A rare rainy day in the midst of a drought on the sunny southern coast of California always drives me to the beach. So I headed a few miles up to Malibu, camera in hand.
It’s standard to find abondoned shit in rural areas, among inner city blight, or at the outer edges of densely cultivated areas. But the last place I’d ever expect to find the rust and decay of forgotten souls would be this storied, upscale legend of a town.
Luckily the eerie atmosphere of dense cloud cover and the mist from the sky mingling with a windy ocean spray drew me just past a crowded surf spot to a more solitary stretch of beach. And there it was. A treasure I’d missed for over a decade, having always stopped just shy of or sped right past it. A glorious, magical wrinkle in time where I stumbled upon the ruins of this gorgeous dilapidated pier.