Silver Canyon and the Missing Water Bottles

Appears a lot of people lost their plastic water bottles!

If you were one of them, you might want to look in Silver Canyon on the backside of Catalina.

Strange as it might be, this pristine, completely isolated beach is littered with plastic bottles, carried by the prevailing current and wind:

The "Catalina Eddy" effect.

Predominant NW wind flow spins around in the Southern California Bight.

The busy ports of Catalina were remarkably clean, despite the hoardes of people over the Buccaneer's weekend. So we were shocked when we sailed around the "remote", hardly visited South corner and came across piles of trash on the beach!

The pygmy mammoth supervises the trash collection

We started picking up garbage. Action is a good remedy for this form of depression. We piled the bottles, styrofoam, and broken fishing rods into a handy City of Long Beach trash receptacle. We didn't feel great about ourselves, but we felt better.

The Silver Canyon and Palisades, seemingly pristine.

What's up with our society's acceptance of waste?  It's absurd actually. Economic theory would suggest that "inefficiencies" should be reduced. One-time use plastic bottles are a ridiculous inefficiency.

Some of the resources wasted for a few gulps of water:

1. plastic manufacture with petroleum or alternatives
2. transportation with fossil fuel
3. disposal on landfills
4. water pollution affecting fish, sea birds, turtles, marine life in general; which we depend on for protein and countless benefits. 

What are some alternatives to plastic water bottles?

• Britta water filters in the sink
• Nalgene / Klean Kanteens. 
• Sparkletts-type 5 gallons jugs of water, delivered to your home or refilled at 25 cents per gallon with reverse osmosis.

At the very least, make darn sure the plastic bottles get to the recycling center, if you must use the little devils.

From Little Harbor to Silver Canyon: about 8 nautical miles

Glorious sunset at Little Harbor / Imagining the past

Tongva indians sent out a greeting party for the Chumash paddlers on their canoes, bringing oak acorns and carvings to exchange for island soapstone.

One hundred years later, Cabrillo and his Spanish ships arrived with mirrors and leather packs.

Two hundred years later, the island is passed into ownership to ranchers, gold miners, real estate speculators, and eventually, chewing gum magnate William Wrigley, Jr.



Now, yachts pull into Little Harbor, which has a campground, horse ranch, and palm trees.

The colors saturated the sky during the 90 minutes of this fantastic sunset at Little Harbor. I thought of the many eras this perfect settlement had experienced, their shifts and evolution.  Beauty was created; pressure was put on resources; newcomers arrived; civilizations changed.

Did the native tribes live in harmony with the island? Perhaps they were good stewards on some levels, but there is also archeological evidence that localized overfishing occurred. Hard to believe, given the small population.

How can we be good stewards of this land?  What are the best role models?

From Catalina Harbor to Little Harbor: 3 nautical miles

Buccaneer Festival and the Pirate Myth

Crowds of scantily clad wenches, Jack Sparrow look-alikes, and scallywags of all types were milling about the Two Harbors area on October 5th.

"What IS it about pirates," I wondered, marveling at the riff-raff, "that infatuates us so?"

I was searching for my sweetheart Sabrina, who was meeting us here. We had been in radio silence while visiting the remote Santa Barbara island; the only communication she had received in several days was a text message to the effect of:

 "We're alive, see you Saturday sometime"

Very telegram-esque, and appropriately pre-modern, I thought, for "getting into character".

Sabrina wasn't entirely amused by this lack of information-- but she was not stymied. She was dressed in the splendor of maritime rags from the moment she jumped on the ferry at 7am, along with a hundred other enthusiasts in costume.

From Villains to Roguish Heroes

Pirates are murderers and thieves, basically sea-going criminals of the worse variety. How did they turn into roguish heroes ?  Blaim the writers!

The first portrayal of a pirate as a noble outlaw was possibly Lord Byron's poem "The Corsair" in 1814; but it was Rafael Sabatini's early 20th century Scaramouche and Captain Blood that turned the pirate into a romantic hero. The latter was a story of a good hearted physician who, through ill fortune, is captured into slavery, makes a dramatic escape, and leads pirate crews in wondrous exploits.

