One day in late April, I decided to go for a walk in the park. Not just any park, of course. The open space that grabbed my attention is the 4,350-acre Palo Corona Regional Park, created in 2004 south of Carmel, with an entrance right on Highway One.

However, my visit couldn’t be spontaneous: I had to apply, online, for a permit at least 24 hours in advance--a requirement necessitated by limited parking along the shoulder. So I hit the Enter key and hoped that the day I had selected would be a beautiful sunshiny one, and that the summer fog would hold off just a little while longer. I really wanted to enjoy the view from Inspiration Point.

As it turned out, the afternoon was bright, but windy. I almost bailed. But then I spied my Windstopper jacket crumpled on the floor of the back seat, and decided to brave the breeze. Once I unlocked the tall wooden gate (the combination comes with the permit) and passed through to the other side, I felt I had stepped into another world: not only did the wind vanish completely, but the colors--of tall grass and flowers (orange poppies, purple lupine) and even the weathered wood of derelict cattle pens--became more vivid. And there was birdsong everywhere. Of redwing blackbirds in particular. Individual males dotted the landscape; perched atop bending thistle stalks, they fluffed up their brilliant orange-red epaulets and twirrrrrrred their invitation of love to all the females within hearing. Every so often they would take to the air in hot pursuit, yelling me me me me! If I were a redwing gal, I would have caved in an instant. These guys were spectacular.

As is Palo Corona itself, or what little of it is presently open to visitors: approximately two miles along an old ranch road, with an elevation gain of 600 feet. The trail started out flat as I passed some farmworker cottages and strawberry fields on the left (not part of the park), then a barn (now offices and storage) and the cattle pens. A half dozen virile bulls--safely behind barbed wire--regarded me from a lush field of grass. I tried to take a picture of one standing next to the fence, but when his eyes got wide and he started snorting, I realized maybe barbed wire wasn’t such good protection from a half-ton vessel of testosterone. I backed off. He resumed his munching of grass. Peace, man.

Soon the road curved up a steep incline, affording gorgeous views of the Carmel coast--including a bit of Point Lobos--before it flattened out again in a gentle upland valley.

Inspiration Point, accessible by a short spur trail, is the high point, and the views are indeed exquisite. Pines add their shade to that of oaks here. Another half-mile brought me to Animas Pond, home of the threatened red-legged frog. To think of it as a pond, though, I had to use my imagination a little: only a couple of feet deep, it is well populated by all manner of wetland reeds and ferns.

And that’s the end of the road, as a locked gate informed me in no uncertain terms.