the Wharf Master Inn

Down a gravelly road I travel, the ocean sounds growing stronger with each turn of the wheel. The small coastal town of Point Arena disappears into the thick forest growth.
Fishing boats and lobster traps are stacked along the roadside. Beaten and weathered wood buildings of intense character loom ahead.
The sign for my retreat is seen, the Wharf Master’s Inn.
It’s not a hotel so much as a scattered stack of buildings on the hillside, connected by rickety staircases. I make my way into the lobby, and check out with a local bottle of wine and a sense of contentment.
I have a deck with an ocean view, overlooking the local restaurant that serves seafood brought in by local fisherman. I search for blue whales while sipping red, dance to Ray Lamontagne whenever the moment strikes me.
The candles burn low late into the night as the stars come out to play, illuminating this hidden paradise.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?