The idea of a gentleman-rogue is candy for the popular imagination: one who lives with high ethics outside the laws of society, free to roam the high seas, explore tropical destinations, and discover great treasures.

This was perfect escapism for the majority of people who find their city lives menial and un-inspiring. It captures the inner child who longs for adventure and day-to-day excitement. This is a part of us who we sometimes neglect as we grow older and manage many obligations.

The Island's Hedonistic Spirit 

The Buccaneer Festival gave people three days of belligerent madness to entertain their escapist, inner child; and an excuse to drink copious amounts of alcohol.

The people-watching was good entertainment, but we retreated early to the good ship Aldebaran. The mayhem was not entirely our cup of tea. But it was the perfect introduction to Catalina, in my book, and a fine contrast with the first island we visited.

Santa Barbara Island is a lonely rock in the ocean; it has a defiant spirit that comes with its visitors, the pioneer ranchers, the lonely biologists, the sea lions and the sea birds.

Catalina Island is entirely different. It is an island playground for the gigantic population of Los Angeles, with a blessed geography and underwater world.

The ideal "health" of the island, a subjective concept that is evolving, is affected by this spirit of hedonism. Bison, for example, roam the slops of Catalina thanks to a Hollywood movie! More on that later.

The "parking lot" during Buccaneer's was at max capacity. 

Dodging the Santa Ana Winds, and Arrival in Catalina

The various faces of the deceptive "Santa Ana"

"We're heading back to Ventura. The Santa Anas are supposed to get a bit nasty," said the fisherman. 

Better not tell Ed, I thought. He was worried enough already.

The Santa Ana winds are dry, gusty winds that blow from the land in the fall and winter in southern California.  It means beach weather to some, or fire danger to others. To sailors, it means stay away from the islands.

The backside of Santa Barbara Island, where vessels go in case of Santa Ana winds

In a matter of 15 minutes, the winds can transform a calm, blissful day into a very dangerous mess.  Most anchorages provide shelter from the predominant North-West wind; during a Santa Ana event, windswell and gale force winds can rise up from the opposite direction, the East, pushing boats into shore. The results can be catastrophic.

"Maybe we should head to Long Beach," Ed argued when we heard the forecast. A reasonable idea. 

"Heck, let's wait for it and sail downwind to San Nicolas," said Bob. My dad is the opposite to Ed -- he likes to ride the 'edge' whenever possible. 

The crew, when we're not listening to the weather radio

After listening to the monotonic NOAA forecast for the twentieth time, we decided that staying in Santa Barbara Island made sense. We spent an anxious night with mild East winds threatening to strengthen at any moment. In the morning, we went to the backside of the island to seek shelter, but the groundswell was intense.

So we pointed the ship towards Catalina, 26 nautical miles away. The head wind slowly dissipated into a calm. We went to the best refuge anchorage, a place ominously called "Ironbound Cove".   Steep cliffs surrounded us in a horseshoe bay with deep water. 

Nobody was nearby. On the horizon, yatch after yatch went by in a procession. They were headed for Catalina Harbor.  Were they indifferent and foolish, or were we excessively cautious?

Hunkered down at Ironbound Cove... 

At 8:39pm the wind began to howl.  The rigging shook and water splashed the hull of the boat. Our anchor held and the boat was steady. During the dawn hours, the wind relaxed.  Is it over, I wondered? 

Then in the morning, it raged again with 25kt gusts. Our enclosed cockpit felt like a cozy greenhouse, while the breeze whipped outside. Finally it subsided around 11:30am. We were eager to get going, and leave "Ironbound".

Smooth water in Cat Harbor.  Note the haze of the Santa Ana dust in the distance.

We pulled into Catalina Harbor past noon on Saturday.  The moorings were jam-packed with boats. We felt sure we would have to anchor far away.  But luckily, it was a case of "late bird gets the worm"…!

The harbor patrol sent us directly to the front of the line, since our trimaran only drafts 4 feet of water. During low tide, the keel rested gently on the mud.  The water was flat as a lake, and the dock was a 2 minute kayak ride away.  

