When winter settles into the Walla Walla Valley like it did this year, short days and frigid temperatures compound into cabin fever in a hurry. Luckily, southeast Washington is the center of the universe, making travel to warmer climes quick and easy.

Ali and I escaped to L.A. in mid-February and followed the coast north to Santa Barbara for a week of shorts and tees and walks on the beach. I was less than enthusiastic about making a trip to an unfamiliar major city, given my life's mission of fleeing human development, but Santa Barbara was worth the visit on its own merits. The food, breweries and wineries, beaches, and the simple beauty of Spanish Colonial style enshrouded in palm trees were worth every minute exploring downtown, but I would have been remiss to leave without venturing into the Santa Ynez Mountains.

Gaviota State Park was one of twenty-four parks within thirty minute or less drive from Santa Barbara. Beach access and approximately 1,700 acres stretching to the top of the Santa Ynez among the "Lower Montane Shrub and Woodland" ecoregion enticed Ali and me to hit the trail toward the park's main attraction - the "wind caves." The peaks in the Santa Ynez are comprised of porous sandstone layers, allowing water penetration. Over time, the prevailing wind off of the ocean causes salt crystals to form between and displace the sand grains forming the rock, eroding caves into the mountain peaks.

The hike through the chaparral was impressive as the scrubby arid-land brush grew over six feet high, enshrouding the trail that had worn into the soft sandstone. It was full-on spring, and the shrubs were flowering. A sweet fragrance wafted in the air, coming from the intriguing "California lilac" Ceanothus boasting hundreds of puffy blue flower clusters. Red stem Ceanothus in our Washington neck of the woods yields brilliant white blooms, but the blue variety was new and dazzling. Cause for a pause to snag a few photos and a snoot full of the plant's lovely fragrance.

Another eye-catching blue wonder darted about the shrubbery in the lower elevations – the California scrub jay. This peculiar jay sports a white underbelly, black eye mask, indigo back, and a gray saddle between its wings. Like a mix between the eastern indigo bunting, blue jay, and American robin, the medium-sized bird moved among the brush, choosing obvious perches atop tall branches and calling in a raspy jay voice. Had my Nikon been handy, I would have been content to photograph the stunning birds for hours.

As the terrain steepened, intricately-patterned Sierra fence lizards scurried about cracks in rocks while giant black turkey vultures soared on the breeze like raptors probing the hillsides for a meal. A couple of miles and about 600 feet of elevation gain put us at the wind caves, worn smooth by erosion. Some were large enough to walk into, while others were just small holes worn completely through the peaks. Elaborate lines and pocks between sandstone layers provided sheltered nesting spaces for the swallows circling the mountaintop, snacking on airborne insects. Experiencing the caves was worth the climb, but the ocean view from the top was enticing, and we were eager to feel the sand between our toes.

Gaviota Beach is nestled between ocean cliffs and was carved by the rush of water down the canyon below the caves. The canyon mouth with the narrow strip of sand is flanked by knife-edge rock intrusions with obvious sloughing layers. Sheer cliff walls stood holding the ocean back on either side of the beach, and we wasted no time scrambling across the rock slabs to explore further down the coast at low tide.

Slabs colored auburn, amber, emerald, and ash were scattered along the toe of the slope, clearly broken and moved by continual wave action. There were no seashells, but the rock appeared to be hiding fossilized secrets of the earth's past between its many layers. The wind whipped sand across the beach, stinging my bare legs. Suddenly, my mind wandered back nearly forty years to the same stinging of sand blasted against a child's legs on North Carolina's Nags Head Beach. The only difference between the experiences was some 2,900 miles, and my family was spared my whining on Gaviota Beach.

Ali and I picked through the rock slabs and inspected the layers clinging to the surface of the outcrops. Critters like bryozoans, mollusks, gastropods, and pecten were likely hidden between the sheets, just waiting for the right conditions to be exposed, but our brief look produced no clues of the past lifeforms.

As we turned for the car, a colony of brown juvenile California gulls bade us adieu as they floated on the breeze over the waves. Hunger and thirst were nagging at us, and a microbrew and fine Italian dining would round out the day. We had barely scratched the surface of the natural wonders within easy access of beautiful Santa Barbara. A superb winter escape that I suspect was only the beginning of a long-term love affair with the California coast.