Sequel to A Love Story

Somewhere near Morro Bay on the Central Coast is the Bay of the Seven Rivers, and the Seven Cities of Gold. These are the magical places of confluence where all of the rivers that have meandered through the hills and forests and abandoned towns of the central coast have come to their place of rest and regeneration. Here flowers live more abundantly than in Eden, and whether I have come for business or for pleasure, my wife is always at my side, even when she stays at home.

I never visit the Cities of Gold without her.

These places have been sought by adventurers for centuries. We all want to know how to obtain their riches.

Through the years many have searched for the cities without success. But, all the time those riches were in plain view. Just recently I brought my wife here for a visit. But first I told her of the failed adventurers who preceded us

The many journeys of discovery began in the eleventh century when seven bishops left Spain and founded the cities of Cibola and Quivira, where they had seen gold, silver, turquoise, pearls and other gems. "In the 1500's," I read to her, "three Spaniards and a black North African slave named Esteban came to Mexico City after surviving a shipwreck. His companions had built five ships, eaten their horses from hunger, and used their shirts for sails. Except for Esteban, all were killed and Esteban spent eight years walking to Mexico City where he told his tale." She thought for a moment, then she reminded me of the Wizard of Oz. "The author was Frank L. Baum. He thought the golden cities were in Kansas."

She was just reminding me that I had left Chicago for California.Nonetheless, the fantasy of the cities of gold is probably as ancient as the Bible. Wasn't Eden a city of gold? And the famous Odyssey of the Greeks was an adventure about a man who couldn't find his way home to his wife and family for ten years because of his search for the golden city.

"Men are so foolish," she said.

I read to her from a worn old book: "In one thousand BC those excitable Greek warriors thought it was Troy, and they left their own beautiful islands to fight a war and build a Trojan horse in order to steal that city of gold. The Spanish were equally foolish when they fought and were slain by the Native Americans, they and their soldiers on horseback, their 1,000 black slaves and Mexican Indians."

"Not very practical," said Isabel.

Sometimes I feel pain for poor Esteban, eight years to get to Mexico City and he left. I've lived for a time in Mexico City and Esteban should have stayed there.

Some people think the Seven Cities of Gold are mythology, and there was even a 1955 historical adventure film about it, set in the Eighteenth century. It was based on a novel of California where men chose Gold or God. The sword or the cross.

"There's an adventure game of that name," said Isabel. How come she knows so much?

If any of these fabled explorers had asked me, I would have told them exactly where the golden cities are, and their names. Just a short time ago Isabel and I visited them.

The greatest of the seven golden cities is Morro Bay, with its incredible harbor and the dangerous pass that leads out to sea, next to massive Morro Rock, sixty stories high, home of the Peregrine Falcon, and no elevator. No one knows why they call it Morro. There are stories about the name, about as accurate as a tabloid newspaper story.

There are the fisheries and fishermen and the careening birdlife, from herons to pelicans to seagulls to hummingbirds, and others more exotic. And the grand estuary wherein flows one of the Seven Rivers.

Here are the other golden cities, each with its own astonishment of riches: San Simeon, Cambria, Harmony, Los Osos, Atascadero, and Paso Robles. All I have to do is think of these names and I begin to dream.

In these seven cities of gold are the treasures which the Spanish and Greek adventurers never found, for they were looking for the wrong kind of gold.

There are seven other cities of gold on the Central Coast: San Luis Obispo, Cayucos, Moonstone Beach, Arroyo Grande, Avila Beach, Los Olivos, and Pirate's Cove.

"On the other hand," she added, " the herons and their babies are nice, as you now know."

I was listening to the 49ers' game but she didn't care, as she said, "Why don't you try the other lane?"

During a commercial I told her this was partially a working trip, and she said, "As soon as we check in, I'd like a light lunch at Dorn's, or one of the nice places on the Esplanade. "

"It's kind of a long drive."

"Maybe a glass of wine," she smiled, "and we can look at the views of the ocean and Morro Rock, and at the kayaks -- oh, look, you didn't signal on that turn -- and maybe we can jaunt up to a winery or two and maybe Hearst Castle, and I haven't been to San Luis in ever so long, it's just five minutes away."

