Ten minutes south of the house, Seacliff has a story you won’t find anywhere else on this coast: a WWI-era concrete tanker, the SS Palo Alto, run aground in 1930 and left to the tide ever since. You can walk the pier straight out to it, watch pelicans line up along its rusted rail, and look back at a beach that somehow never feels crowded even on a warm Saturday. The sand here is flatter and easier for little legs than Manresa’s, and the tide pools near the pier pilings are worth a slow poke around at low tide. There’s a small campground and picnic tables if you want to turn it into an afternoon rather than a stop. Go in the late morning before the wind picks up, or an hour before sunset when the light hits the ship’s hull and turns the whole cove amber. Bring a jacket regardless of the forecast — this stretch of coast makes its own weather. It’s an easy one to underestimate from photos alone. In person, standing at the end of that pier with a ship rusting quietly beneath you, it’s one of the more memorable half-days you’ll spend near the house.
