Around 2 in the afternoon yesterday, we got in the car and decided to take a trip. How about Hog Island? We’d always wanted to go. Not the Hog Island Bar a few minutes from where we live at the Ferry Building, but the Hog Island that is so friggin far north I wouldn’t have done the trip had I known. It’s an excruciating zig-zagged 90 minute drive to Tomales Bay. It’s rugged California in all its glory. It’s beautiful. The scenery is gorgeous, but I didn’t get a chance to enjoy it. Driving fiercely, I just wanted to get there. Past Muir Beach, past Stinson, past Bolinas. Still not there. Past Olema, Point Reyes, and Inverness. GAWD! Finally in the town of Marshall, 50 miles north of home, was the Hog Island Oyster Farm. Picnic area full, no room for us. Huge sigh. We backtracked to a beachside eatery in Marshall and went hog wild with three dozen oysters (raw, BBQ, Rockefeller) and blue cheese from Cowgirl Creamery. Great cheap food, pretty beach, but not sure it was worth all that driving. Maybe if we had started earlier and made a leisurely drive out of it. Although divine intervention struck us while driving past a catholic church in Olema which allowed us to catch the 5:30 mass right on time, and saved us from having to go on Sunday. Our final stop was in Stinson for a few glasses of wine at sunset before heading home and arriving back in the city at 9.