A Winner by the Sea: on the Southern California coast, Del Mar is a haven for beachcombers, gardeners—and fans of fast, fast horses

Sunset, July, 2004 by Peter Jensen

The beach is the town's prize asset, particularly when summer traffic builds along Camino Del Mar. Longtime resident Pat Welsh, a nationally known garden writer and local civic beautification and arts activist, calls the beach and the open-space parks of Crest Canyon and Torrey Pines State Reserve Del Mar's "buffer zone."

"Our open land is what gives Del Mar its special feel," she says. "One of the things I so appreciate is the wild plants all around us. I know of bulbs as big as a man that lie in the ground. I'm actually reluctant to tell many people, other than plant aficionados, about extraordinary things like this because I sound like I'm making it up."

In both the main reserve and its extension--a hidden 168-acre enclave above Penasquitos Lagoon--the trails wind through a wondrous landscape. Wind- and drought-gnarled Torrey pines do a pas de deux with sandstone formations whose knife-edge ridges, deep furrows, and occasional hoodoo-like capstones create a mini Bryce Canyon at the beach.

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The Del Mar Racetrack's history may be more modest in terms of years, but not in the public's imagination. Here thoughts turn to the early days of the track's celebrity cofounder Bing Crosby and his Hollywood friends like Jimmy Durante, Ava Gardner, Betty Grable, Hoagy Carmichael, Red Skelton, Mickey Rooney, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, and a hundred others. For years, when trains carrying race celebs from as far away as Los Angeles still stopped beside the track, fans already in their seats burst into applause--a tradition dating back to the track's first day when a late train finally arrived and Crosby's races could begin.

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The best celebrity joke, told in the official track history written by novelist, race fan, and Del Mar resident William Murray, was delivered by general manager Don Smith. He was about to pin a flower on Grable, even though the actress was wearing a strapless, form-fitting dress that had very little fabric real estate available.

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"I know those great legs of yours are insured," Smith said, "but I'm not sure about the rest of you." He handed her the flower and cracked, "You pin this on yourself."

As I move through the crowd between races, I don't spot a celebrity, but I do manage to easily view the pomp and circumstance of leggy horses strutting in the paddock beside wiry, 110-pound men and women jockeys.

A trumpet trills the classic call to the post. Back in my seat, a whopping $6 worth of bets in my hand, I lean forward for the fourth race. The horses break cleanly from the gate, but it appears Decisional will be rather indecisive on this day. Sanger explains that some horses are bothered by "the wall of sound they hit as they turn the corner into the homestretch in front of the grandstand. It's almost palpable."

Suddenly Sanger rises and begins slapping the railing with her program, shouting, "Well come on! We've got to see this horse run!"

We all stand for the finish: a blur of shining sable-brown or black beasts, brilliantly colored silks, and flying dirt. Frankly, it's thrilling.