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

Circumnavigating San Clemente Island, part 1

"PROBABLY MY FAVORITE ISLAND.  WEATHER, DIVING, ADVENTURE, AND DEALING WITH THE MILITARY!!!!!!!"  

Wrote my dad's friend a few days before we left for San Clemente Island.  He had spent time there in the 1970s, and was excited we were exploring his "old stomping grounds".  

But most of the island was closed, according to the Navy schedule.  Where could we go?

The closure zone map of San Clemente Island

Day 1.

We loaded our crew on a Friday morning in Avalon, Catalina. A light north-east wind was causing a terrible lumpiness through the waters of the normally smooth harbor. 

We snapped an air vent as we dealt with slack-then-taut mooring lines. The "parking lot" of boats was stressfully tight. 

Filling diesel at $7.30/gallon was no easier in the rocking fuel dock, which threatened to crack our cleats with each roll of swell. 

Leaving from Avalon, Catalina, with the Casino building behind us.

Underway at 11am. 

We investigated the chart. Should we go to the guaranteed anchorage at Pyramid Cove, 40nm away? Our friend had casually mentioned a cove on the exposed west side, about 32nm away. How bad could it be? The forecast called for moderate 15 knot NW winds. 

 It was a gamble. We'd arrive around sunset, so if it was a poor anchorage, we'd have to move in the dark. Not a great idea on our first visit. Would the Navy kick us out? I was totally unsure what would happen. 

 I really wanted to see all the sides of the island. Aldebaran is a solid boat, with strong anchor gear.  Our anchor windlass has been faulty, but I had 3 other crew to help. 

 We decided to take the chance and head to the west side and find the cove we had heard about.

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