In the morning, not too early, we began to explore the Seven Rivers. I never saw so many unusual birds in my life. We followed the first river as it snaked its way down to the great basin of Los Osos and Morro Bay, and at one point where the rocky terrain was steep and almost barren above we spotted a giant Andean condor, Vultur gryphus, a thirty pounder with a ten-foot wingspan.

He was surprised by us and said, "I am old, ancient, almost fifty years of age have I, and I have come to California from South America to tell you we are in trouble. Sadly, we only produce one child every year, but there is hope. We, of the Parque Nacional Quebrada del Condorito in Cordoba in the tango land of Argentina, have joined with Pinnacles, and we hope to be protected. I like these rugged, stony mountains, I don't need flowers."

At his feet were a dead, half-eaten fish and an egg that looked as though he'd set it there for a delicacy.

We were both quite excited when we saw a boat named Amanda B, which is the name of our daughter, at least it was before she married Steve Allen and he planted his last name on her. Isabel noticed a sea otter pup frolicking and spinning around the boat, putting on a show, waiting for the fisherman to throw him something. Then we headed for the second of the Seven Rivers. This one went straight through the amazing place named Harmony and it was quite something to see a river roiling down the main street of this little town a few miles south of 46 and Highway One near Cambria

Harmony is the most unusual town I have ever seen, and you need to look below the surface to spot the gold. Aside from the river frothing its way down the main street--which I admit may be somewhat of an exaggeration--I counted a population of sixteen people. I was told that two were off on errands.

Founded around a dairy in 1869, Harmony was somewhat unharmonious in the early days, when feuds and rivalries among the dairy farmers caused chaos in the valley, until a truce was called and they decided to call their town "Harmony". What could be more golden than that? William Randolph Hearst often visited with his movie star friends, including, they say, Barbra Streisand, who often visited with Rudolph Valentino. My wife reminded me that this was in the 1930s and Streisand was at best a child at the time.

Above us at one point was the Mountain of Gold, named because of the golden wildflowers that seem to bloom year round. They don't, but in the mind's eye they do. Suddenly, for it was winter, we almost frightened a Black-Headed Grosbeak who was feeding, then Isabel saw a Painted Bunting, and she called out to me, "There, a Scarlet Tanager!" But by the time I looked up it was gone.

"I love the red with the black wings," she said, but I quickly changed the subject, for it occurred to me that she was thinking of how she might look in those colors, and I thought it might be a bit loud, not to mention expensive. I really like the tans and soft greens and leather and less-costly pants from the outdoor shops.

We ran into some folks from the Morro Coast Audubon Society, and they quietly said that they had recently seen some Harlequin ducks and even a Bullock's Oriole.

And so on we went to the other golden cities and to the ends of the seven rivers where they poured themselves into the estuaries and into the bay and into the waters where the kayaks floated and the vacationers and bird watchers marveled at what the Universe had wrought.

We wandered again through the hills of the Nine Sisters.

Then we did another of the cities, Atascadero, with that beautiful name. "It means a place of much water," Isabel told me. "Once the home of the Salinas Indians." And there we saw a flock of forty Mountain Plovers, white and tan, and Isabel said, "How cute, I want one, or at least a jacket that color."

And Isabel had wisely partaken of the civilized pleasures, ocean front restaurants, souvenir and clothing shops; she had watched the beaches, the sunsets, the surfers, the flower fields, experienced the gentle offers of the rugged, woody wine-tasting bars.

I had prayed for golf, maybe a little fishing, and for the 49ers, who hadn't had too bad a season. We had done some hiking, visited the history museums and even the giant chess board, where I lost in seven moves.

But far beyond my undisciplined imagination was the discovery that these were indeed the places of the Seven Rivers that met the sea to nourish the wetlands and the golden cities that the Spaniards had sought in vain, unaware of that for which they were truly searching. They were searching for pieces of eight while trudging heavy-footed through pieces of heaven.

Throughout these explorations, I was deeply energized, for the life force of my wife was at my side, so I could re-imagine La Serena as the Bird Friends Inn of Morro Bay, for the bird lovers and the bird watchers as they explore and contemplate the flight and color and lifestyle of the birds, and all the interconnectedness of them with the environment and the Universe.

It would take a golden pen to describe the poetry of the earth which is never dead, but John Keats, the famous romantic poet, gave us these words that seemed to tell of what we saw on our journey through the central coas