Circumnavigating San Clemente Island, part 3

Day 3. 

"Don't anchor anywhere on the east side, you'll put a hole in your boat," said a few lobster guys. "It is deceptively calm and you'll just drive into a rock."

We wanted to spend a night on the lee side of the island. It is a 15 mile expanse of unchanging, flat, intensely bold coastline. Why bother trying to anchor for the night? To get a better feel for the island, the land and its cultural history, I wanted to spend time in that side. Plus, we wanted to break up the 38nm return trip to Avalon, which is a long haul at 6 knots. 

But... the chart shows deep water (100ft+) right next to the cliffs for miles on end. Brian Fagan's cruising guide listed no anchorages. The locals lobstermen advised us against it. The prospects were glum.  

Then we came across this book:  

In "The California Channel Islands", author Marla Daily relates the fascinating history of pioneer ranchers, entrepid businessmen, and hermits.  We read about a German man who lived alone on the east side of San Clemente island for 30 years around the turn of the century. He had a fish camp for anglers and would do tours of native american artifacts. He lived at "Mosquito Cove". That is where we should go. If people visited him regularly, I figured, there must be a good landing site; possibly even a sandy beach. 

The coastline was eerie. The entire east side of the island is a blank wall of cliffs with flat water like a lake. Rocks near the surface show no indication of their presence, through ripples or otherwise, because the sea is so calm. Hence the warning of the lobstermen.  

We found Mosquito Cove by GPS - there was hardly any geographic feature to distinguish it. There was in fact a small cobblestone-sand beach on the shore. We approached with the depth sounder carefully; luckily the visibility was excellent and our watch on the bow could warn of shallow reefs that protruded out of the depths. We anchored in 55ft of water, with just enough distance to shore for our boat to swing. 

Robby with a casserole of chicken enchiladas for lunch

It was ominously silent and strangely claustrophobic. With their mass, the cliffs seemed to dampen any sound -- creating the type of quiet anxiety one might have felt stuck in the still airs of the doldrums while crossing the Atlantic under sail. The ravines cut deep into the land; we imagined the German man living here for decades, and it made me shiver. 

Sunrise anchored at Mosquito Cove

Day 4.

We motored back towards Wilson Cove, where the main Navy base is located (keeping a safe distance of 3nm). Fortified ships drove into the harbor. Trucks drove in meandering roads in the distance, with barracks lining the hillside.

The Northwest anchorage was closed for Navy activity; so we hoisted sail and crossed the channel back to Catalina. We'd have to return to see that last piece of the island, one that looked so intriguing as well.

Diving at Church Rock in Catalina on the return trip

Circumnavigating San Clemente Island, part 2

Like stumbling into a secret society, just before dark we found a little "village" of lobster boats anchored in the tiny cove in the West side of the San Clemente island.  Deep golden light shone on the massive cliffs.

What a dramatic setting and relief. Up to that point, I had been unsure if there would be a safe anchorage in this cove. The rocks in the chart looked dicey. Would we have to sail another 12 miles and anchor after dark in some unknown beach?  Happily, we surveyed the glassy water, set the hooks, and kayaked over to the lobster guys.

"How did you find this place??" they asked incredulous. I felt proud at following my instinct.  "I heard a rumor from a friend of a friend... I guess you don't see too many cruising boats here?"   The lobster guys grinned, as they ate steak cooked on their outdoor grill with thick BBQ sauce.

DAY 2.

The Navy's giant wind turbines lazily spun in the ridgeline as we sailed to Pyramid Cove, on the southernmost tip of the island. The huge bay is often closed for the Navy to conduct its "live firing exercises"; but the schedule showed a welcoming green for "open". With our binoculars, we could see the odd target on the beach. Large signs on the beach made it clear that landing was prohibited.

So you can have a better idea--  allow me to describe my three crew on board. 

First there is Chris, a lifeguard who is coming for the entire two months, who I described in a previous post. Chris met a few commercial fisherman guys who were dying for candy bars, and ended up  swapping two snickers bars for eight lobsters. "Best deal ever!" he said, happy out of his mind. 

Second is Adam Jankhe, an artist and photog living in Santa Barbara. Intentionally using a print-film camera, he captures the dysfunctional, the trite, the majestic, and weaves it into a super-realistic view of the world. Being in this setting -- a pristine environment with Navy helicopter and bombs -- provides the sort of contrast he absolutely loves. A few of his island photos can be seen on his site.

Third is Robby Seid, who is a traveler, fishes salmon in Alaska, and works in mechanical design. Every time he comes aboard Aldebaran he improves the boat -- whether it's the sunglass line, the guitar rack, or just a roll of non-skid tape. We met on the Oaxaca coast and I'm glad we stayed in touch.

The winds gusting off the land didn't upset Robby- he sprayed himself with soapy water to slide into his ultra-tight camouflage wetsuit. We free dove through the kelp beds with our hawaiian slings and caught a few surf perch for dinner.

We hunkered down inside the cabin as winds howled outside, and the anchor light of a large sailboat swayed behind us.

Kayaking around the west side of San Clemente island

Dolphins join us on the way to Pyramid Cove