Sunshine . impudent melody . A hilly cost increase . All unspoilt thing on Christmas Day , and the arrant philosopher’s stone for the holidaze ( especially afterentertaining all nighttime on Christmas Eve ! ) .
I live on a little - known peninsula of Los Angeles that ’s about as far removed from Los Angeles as one could be , both geographically and figuratively . No thruway , no traffic , and you ’re more likely to share the road with wild peacock than local celebrity .
It ’s also the most geologically fighting region in Greater Los Angeles , thought to be an island at one time as it share a like — and unparalleled — ecosystem to that of the nearby Channel Islands . Dramatic drop form by lava and vibrant tidepools filled with sea anemone define the shoreline , while miles of trails wind around the Palos Verdes Hills richly above the Pacific .
It ’s an ecological jewel in the southernmost part of the catchment basin , and I lift myself every time I see out my window : coke - capped peak just beyond the Port of Los Angeles to the Orient , and thousands of acres of open infinite abutting unspoiled ocean to the westward .
On Christmas Day , there was not a cloud in the sky and the hill were starting to work green after all the recent pelting . Across the channel , Santa Catalina Island ( with its distinctive band ) was as clear as I ’d ever seen it .
With the pug in towage , we found a trailhead tucked in the quoin of a hillside community of interests near our house . There was no signpost , nor did we see any other hikers coming down or run up . But Google Maps show a narrow-minded trail ascending what we trust to be the peak of Palos Verdes Hills , a low mountain chain of mountains on the peninsula . It was such an idealistic Clarence Shepard Day Jr. for a little stroll , we did n’t really heed where it took us .
As we weave along the aptly named Seaview Trail , the suburban neighborhood below us gave room to bird’s-eye views of the coastline . We find small white shell , hundreds of them , dotting the hillside .
The lead go up up San Pedro Hill to the FAA Radar Station , the highest point on the peninsula at 1,457 feet . I ’d always seen the radar tug from my neighborhood , gleam in the Lord’s Day like a giant golf game chunk , but had never been to the very top of that hill until that sidereal day . We had pristine views stretching across the peninsula from Sacred Cove , our pet tidepooling spot , to Mossy Rock , our local surf break .
We stagnate on the point as the Lord’s Day waned on the purview , watching the hill transmute from green to gold to Marxist .
And with that , we wrapped up our hike and went home to light a fire , heat up hot chocolate , and open presents under the tree . It was a alert Christmas indeed .
