They are jus’ a mile or so north of DeMartins Beach, along Highway 101. They are known locally as “The Devil’s Footsteps.”
I have no idea where the name came from or why, unfortunately — but vaguely suspect it is from the area’s Native Americans — who used to reside along the rocky coastline — and somehow screwed up by later settlers.
As a kid, I used to climb all over these rocks. There are several areas in and around them in which natural caves occur and that’s what drew me to them when I was younger.
Kyle and I stopped to walk up and down that section of the beach and so I could talk some pictures and tell him about some of my childhood experience. Little did I know — we were about to have an experience of our own.
I was walking ahead of Kyle — leading the way — when he says, “You simply disappeared.”
Kyle was right — I had jus’ taken a photo of the group of rocks when I lost my balance, then my footing and dropped over six feet to the jagged rocks below. While I managed to protect my camera — I failed to protect myself — breaking several ribs on the left side of my chest wall.
Unable to pick myself up — and had Kyle not been there — I’m pretty sure I would have washed out to sea with the next high tide. Thanks, Kyle!