What makes us feel Alive? thoughts at Little Harbor

Sunset and moonset at Little Harbor in Catalina.

It's when I feel happiest --- when I feel most alive.  But what exactly is this feeling of aliveness..?

Not necessarily when I'm energetic; I can be very calm.  I'm just content and full of life. Aliveness seems to be contagious. Enthusiasm, joy, and beauty in others can raise our energy levels.

Even an incredible vista can send a surge of life into our bodies. Some places seem to be pulsing with life force -- a lush jungle with a harmony of animal noises, a majestically silent desert, or a sheltered cove erupting in sunset colors. 

It is like the writer whose words "come alive" in a piece of paper and turn text into moving stories. 

Aliveness is a key to feeling good and general wellbeing. Yet, we forget about this simple truth when it comes to restoration and recovery. 

A stroke victim - or a landscape ravished by goats - can have a dead and numb feeling. We try to "fix" each of its components that got "broken". Recovery, however, is not about fixing something. It is about creating the right conditions for life to flow back into a person or place, as it naturally wants to. 

How alive and full of vitality do we feel today, compared to our final years in college? Compared to a memorable vacation? Compared to when we saw a humpback whale for the first time? We have a sense of what the answers may be. We may not be able to measure it - but we can try to understand and improve it. 

What affects Aliveness?  Like yin and yang, there are two sides to the coin: 

1. Lifeforce is the positive, creative side. It is abundance and diversity - whether of animals, of thoughts, or ideas. It is excitement, new technology, and imagination. But... it can also create its anti-thesis, Waste, as we end up with "too much of a good thing".
2. Waste is the negative, destructive side.  Waste is by definition non-useful and potentially harmful. As a by-product of creative energy, it is a fact of life, and should be accepted. In fact, if managed skillfully, dealing with waste can generate more creativity and Lifeforce, feeding the cycle. Otherwise, it can dramatically reduce Aliveness. 

To feel content and full of life, we need to enhance our opportunities for Lifeforce (e.g. having a meaningful career, having kids, doing exciting things, planting a garden) and we need to wisely manage our Waste (e.g. not over-spending, not over-eating unhealthy foods, having a bad attitude). 

Those same principles are in play - whether we are recovering from trauma or in the restoration of traumatized landscapes. The great thing is that what we learn from one, we can apply to the other. 

Little Harbor Sunset from Kristian Beadle on Vimeo.

The Secret Value of Mooring Fields - reflections from Emerald Bay

Like a game of tick-tack-toe, dozens of empty mooring buoys floated in Emerald Bay.

It is an ugly aesthetic - little white balls in orderly rows breaking up the natural beauty. This is my perception, because I'm used to unspoiled anchorages in the other islands.

But herein lies a secret beauty: without a mooring area, all those boats would normally have to drop their anchor and chains, ripping up chunks of reef as the rode swings. If it's a reef, the damage done by dozens of boat anchors on the ocean floor is not trivial.

Therefore the mooring field serves the dual purpose: convenience to boaters and protecting the marine habitat. It allows a large number of boats to visit with minimum impact.

It's a strange conundrum... on the one hand, my perception is that it gives Emerald Bay a stale, "mass-tourism" feel; on the other hand it keeps the marine environment more healthy, and hence preserves its beauty.

It's a case where my subjective opinions are negative, but the overall objective value is positive. Must overlook some perceptions in favor of the underlying value, at times!

Fences protect native species, mooring fields organize boats, and rules keep invasive species from migrating; all which seem un-natural and limiting. But those limits may create a greater life force in the area and enhance its aliveness.

What if Catalina Island could talk?

Risso Dolphins, with characteristic scar patterns on their bodies, seen 1 mile from Avalon harbor in Catalina.
They measure 8-12ft, much heftier than bottlenose dolphins!

What if Catalina Island could talk to you, like an old grandmother sitting under an oak tree?

"Ms. Catalina, I beg your pardon, but what do you want for your future?" you might ask.

"Well, my son, back in the day..." Ms. Catalina would start.


We were anchored north of Avalon near of the summer camps. I thought, for sure Ms. Catalina likes having all these kids around. That is way cool - they are snorkeling, playing, and appreciating her shoreline and canyons.

Ms. Catalina also likes having a few bison roaming around, brought to the island by that one famous movie production. It makes her feel unique. She likes how the island fox is coming back, after nearly being wiped out by a mainland disease. Hey, she even likes having the pretty town of Avalon -- although when their sewage system is leaking and the gas powered golf carts are making noise (as they do daily) she gets a little disgruntled.


Ms. Catalina is as happy and healthy as any other grandmother -- it depends how alive she feels. This is true for any living being - after all, being feeling "alive" is what makes them a "living" being!  If you wonder whether an island is alive or not, think about how much life is pulsating on Catalina.

How alive we feel, or aliveness, directly relates to our health and happiness. Then why is it not well measured in our health system? The same is true for ecology. Maybe aliveness should be measured?

If I had to guess what makes Ms. Catalina feel more or less alive, it's probably similar to what makes me feel more or less alive. That is a hypothesis which I wanted to investigate as I cruised the islands.

Playful barbed wire at the top of Two Harbors, Catalina Island

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