Many happy returns near San Luis Obispo

Even with the decent surf surging against the rocks and headlands, along the Bluff Trail there are moments when the wind dies down, offering little breaks of calm when other sounds briefly reemerge: the calls of oystercatchers, the clackety-clack of pebbles rolling in the surf zone, and the urgent banging of shellfish against stone.

That last sound comes from inside a slotlike cove, where even in the gloaming the water has somehow remained an almost tropical turquoise, a shade heightened by the cliffs' golden rock and the white foam of the surf. Riding the surges, a sea otter is feeding, using a rock propped on its belly as an anvil to crack open a clam.

Shellfish, Central Coast: it's not a bad evolutionary deal that the sea otters have cut for themselves, although they were almost hunted to extinction in the late 1800s. Slowly but surely since the 1930s, otters have spread back down the San Luis Obispo County coast from their last refuges along Big Sur. On this afternoon, nine are visible.

The sea otters aren't the only animals that have reclaimed the San Luis coast. Pull off the road about 5 miles north of San Simeon around the Twin Creeks area and give a listen. Here it's not a subtle sound, but a deep, intimidating roar that could probably carry through a gale. The noise comes from a young adult elephant seal, a couple of tons of snorting, hormone-driven attitude, part of a local population that peaks at about 4,000 animals during molting season, in late April.

Individual elephant seals were recorded on this stretch of coast as early as the late 1970s, but it wasn't until 1992 that pups were actually born here. Considering that earlier this century the world's entire elephant seal population was limited to a small group living on islands off Mexico, their successful return to the mainland is all the more remarkable.

And not without complications. Elephant seals tend to be bolder than many of their pinniped relatives. In a few coves, the animals have hauled out within yards of cars on State Highway 1. Incredibly, tourists have been seen placing children next to the seals for photos - a few people have been bitten.

But the males soaking up the sun don't seem particularly worried about the cars or gawkers. Most slumber next to one another in great piles of blubber that, with the slightest move, ripple like the swells on the ocean. Or Jell-O. Elephant seals are exponentially more agile in the water, and a few animals gracefully play just offshore, occasionally broadcasting loud warnings to the humans on the bluffs. On the beach others pair off, bumping chests and snapping at each other's necks in pallid rehearsals for the bloody battles that await them in adulthood.

People have it a bit easier on the Central Coast, although reclaiming turf is not always as simple as walking along the Bluff Trail. It took the cooperation of the California Coastal Commission, PG&E, the Nature Conservancy, and Port San Luis Harbor District to open up the Pecho Coast Trail, which rambles through a long-closed stretch of coast just up from Avila Beach.

After a steep climb, the trail opens to a broad view of San Luis Obispo Bay, once home to the West Coast's busiest oil port. Below is the historic Harford Pier, alive with the sounds of working fishermen. Soon the trail rounds a point, leaving the bay and its sounds behind, and reaches the 1890 Point San Luis Lighthouse.