"You know what it is? San Francisco is a golden handcuff with the key thrown away."

Jackson dragged the curtains back flamboyantly to reveal, somewhat staggeringly, yet another sensational day, slightly hazier than the previous but still, on the scale of things, pretty damn awesome. After a few days of bleakness at Zion and the Grand Canyon I was beginning to think that on the weather front at least our luck had failed us, but thankfully it wasn’t the case.

We managed to defy physics and squeeze an ever increasing amount of crap into the same space in the back of the Escape and headed for the Golden Gate Park, given we only had to make it to Monterey. It was, as mentioned, a perfect day for walking but we’d pretty well walked ourselves out the day before so we limited ourselves to the Conservatory of Flowers, Japanese Gardens, then a quick lap of  Stow Lake. Based on past experience I’d promised Jackson and Elise they’d see turtles, sunning themselves on the lake, then after constant reminders I started to drad the possibility we’d dip out on this front. Thankfully, we spotted them, quite possibly the same turtles, sunning themselves on the same log they were using 11 years ago. Yet another crisis averted, more by dumb luck than anything else. Story of my life.

We went back to the car and finally bit San Francisco a teary good-bye. Well, me anyway – Nic and the kids were fine as we swung onto Highway 1 to finally, truly, head for LA and, ultimately, home. I tend to get a little morose at this point, travelling - when I can no longer argue that the adventure is still continuing, when it’s painfully obvious it’s winding down, it’s a bit of a bleak sensation. Thankfully, the scenery heading south down Highway 1, through a surprising amount of traffic for mid-week, was awesome enough to snap me out of it. We passed through Half Moon Bay, all treacherous, pounding surf, rolling fields of farmland studded with timber barns, and hills still covered in lush greenery and continued through to Davenport, which had a feel more like an Aussie sea-side beach town than what I’d have imagined in the USA – weathered timber shop-fronts, sagging fly-screens and creaking doors. We stopped for a coffee and a few snacks, then attempted to fly through Santa Cruz but ground to a long, agonizing halt in near gridlock for 45 minutes, before the traffic finally eased and we progressed, unimpeded, along coastal road draped along sheer mountainsides crashing into the Pacific surf, down onto more rolling country, and, Elkhorn Slough, a wildlife reserve about 15 minutes north of Monterey, which is – apparently – a stepping off point for sea-otter spotting.

After reading about the California sea-otter and discovering the perfect time to see these once critically-endangered animals was from early April, we basically organized our entire trip around them. We hadn’t decided which direction to do our holiday when we first started planning it, but because of them we’d opted to drive in a counter-clockwise loop so we’d arrive at Monterey as late as possible on our holiday, to give us the best chance.

Naturally, Elkhorn Slough was closed. Elkhorn Slough, for those planning on visiting, is closed Sunday through Tuesday. It was Tuesday.

Somewhat disheartened, we drove on to Monterey and swung by the Visitors Centre, where I proceeded to get even more disheartened, learning that Highway 1, including Bixby Bridge and Big Sur, was closed due to massive mudslides that had washed out big chunks of the highway only a couple of weeks before. We conceded it was just one of those things and started kicking around alternate routes in our mind as we headed onto Fisherman’s Wharf where – lo and behold! – sea otters were frolicking, in a manner only sea otters, presumably, can, maybe 50 metres from the jetty. The camera was largely useless, and a manual-focus only tele-converter I’d bought with me from a friend of mine did nothing to help, so for once I gave up on any ideas photographic and just watched them, floating on their backs, pounding at clams and crabs on their bellies with rocks sought specifically for the purpose. Without a doubt it was the highlight of the day.

We bypassed the food on offer at Fisherman’s Wharf – plenty of it looked, and smelled, great but when you’re traveling with three others who aren’t massive fish types, it limits your options a smidgen – and instead went to Troia’s Market, where six or seven items including such opulence as hotdogs, buns, juice and a frozen meal inexplicably and jaw-droppingly added up to $37.

Handy Travel Tip – give the place the big swerve. I’ll go on the record. Troia’s Market is a rip-off.

To make matters worse, the hotdogs expired at the end of February. We decided to run the gauntlet and have them anyway, so, given I’m still typing this happily enough, I guess they were