We felt that peculiar combination of exhaustion and excitement: when apprehension melts away to relief, and good fortune comes in spades. The first part of our journey was done.

Day 5-6: Passage from Santa Barbara island to Catalina, 25nm to Cat Harbor via Ironbound Cove


Sources:
CS Monitor
LA Times blogs
Weatherbug.com
Surfine.com

Cats and Ice Plants

"HELLO."  I called out, a little nervous that I might get kicked off the island. 

Pete had long hair and a maroon sweatshirt. He regarded me with suspicion, explaining the facility was closed (due to the government shutdown). Luckily, the Pygmy Mammoth charmed him, and he decided to give me a short tour.

Pete is a contractor for native plant restoration on Santa Barbara island. "All the plants look dry and dead, but they are just hibernating." He explained, spanning his arm around the landscape. 

Then he pointed to a green patch with yellow flowers below the nursery. "Except right below the nursery irrigation, where the Giant Coriopsis are constantly blooming." 

Giant Cori-op-sis… I rolled the name in my tongue. It sounded like (and looked like) a Dr. Seuss creation.

The Giant Coriopsis in bloom at the bottom of the leach field

"Where do you get your freshwater?" I asked. 

Pete explained that the National Park Service boat brings large vats of fresh water from the mainland, and they pump it up to tanks on the top of the hill.  

Do they get hot showers with such limited water?  No way.  They save the precious water for the native plant nursery. Bathing was done directly under the pier, in the 60 degree ocean water.

A meticulous nursery!

"Sounds like the boat!" I laughed. At least on the boat we use a solar shower -- a black bag of fresh water with a spigot, that heats up during the course of the day. Surely they could afford a few gallons a day for that basic of luxury? 

Katie walked up from the Ranger station.  She is a bird biologist.  Her organization is funded by the Montrose Settlement, the result of a DDT chemical spill in the Santa Barbara channel. This settlement has funded millions of dollars of restoration work in the five islands in the National Park system. 

"The funding ends in 2017. Just like that, it will be over,"  she looked towards the center of the island, and nodded optimistically. "But I think we will make it."

"What do you mean?" I asked, wondering what the goal was. 

Nesting seabirds get right of way

"We just want the island to be self-sustaining. The native vegetation needs to be well-established, to provide good habitat for the nesting sea birds. We used to have one of the largest populations of Scripp's Murrelet's here."

Scripp's Murrelet's are fascinating little seabirds that travel in pairs. One of their main homes is Santa Barbara Island.

Pretend your whole extended family lives in one village.  Then it is invaded by large furry animals who like to eat your kids. 

"The cats were eating all the eggs, since the seabirds nest on the land. It was easy pickings. Not a very fair match. We did a big program to capture the feral cats, originally brought in by the sheep ranchers. The last ones were hiding in the southern valley of the island -- that's why it's called Cat Canyon," Katie said.

The view from Katie's office

I turned to Pete. "What about the plants?" 

"Ice plant is the main culprit," he began. "It's an annual plant that releases a lot of salt into the ground. This has drastic effects on soil chemistry. It becomes a great environment for ice plant but terrible for native plants. We've physically removed tons of ice plant, but it's tough to get ahead."

The equation is pretty simple. Cats + ice plants = bad for sea birds.  Native vegetation = good for sea birds. 

Its simplicity and small size means Santa Barbara Island might become a success story. It is also a fascinating place to start my trip comparing the restoration of the eight Channel Islands.  It raised 2 big questions in my mind. Maybe these could be guideposts for the rest of the trip.

-------

1) What is the goal of restoration?

The islands were different 100 years ago, 500 years ago, and 20.000 years ago.  Are we trying to restore the Island Fox or bring back the extinct Pygmy Mammoth?  

There are 4 years left of funding to finish the restoration work.  What does a healthy relationship with the islands ultimately look like?

2) What caused these sudden changes?

Ranchers innocently brought cats to the island. Small cause --> huge effect. Why are dogs less "bad"?  What is the mechanism that causes sudden changes, and how we do prevent them from happening?

