Tide is turning, bringing tourists to once-sleepy Half Moon Bay

The coastal California town still has a small-town feel, but its popularity and its population are growing

HALF MOON BAY, Calif. — You sit there in one of those comfortable, slippery-seat booths in the Main Street Grill on — hey, where else? — Main Street in little Half Moon Bay, and life looks pretty good.

You're slurping down a patty melt and a chocolate shake, semi-frozen inside one of those metal-container things — and kinda wondering what else could be better, other than maybe breakfast, a house specialty.

You're listening to Bill Gevas sing along with his jukebox — all the while manhandling his man-sized grill much the way he has for the past 19 years at his one-room restaurant in this coastal town about 30 miles south of San Francisco.

You're looking outside at the sun. The sun. And the shops and all those folks wandering up Main Street and down. You're kind of wishing the windows would disappear so you could smell some fresh sea air from the Pacific just blocks away, and maybe a little eucalyptus.

Picture it: Half Moon Bay, the new Sausalito, before the arrival of the T-shirt shop.

Better yet, think upgraded University Village minus the chain stores, plopped on the south-of-San Francisco coastline, and just now discovering the benefits of higher price tags and Louis Vuitton handbags.

Actually, that analogy might cause mass cardiac arrest in most longtime Half Moon Bay residents, and you wouldn't want to do that to these folks. Because Half Moon Bay hasn't tumbled over the commercial cliff yet, to be sure. Most shops are still locally owned. Severe coastal-planning restrictions, a concerted effort by some locals to snatch up available land and keep it devoid of use (including by cows) and a dearth of water have kept it from becoming another East Lake Sammamish Plateau.

Being accessed only by two two-lane highways hasn't hurt the town's struggle to keep its small and tasteful image intact either.

But still they come, wanting to visit, wanting to live here. Look at the traffic jams into and then out of Half Moon Bay on any given sunny coastal weekend. They're coming.

Munch on that patty melt awhile, and we'll tell you more.

A seaside encampment

Half Moon Bay was the oldest settlement in San Mateo County, according to local historians. First the Costanoan Indians used the area as a temporary seaside encampment while they gathered food. Then the Spanish settled in with their huge ranchos and rodeos — so many that the area was dubbed Spanishtown.

Then came the Portuguese and the Italians, many of whom took to the sea and then to the flower gardens for which the area is noted around the world.

And now, well, now come some of those Vuitton-bag carriers we told you about.

No one will say this outright for print, but you do get the impression that each group sort of "pushed" the other aside in their bids to make Half Moon Bay their own.

And with the arrival of a coastside Ritz-Carlton hotel, some spendy new shops and larger restaurants, rising rents and land costs, well there are those who've been in Half Moon Bay for some time who say it's happening again.

But take a sip of the malted and stay awhile. It's worth it, because there's lots of the old Half Moon Bay that ain't goin' anywhere, thank you very much.

Across the street, there's Beverly Cunha Ashcraft, as sturdy and likable a Half Moon Bay denizen as you'll ever find.

She owns Cunha's Country Store, a two-story affair she and her mom took over when her dad died about a half-century ago. All told, the family's owned the business for about 75 years, and it's an institution among locals and visitors alike.

" 'I wish we had a store like this.' We hear that all the time from people," Ashcraft says of her business — groceries and butcher shop downstairs, housewares and clothing up. Cunha's sells its own salad dressing, jams, relishes, spaghetti sauces. She's not sure why the store is so popular, but here's her recipe: "I guess it's because we get people what they want. We buy what they want. If we don't have it, we get it for them." Including those chickens in the display case with the head and feet still attached.

Ashcraft and her mom still live in Half Moon Bay. You might find her sitting at one of those power tables, as we call them in the big city, over at Original Johnny's Coffee Shop. You might even be able to coax from her some of her thoughts on the area.

She still likes it here — but she worries about rents on Main Street. And the high price of everything, and all those people who walk around and look but don't buy. No doubt the scourge of tourist sites everywhere.

Barbara Borkgren is about as new to the coast as Ashcraft is a fixture. She's run her Ambiance of Half Moon Bay home shop for four years now, and is undoubtedly in the category of worried-abouts Ashcraft refers to when she talks high rents.

"I'm still here!" Borkgren says, to the best of her determination. Her shop is a hub for a mix of locals, the almost-locals, the over-the-hill crowd from the Bay Area and some out-of-the-region tourists.

In what you might consider a circuitous message to the holders of the city's pursestrings and future growth, she also says: "It's always been cool here. It's Half Moon Bay, little coastal village America. We've had a lot of growth in the last couple years. Personally, my feeling is that if it's going to grow, I'd like to see the best-planned growth that can happen.

"We're like what Carmel was 10 years ago. (Carmel is a well-known destination about 90 miles down the coast.) It was charming, charming, charming. Then the rents went way up, and it became The Gap, Banana Republic, the high-end chain stores. And that's all about rent. Hopefully our landlords will look at that ... so we can keep the charming."

For the moment, however, it's still Half Moon Bay.

And you still have some of that patty melt left and a couple more of Bill's tunes to listen to. And we have more to tell. Keep eating.

