The weekend traffic from San Francisco to the Mendocino County coast streams west through the pastoral Anderson Valley, reaching State Highway 1 near Albion. Most cars then head north to the galleries and gourmet food of Mendocino.

But we turn south instead and cross the bridge over the Navarro River. A few miles beyond, the winding, two-lane road tops a rise. Cupped in a cove below, a half-dozen huge rocks he just offshore like a fleet of scale-model islands. They rise more than 100 feet, maritime companions to the sheer cliffs onshore. A small cluster of weathered buildings perches on the cliffs edge. A pasture-- green in winter and spring, gold in summer and autumn--spreads eastward a few hundred yards, enclosed by gentle, wooded hills.

This is Elk, a place apart. On a coast celebrated for its scenic beauty, Elk is exceptional. Those rock formations, sometimes called sea stacks, constitute a collection aesthetically unequaled. They remind me of a Zen rock garden: artfully arranged and appearing startlingly different when viewed from different angles. Like much of this coastline, Elk is characterized by sweeping vistas; but this tiny town also seems to turn inward, enfolded by sloping forests on land and sheltered by towering rocks at sea.

Elk is so quiet that the biggest local attraction, other than the scenery, is the town cemetery with its 19th-century gravestones. "Downtown" consists of a half- dozen businesses scattered along a half-mile of Highway 1.

The town proper is made up of only 60 or 70 residents, along with the guests of five inns...
The Greenwood Pier Inn, where we spend our last night in Elk, seems almost hectic compared with the Sandpiper, simply because we encounter a handful of people at the inn's cafe and country store.

In truth, Greenwood Pier is not only serene in its own right, but also enchanting. A fanciful collection of buildings includes contemporary redwood cabins and a replica of an old-fashioned schoolhouse. The buildings nestle amid a garden profuse with thousands of flowering annuals. Whimsical statues--a smiling bunny with a basket, two amorous frogs--hide among he foliage. Alyssum sweetly scents the air. Small fountains pour forth the pleasant, primal sound of trickling water.

The innkeepers here may actually lavish more energy on the garden than the interiors. Still, the rooms have considerable appeal. We retreat to the North Sea Castle, one of three cabins situated as close to the cliffs edge as possible without falling off the continent. The Castle mixes funky furnishings with dramatic architecture, including a cathedral ceiling, skylights, and a circular fireplace set on a rock pedestal.

The piece de resistance is a second floor designed as a literal bathroom. There is no sink, no toilet, no shower. Those are downstairs. Upstairs is just a tiny, tiled room with a deep soaking tub set against a picture window overlooking the cove and ocean.

Immersed in amniotic warmth, thick steam billowing all around, we throw open the window to bracing, salty air and the sound of the endless sea swirling around the hulking rocks below.