--------

Chris and I paddled the kayak back to Aldebaran. As we pulled anchor, we saw our biologist friends walking along the steep ridgeline towards a restoration site.  Just two of them in this isolated island.  

I looked forward to our return to Santa Barbara Island on our trip back North. Perhaps the grass will be lush and green if the rains come before our return. 

When Sea Lions Climb Hillsides (and swim with humans later)

"Go swim with the sea lions at the Reserve," said Andy from the harbor dive shop.

I was in for a surprise.  Sure enough, they got amazingly close.  But what I didn't expect to see were the sea lions on top of the hill -- way way above the water!

Dirt darkened by their shuffling flippers, carving out terraces and pathways, they milled around the hillside. What were they doing way up there?

On the opposite northwest side of the island, we observed these Hillside-Dwelling Sea Lions in a chaotic display:



Scores of sea lions were on the ridgeline. They made their way down to the rocks.  Their "highway" was like a natural Slip & Slide, which went through a huge flock of cormorants. The birds grew restless, flapping their wings. Poor things, they can't fly from a standing start.  So they intersected the path of the sea lions in order to jump off the cliff, like hangliders. This caused a massive traffic jam. A flurry of flapping wings and barking sea lions ensued for ten minutes.

What motivated these sea lions, I wondered, to carry their heavy blubbery bodies up to the top of the hill?  Perhaps it was a "King of the Hill" mating ritual that turned into a societal norm.  Who knows, in 10.000 years they might have erected mud huts and thrones!

"On a small island, one cannot question the ways of evolution," says the Pygmy Mammoth.

Back in their natural element, they came to investigate when I jumped into the water with a snorkle. The juveniles kept swimming closer, making last minute turns, as if challenging each other to get closer to this foreign creature. Their eyes were big and bright. Maybe even having fun?

That joy made the island feel alive.  I've been in places where things feel dead, decaying.  This felt exuberant, flourishing. Maybe that is a measure of how healthy Nature is... alive-ness.

Imaginary Fences in the Ocean

Father and son with lobster traps aboard the Merlin

"It's been a weak start so far," said the captain of the Merlin, about the lobster season this year. He was pulling up a cage with 5 good sized lobster. He conceded: "Although today is looking more promising."

Seasonal closures are a costly limitation for fishermen, but they allow the lobster population to strengthen. They are accepted and well-regulated.  However, there is a new rule in the game: marine protected areas (MPAs).

The Pygmy Mammoth doesn't like fences, but understands they make good neighbors.

Check out the map: the Marine Protected Area is the red rectangle extending from the south-east corner of the island. There is no fishing in this area.  Naturally, fishermen hate this. As a sailor, if someone told me I'm not allowed in some rectangle of coast, I would also be quite upset.  That is what fishermen are experiencing. 

Marine ecologists, however, tell us that MPAs are essential. Government policy has followed suit, and now there are lines in the ocean, shown by GPS coordinates. They are like imaginargy fences, where some or no fishing is allowed. 

Kelp bed south of the main anchorage, with Arch Point in the background

Later in the day, Chris and I paddled the tandem kayak from the main anchorage towards a nice kelp bed. We dove with our hawaiian slings, and came up with 2 perch and 1 fat sheepshead. Needless to say, we were outside of the reserve!  

After we gutted and scaled them, the fish turned into ceviche, a risotto, and a barbecue fillet dinner. It is good to be close to the source of our food, and get the atavistic feeling of a hunter-gatherer. That is a feeling that is vanishing from our world. Lobster fishermen like the captain of the Merlin are some of the last hunter-gatherers, living in the wild ocean to bring seafood to our plates. 

Sutil Island, on the right, is an rugged islet on the south-west corner of Santa Barbara Island

Sitting in Aldebaran, I looked south and imagined a fence running along the ocean with virtual "No Fishing" signs along it.  

Fences -- like seasonal closures and MPAs -- are unwelcome constraints for the free spirited fishermen. As management techniques, none are perfect. But they are attempts to keep seafood on our plates (and a life in the ocean) into the future.