Changing times

Mayor Toni Taylor has lived in Half Moon Bay for all of 10 years, by way of San Diego and New York.

"Change always happens," says Her Honor. "I think it's common for all of us to resist it as much as possible. It's very appealing to people who want to live here. The conflict is in keeping the balance between what people move here for and having to grow."

Half Moon Bay is growing — from 8,886 in 1990 to 11,842 in the most recent census. Home prices have climbed much faster, an understatement, to a median price of about $700,000. It's become a bit of a suburban mecca for folks who no longer make their money coastside, but work in San Francisco and Silicon Valley, a half hour to 45 minutes away in either case. There's no argument. Half Moon Bay's a beautiful place to live and to visit.

"We don't have much at the moment beyond empirical evidence," says the mayor, "but there sure are a lot of people wandering around here during the week, and they sure aren't working. We've seen a big increase in tourism."

Some come to wander the streets and the shops, or eat themselves from one end of Main Street to the other.

Others come to get a chance to wander the beaches, from San Gregorio's sands and bluffs about 10 miles south of Half Moon Bay to Moss Beach and Montara about seven miles north. Some even come to doff their clothes. Yep, there are some nude beaches in the area, but you're going to have to find those yourself.

Some come to surf, others to see whales or snag some fresh fish. Many opt for the local B&Bs to have a quiet weekend.

The golf set makes the trek because it now has two courses in Half Moon Bay to choose from, both inside what has to be a bit of a coastside oddity — a gated community. It's called Ocean Colony and it also houses the new, 261-room Ritz Carlton resort. And yes, you'll most likely have to pay to park there, but not as much or as frequently as you used to:

"We're learning," says Stacy Cooper, the Ritz public-relations director, to make some adjustments as the resort sees how locals and out-of-town visitors use the place.

The seasonally inspired flock to Half Moon Bay, too — in the fall for its pumpkin and art festival and in the summer for Tour des Fleurs and a chance to finally and closely inspect some of those fabled nurseries that grow a goodly supply of the nation's cut flowers.

They do come.

A colorful past

Now, Half Moon Bay and its coastal brother and sister communities just wouldn't be what they are without a little color to the history.

To wit: Dante "Artichoke King" Dianda, who at the turn of the century upon hearing that Ocean Shore Railroad was intending to push a line south from San Francisco along the coast, promptly started plowing up the sidewalks rail bigwigs poured on his former 'choke fields as fast as they were laid out. Though he was ordered to knock it off, he really needn't have worried. The great earthquake of 1906 knocked plenty of the railroad's equipment off Devil's Slide, a perilous slope along Highway 1 just north of Half Moon Bay and Moss Beach. The trains petered out in the 1920s. Devil's Slide hasn't. It continues to do as its name suggests, dumping a portion of Highway 1 into the sea whenever the coast has 40 days and 40 nights of rain.

Notorious mobster Aladena "Jimmy the Weasel" Fratianno lived in Moss Beach about 30 years ago on a witness protection program. Pretty ironic, considering in earlier years his fellow criminals used the beach for running rum during Prohibition when it was a popular pastime along the Half Moon Bay coast. Want to see how the Weez's pals fooled the feds? Just take a walk some lazy weekend morning among the small houses and big side yards of Moss Beach, down by the sea, on the west side of the highway. Notice those big sideyards. Imagine living in the little house with a tunnel into those big side yards. Yep, you guessed it. Lots of nice, cool, underground storage for all that imported liquor.

These days, Karen Brown Herbert, of Karen Brown's Guides Inc. fame, runs the Seal Cove Inn not too far from where the mob guys waited for their ships to come in.

She and her husband Rick have been coastside for about 11 years. They're transplants from Palo Alto. Their inn bumps up against Seal Cove Beach and the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, great locations for some reflective beach time.

"Half Moon Bay?" It's a small town without a small-town mentality. People have chosen to live here. It's an educated community, it's protective of its community.

"Yes, it has changed. Part of it is the Ritz Carlton coming in. It's probably gone a little more upscale anticipating that audience. But you ought to see it at pumpkin time. Every kid under 14 puts on a costume and parades through town.

"It's still Small Town USA."

Still a breakfast man

From over his grill, Bill Gevas probably would agree with some of what you've heard so far — you, over there, grabbing some ketchup for the last bit of patty melt.

"It used to be a little more backwater feeling when we came here. More rugged-individual types, farmers, blue-collar types. There was a certain low-life element, too. There used to be a number of saloons here. Now there's only one.

"You have to make a pretty good living to be here now."

He's doing OK, he'll tell you, focused mostly on breakfast. His wife, who runs a yarn shop up the street, makes all the batters for him.

He dishes up everything else.

"I like doing breakfast. It's a very neglected meal. The cooking schools and the chefs today, their emphasis is on dinner. As a result, more and more of your breakfast trade is being taken up by people who don't have a feel for it."

So there you have it, a good lesson on life in Half Moon Bay.

A last wipe of the hands on your nearly dissolved paper napkin, a last snippet of tune by Bill Gevas, and you're ready to breathe some of that coastal air.

Next time, do stop in for breakfast.

Terry Tazioli can be reached at 206-464-2224 or ttazioli@seattletimes.com