Coastline Pilot

Chasing Down the Muse

07.26.02

By Catharine Cooper

 

A black winged raven calls me to waking from my dream filled sleep.  He and a partner glide through the grassy-sloped canyon searching for their first meals.  Stephen snores softly in harmony with other campers. I slip out of the tent and down the canyon trail. 

 

Cool fog fills the spaces between the ridges and eucalyptus leaves drip with evening dew.  Small wrens flitter in the scrub shrubbery and the tell tale signs of wild pig are everywhere. It is said that California must have looked just like this 100 years ago.  Pristine beaches.  No land developments or paved roads. Solitude and quiet.

 

We’ve come to Santa Cruz Island for a long weekend of sea kayaking and hiking on this, the largest in the Channel Island National Park. 22 miles long and between two and six miles wide, it encompasses over 61,000 acres.  24% is part of the park system; the other 76% is in the trust of the Nature Conservancy, and accessible by one-day permit only.  My first thought as we arrived:  How is it that I have lived in California all of my life and never been here before?  

 

There are twelve in our group.  Darin, traveling with his mother, is the youngest at 14 and Jean, 83 and her husband Bill, 86, are the oldest.  Our veteran guides from South Wind Kayak, Joe and Stephano, know the waters well – and the sea caves, which are the calling card of this particular island. Painted Cave, of the largest in the world beckons on the northern end.

 

Island Packers transports our gear and kayaks from Ventura to Scorpion Bay in about an hour.  We organize an unwieldy “bag line” to unload the boat.  Packs, coolers, tents, kayaks, duffle bags, paddles and pillows are handed one person to the next, carried off the pier and piled onto the rocky beach. What remains is the task of hiking the 1/2 mile to the campground. I am so thankful that this time I packed light.

 

After a safety briefing, we hop into our boats and out through small waves.  The water is stunning.  Multitudinous shades of blue stretch to the edges of the horizon.  The sun has broken through the morning fog and everything shimmers.  A brilliant orange garibaldi glides under the hull of my boat followed by a young manta ray.  A harbor seal peeks his head above the surface not more than five feet from me.  We exchange curious gazes.

 

The first cave is wide and easily traversed.  Joe examines each one fist as a safety precaution – giving us the go or no-go signal.  Tide fluctuations and swell surges can change the nature of each cave quickly.  Inside, odd stalactite formations mark the ceilings.  Bats race from corner to corner swept along with swallows nested in the dark recesses.  Some of the caves are one-way passages; others cut through the cliff face.  We enter on one side and exit in a new bay.

 

Saturday, we kayak northward and lunch at Potato Harbor near a sea lion rookery. Their bellowing fills the salty air while gulls and pelicans graze the bays surface. The clear blue calls us to snorkel and we are rewarded with opaleye, octopus, lobsters, seals, kelp, coral, starfish and sea urchins.  Over 2000 species of land and sea life live in this secluded ecosystem – 145 are found nowhere else on earth. 

 

Potluck dinner is shared over camp stoves and conversation. Terry, a retired fireman tells tales of climbing Everest. James and Lynn, surprisingly from Laguna, are our new found kayaking buddies.

 

Sunday, Steve and I decide to hike the eastern end of the island.  A well-worn path takes us to Smuggler’s Cove and an old olive grove.  A pair of brilliant blue scrub jays – unique to the Channel Islands, hop between the trees. Small boats anchor in the nearly still waters.

 

We head up hill and across field toward Potato Harbor on pig paths that lead into tall grass and then disappear.  Our pants, socks and shoes are laden with stickers when we arrive at the overlook. Quickly, we scramble back to Scorpion Cove to load the boat.

 

Amazingly, we’ve discovered another paradise – right at our back door.  Relaxed, and maybe exhausted after our 18 mile hike, we lean back on the top deck of the “Islander” and watch Santa Cruz and Anacapa Islands vanish in the mist.  Our heads fill with plans for an early return.

 

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