big Sur, you should check out McWay.”
Time and time again I heard this as I asked for coastal recommendations. Do this thing, do that thing, but for sure check out McWay. When I researched other photographer’s work, they subsequently each had a take.
They had all seen the way, and I would find it too.
McWay Falls
McWay is a unique waterfall in that it is only one of thirty-one that fall directly into the ocean. This makes it a tidefall, and an extremely rare sight. It is located on the California coast in the Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, south of Monterey. It is easy to get to and just as easy to miss.
In 2017, I passed right by this miraculous waterfall without stopping. Largely because this was in the middle of a sixty-mile bike day and I had to make some more miles before camp or pick a roadside spot. Though cycling is a great way to slow travel, I managed to pass through this area without truly exploring.
Fast forward seven years, and much is still the same. It was still beautiful, and much of Highway 1 was impassable due to floods and storms. In the past, I could sneak through by bike during the cover of night. In the car, I was turned around. Right at McWay Falls.
If I have learned anything on my 2024 road trip, it is that photographing a landscape subject requires (or at least greatly benefits from) scouting. Four hours before sunset I walked the path to familiarize myself with the lay of the land. This was a good idea.
How To View The Falls
The approach for these falls is quite simple. Park in the appointed parking lot, pay your $10 daily state park fee, walk the short path through a tunnel, stop at viewpoint.
Take a picture. Look for two seconds. Go back to your car.
This was the approach most tourists took. This photo above would have been the end of it if I had done the same.
Ironic that in a state with so many water shortages, so many roads and paths would suffer closures due to water damage. Part way down the viewpoint path was a chain-link fence barring further hiking, and access to the angle all my researched photographers had used.
I knew what I was about and what I wanted to achieve, so I made my plan to arrive early and nab a spot right up against the fence for what I deemed the best possible view.
During my three-hour break, I snacked and sat down against a tree on a closed path, and worked to transfer my journal from my phone to my computer backup. Halfway through I realized I was sitting in tick-infested forest and spent the rest of my time checking for/killing intrepid ticks.
Tourism had picked up considerably for sunset and I now joined a crowd at the viewpoint. Leaving early allowed me to wait for the spot I wanted. As I fired off some test shots, a young woman approached me and asked,
“Do you know how long before sunset?”
Fellow Travelers and Sunsets
This was different.
Her look sported a baseball cap, a backpack with various hand-sewn patches, and surprisingly short shorts for what felt like cooler weather. She was a fellow traveler, a woman of exploration and experience. She was someone I could talk to. And she approached me, that never happens. I kept my wits about me.
The question was asked because she was determining to either watch sunset here or go up the road. My choice was obvious, and she pondered if she would get to the next spot in time.
Instead of taking my answer and making a decision, she asked me questions. Having been alone for nearly 24 hours, I was already craving conversation and happy to talk. Especially about photography.
I learned she was an engineer. She traveled, lived, and worked around the country. She had been on a multi-week trip and was closing in on southern California home turf. We discussed travel strategies, places to camp in cars, hatchback meals, and solo travel. She explained to me why I should not eat shellfish and recommended I splurge on a ticket to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Which I did.
“Looks like I just stayed here for sunset.”
It appeared that way. We were the last two, photographing until you could only hear the ocean. On the way back to our cars I interrupted by yelling, “Oh look a bat! Sorry please continue,” and “Whoa hold on, another bat! There’s so many I can’t stop!”
She had parked for free on the road and I had paid the entrance fee. In this alone, I could sense the end. I had been where she was once. Unwilling to cave to the man, I now sometimes paid the fee for a little extra convenience. I was getting old I suppose.
“Thanks for the conversation,” she said as she turned in the dark towards her car. We hadn’t exchanged names, nor even social media. It was a simple chance meeting for two people at a simple lookout.
Typically I am lost in the notion that what I am setting out to do is what I am supposed to experience. Though I know better, I forget the destination’s journey and how that is the real flavor of the soup. I had come for the waterfall but found I was not the only one wandering.
I felt I was on my way, and my way was a good way.
Thanks, McWay
This story comes to us via the monthly challenge at the Globetrotter’s Publication, posted by Anne Bonfert here.
Other exciting waterfall adventures include Todd Castor’s discovery of a new-to-him falls in:
Here Sondra Singer - Still Vital took me back to Glacier National Park, which it sounds like I need to visit again soon:
References:
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Story and photos ©Ian Hanson. All rights reserved. This post may contain affiliate links, by purchasing through cost no extra yet provide me a small commission to support my continued artistry.
