As I checked into my San Francisco hostel yesterday, I listened to a girl debating with herself as to whether she should pay for another night at the hostel or camp somewhere in the city. It prompted me to recall a story of one time I camped in San Francisco.

I had experienced a similar conundrum, debating over what else I could do with the money that I’d spend on a hotel. I also knew a great wooded area out by the ocean where I could be lulled to sleep by the crashing waves below me. I decided to catch a bus out to the western edge of the city, appropriately named Land’s End. The trip took almost an hour as we had to cross the entire city, and when I stepped out the door, I was blasted by the fog that is common on summer evenings in San Francisco.

As I worked my way along a dirt path I knew across from the bus stop, I was pleased to see that the wind velocity was reduced by the dense Cypress trees that are characteristic along the California coast. Their distinctly bent shape gives you an accurate indication of the wind direction and constancy as all their branches point inland.  

I wanted to get deep into the trees not just for protection from the wind but to be hidden from view. Though it was dark, I didn’t need a light to pick my way down the cliff given the reflective light from the city lights off the fog. I came across a perfect alcove in the trees, just about the size of my sleeping bag. It was as if branches wrapped around the space to create a cocoon.

I laid my backpack on the ground and began to flatten out my sleeping area which was a relatively easy task because it was mostly sand that had been blown up the cliffside. There was one hard root or rock that protruded the surface, and when I pushed on it, a skull surfaced from beneath the sand. Not an animal skull either but a fully intact human skull. My fight or flight kicked in and I quickly scanned the area for any imminent threats, something that in hindsight I laughed about, since a bare skull meant the body had been there long before I unearthed it.

I threw my pack back on, and headed back up the hill to the bus stop where I’d seen a phone booth, producing a fluorescent glow like a lighthouse in the fog. I called 911 and reported my finding. Ten minutes later, I was walking both a policeman and the coroner through the woods to the burial site. Even then I had a little chuckle since the parking lot where the corner had parked his hearse-like station wagon, labeled, “Coroner” in bold letters, was also filled with the cars of couples making out under the cover of the fog.

When we got to the site, the coroner reached down and picked up the head. He examined it turning it with his wrist until he let out a laugh. Neither the policeman nor I knew what was funny until he pulled the jaw down and it snapped back into place. We still didn’t understand until he turned the skull around and showed us why the jaw had snapped back. It was spring loaded. He explained that it wasn’t actually a human skull, but a model from a skeleton used for training in school.

The coroner dug up the rest of the bones and put them in a bag, and we walked back to the station wagon. By this time many of the cars had either taken off or were hanging out to see what was being unearthed from the woods.

Though there had been no questions initially, the policeman finally asked what I had been doing there. I told him how I was trying to save money by camping, but I assured him that I would be paying for a hotel that night. He agreed that was a wise choice and was even kind enough to give me a ride back downtown.