Recently I was talking with someone who's lived in San Francisco for decades and mentioned that I was going to be visiting Muir Beach. They had never even heard of it, which is perfectly understandable, but also a missed opportunity to experience a fascinating corner of the Bay Area. [1] This tiny community of some 300 people is nestled between the Pacific Ocean and the forests of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, aka the GGNRA. [2] Over the years I've passed through Muir Beach dozens of times, possibly hundreds, on motorcycle trips up and down Highway One, I've often stopped at the trailhead on the beach [3], and once Amy and I attended a romantic wedding at the town's community center. Even so, I knew nothing about the town itself until Amy and I began spending the occasional long weekend there a few years ago, which prompted me to explore its history.
The area was inhabited by Coast Miwoks through the early 16th century and then occupied by Spanish and Portuguese settlers in the early 19th century. [4] It was a part of the Rancho Sausalito, granted by the Mexican government to William Antonio Richardson in 1835, and then taken over by Samuel Throckmorton and the Tamalpais Land and Water Company in 1857 in a "controversial bankruptcy proceeding." [5] The area was later designated the T Ranch--most of the ranches established in West Marin in the late 19th century were known by a single letter [6], and some of them still exist in Point Reyes. [7] The T Ranch was purchased in 1910 by Antonio Nunez Bello, who later supposedly bought the entire hillside that Muir Beach occupies today for a $10 gold piece. In 1919 Bello established a hotel on the beach and began building a subdivision of "blue collar summer cabins," although apparently there were still fewer than a dozen houses in 1930. The community was then known as Bello Beach until the 1940s. [8]
World War II resulted in a substantial but temporary military presence in Muir Beach, and afterwards the area's geographic isolation and poor water quality kept it from being developed as rapidly as other parts of the Bay Area. It remained an inexpensive, largely Portuguese fishing and farming community well into the 1950s, when a handful of San Francisco bohemians discovered it, and the 1960s, when larger numbers of hippies followed, with concerts at the old hotel's tavern by bands such as the Grateful Dead, Big Brother & the Holding Company and Creedence Clearwater Revival. The arrival of emissaries from the beatnik era and the Summer of Love in an old-school Catholic immigrant community resulted in occasional turmoil, but these contrasting cultures seem to have co-existed peacefully, although the newcomers clearly represented the future, and most of the old-timers would eventually sell out and move on. [9]
In 1963 work began on the Seacape Subdivision, establishing lots for larger homes on the hillside above the original Bello Beach community. Ongoing water quality problems as well as the requirements of the new Seacape homes resulted in the establishment of the Muir Beach Community Services District (CSD), a quasi-governmental entity that augmented traditional community efforts to provide clean water, maintain roads, and fight fires. During this time the establishment of the Point Reyes National Seashore in 1962 [10] and the GGNRA in 1972 [11] had a significant impact on the landscape of West Marin and on life in Muir Beach. Those two parks alone preserved over 225 square miles of Marin County wilderness--the entire county is just 828 square miles--and the GGNRA enveloped Muir Beach within its borders.
The establishment of the GGNRA insured that Muir Beach could never expand--the acreage of the town is permanently fixed. Also, the existence of the CSD has helped to insure that this isolated, difficult-to-reach community enjoys essential services, all the more important given the area's historically poor water supply, winding roads, and significant fire risk. And the creation of the Seacape Subdivision allowed the construction of homes with views of San Francisco to the south and Muir Valley to the east. The predictable result is that in just a few decades a town of agricultural immigrants that attracted beatniks and hippies seeking a low-cost, off-the-grid lifestyle has been transformed into an idyllic retreat for the wealthy, where homes can now cost many millions of dollars.
You can see this history as you walk the streets of Muir Beach, observing the range of architectural styles and the economic distinctions they reflect. A handful of "blue collar summer cabins" remain on the lower streets, lovingly maintained but showing their age, often with a pickup truck parked outside and an assortment of tools and supplies scattered about. A larger number of '70s-era homes populate the town, clad in wood shingles with quirky sculptures dotting the yard and an old Jeep or Porsche in front. And a smaller number of angular modern homes dominate the prime lots on the hilltop, commanding spectacular views on all sides, with glossy SUVs or sports cars in the drive--or with no cars at all, empty and lonely in their grandeur.
I have conflicting feelings as I reflect on this history and its likely trajectory. I'm grateful that Point Reyes and the GGNRA have been preserved as parkland, and I spend as much time there as I can. I'm also well aware that this helps to insure that Muir Beach and the other developed areas in West Marin will be protected as privileged enclaves. The same pattern is being replicated throughout the Bay Area, of course. The height restrictions and anti-growth initiatives that San Francisco implemented in the 1980s to prevent "Manhattanization" preserved a sense of place that charmed me when I first visited as a teenager, just as these measures were being enacted. And this same legislation (and the worldview it represents) has played a role in preventing the city's housing stock and office space from responding to surging demand in recent decades, turning its entire 49 square miles into a privileged enclave. [12,13,14,15]
Amy and I have seen several waves of friends and acquaintances come and go since we first moved to San Francisco in 1990. Many left by choice, ready to return home having fulfilled their dream of a Bay Area adventure, or eager to move on having had their fill of Bay Area narcissism (or both). But many left with a sense of regret, wishing they could stay but wanting something more than they could afford here--more space, more peace, more security.
This dilemma isn't a new phenomenon--San Francisco has been a boomtown since 1849--and it's a highly complex one. [16,17] I don't mean to suggest that parkland preservation and land use policies are the sole (or even primary) causes, and I lack the expertise to propose any solutions. But it's impossible to enjoy the Bay Area's rewards without also acknowledging its profound deficits. The currently popular narrative that San Francisco is a dystopian hellhole is unbalanced [18], but even as I've come to love this place and call it home I'm dismayed by its many shortcomings. Life here is alternately thrilling and demoralizing, and I'm both grateful to be enjoying a pristine view of San Francisco from a house on the hillside above and troubled by what I see.
Footnotes
[1] Muir Beach Community Services District
[2] Golden Gate National Recreation Area (GGNRA)
[3] Muir Beach Trailhead (Jane Huber, BAHiker)
[4] Muir Beach History (National Park Service)
[5] Muir Beach Community Services District Guidebook (Maury Ostroff, 2007)
[6] Historic Alphabet Designations of Point Reyes Ranches, 1860-Present (Dewey Livingston, 1990)
[7] Ranching at the Seashore (Point Reyes National Seashore Association)
[8] A Brief History of Muir Beach (Bello Beach)
[9] The History of Muir Beach (Sarah Smith, 1970)
[10] Point Reyes National Seashore celebrates 50 years this week (Mark Prado, Marin Independent Journal, 2012)
[11] Creation of Golden Gate National Recreation Area (National Park Service)
[12] Buildings Curbed by San Francisco (Robert Lindsey, The New York Times, 1985)
[13] Proposition M and the Downtown Growth Battle (Brad Paul, SPUR/Urbanist, 1999)
[14] Manhattanization revisited (Carl Nolte, SFGate, 2014)
[15] Former City planner fights to save Fillmore West from wrecking ball (Sam Whiting, San Francisco Chronicle, 2018)
[16] Employment, construction, and the cost of San Francisco apartments (Eric Fischer, 2016)
[17] A Guy Just Transcribed 30 Years of For-Rent Ads (Michael Anderson, Observer, 2016)
[18] How San Francisco Broke America's Heart (Karen Heller, The Washington Post, 2019)
