As I step up to the wall of stone, white sea-foam kisses my ankles. Behind me the muffled crashes of ten-foot waves, barely visible through the fog, meet my ear with hypnotic persistence.
Lost Rocks is not on any official maps. The name that boulderers (those who climb smaller rocks sans rope and protective gear) call the place refers to a shoreline area in Redwood National Park, a half-mile south of the Klamath River, where huge boulders are often swallowed by sand, then again exposed as winds and tides sweep the sand in and out. It takes roughly half an hour to cross this stretch of shore on foot from Flinthead Rock, a beautiful monolith of banded and folded chert, to High Bluff and the abandoned World War II radar station constructed to spot an invasion from overseas. Today the invasion is coming by land, climbers armed with crash pads, chalk, and sticky rubber.…I climbed for nearly a decade all over the western United States before I thought much about the problem of access on potentially sensitive lands.