With twenty-knot winds forecasted off the coast of Southern California
on Memorial Day weekend 2002, I was about to postpone the crossing again.
Sure, we could go for it, but over the years I learned it is better
to enjoy a crossing rather than just survive it. But my patience was
being tested. This was my fourth planned attempt at crossing to Santa
Barbara Island.
Twenty-knot winds may be fine on a short coastal trip, but on a long
crossing they can be miserable. I wanted a forecast of fifteen-knot
winds before the crossing was a go. As I constantly checked updates
on the forecast, I began to wonder how many more times I might have
go through the effort of finding partners, planning, and training, only
to be let down by the weather. It made me realize just how badly I wanted
the island.
I was already looking at a calendar to plan the next attempt when I
checked the final update and almost couldn't believe it. The moderate
flow was weakening, and now the winds were forecasted at fifteen knots
the entire holiday weekend. Everything was finally coming together.
My partners, Pedro Frigola and Bryant Burkhardt, and I were ready.
Locally, we already completed crossings to Catalina, Anacapa, Santa
Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Miguel Islands. Santa Barbara Island was going
to be our biggest challenge. The only modern sea kayaker who we heard
of crossing to the island was Ed Gillet, who is known for his solo crossing
from California to Hawaii. He crossed solo to Santa Barbara Island in
2001. We wanted to add our names to the short list.
The Crossing
Bryant and Pedro approaching Santa Barbara Island.
As we loaded gear into our kayaks in the dark at Point Dume, we could
hear the surf dumping. The point is well known for large surf, but it
was only three feet high as we prepared to launch early on Saturday
morning. Still, none of us wanted to start the day cold and wet if it
wasn't necessary, so we waited until 5:30 a.m., when there was just
enough light to see the waves and sneak out between them.
With our destination 34 NM away and hidden behind the haze, we took
one-hour shifts steering by compass and setting the pace. We needed
to stay well hydrated and fueled for the long day of paddling ahead
of us, so we used drinking tubes as needed and took a five-minute break
every hour to eat and relieve ourselves.
While the ocean surface was glassy in the early morning hours, we maximized
our efficiency by riding each other's wakes. All three of our kayaks
were lined up one closely behind the other, with whoever was on the
steering and pacing shift up front. We spread out a bit once the small
chop developed. The wind was in our face the whole way, but it never
exceeded ten knots, and waves only occasionally lapped over our decks.
Waiting for the right weather was worth it. Nothing is more beautiful
than being far offshore on a calm day with nothing in sight except for
a gently rolling sea giving the illusion of endlessness.
We had that illusion by 7:30 a.m., when we lost sight of Point Dume
behind us and still couldn't see Santa Barbara Island ahead of us. One
of our goals was to complete the trip without using our GPS's, so we
kept them turned off and hoped we could spot the tiny island before
drifting too far off course. Our eyes were focused on the horizon.
Long before expecting it, I spotted the island. It was so faint I thought
I was imagining it. Bryant thought I was imagining it too. Then Pedro
said, "Damn, that's gotta be an island!", which became the
quote of the day. Being able to see the island so soon was a huge morale
booster, but we weren't even halfway there yet. It was only 10:30 a.m.,
and there was still a lot of mileage ahead.
Slowly, the island grew.
We reached the island at 5:30 p.m., twelve hours after launching. But
the day wasn't over yet.
The Hard Landing
Bryant launching off the sharp volcanic rocks
at Landing Cove for the circumnavigation on Sunday. Note the high tide
line behind him and the water washing off the rocks. Photo by Pedro.
While the crossing was easy, the landing was hard—at least on
the kayaks. Landing Cove at the island is not kayak friendly. There
is a tall landing platform, but it didn't have a hoist we could use
to lift the loaded kayaks onto it. Fortunately, there are rocks to land
on next to the platform. Unfortunately, the rocks are volcanic, which
makes them very sharp. Also, the rocks are at a steep angle and become
steeper as they go up. At a low tide there is a bit of a ledge to land
on, but when we arrived, the tide was higher and the ledge was well
underwater.
Waves weren't breaking on the rocks, but two to four foot swells were
washing up and across them. I landed first, grinding the bow of my fiberglass
kayak against the sharp rocks. I tried to pull my loaded kayak up the
rocks to get it above the swell, but I couldn't pull the weight very
far up the steep angle, so the stern was still getting hit by the swells
and knocked around. I tied my kayak up to prevent it from washing away,
and helped Pedro and Bryant land and pull their kayaks up as far as
we could before tying them up. Even with three of us, we couldn't pull
the loaded kayaks up high enough because the rocks were too steep.
While we scrambled to pull gear out of the hatches, the sterns of the
kayaks were getting hit by the swells, causing the kayaks to bang against
each other and grind over the sharp rocks. We even had to jump out of
the way a few times as swells knocked the kayaks around. The unloading
seemed to take forever as we listened to our kayaks banging and grinding.
When the kayaks were unloaded enough for us to carry them, we took them
up to safety on the platform. Fortunately, the only damage was deep
scratches and chunks of missing gelcoat.
We were the only campers on the island.
The Circumnavigation
One of the sea caves at Webster Point.
On Sunday morning we paddled the 5 NM circumnavigation of the island
and hiked the trail loop around it. The island is a part of the Channel
Islands National Park, and the National Park Service has been doing
a wonderful job preserving it. One square mile in size, it is the smallest
of the Channel Islands and has no fresh water. The island is surrounded
by tall and steep cliffs, which are dotted with dozens of sea caves.
There are some rocky beaches, but landing on them is not authorized,
because the island is a major haul out and breeding area for sea lions
and elephant seals. We didn't see any elephant seals, but we saw hundreds
of sea lions.
The Return Crossing
Bryant and Pedro at sunset on the overnight return crossing.
We decided to do an overnight crossing back to the mainland. Why at
night? Just for the hell of it!
We were crossing to Cabrillo Beach on the Palos Verdes Peninsula rather
than Point Dume, even though the distance is 6 NM farther, because we
wanted the weather—what little there was—to be with us.
After napping on Sunday afternoon, we launched for the return crossing
at 5:30 p.m., only twenty-four hours after landing at the island. With
the haze we couldn't see the mainland, so once again, we took shifts
steering by compass and setting the pace.
We were hoping for a calm, glassy overnight crossing with a full moon
to light our way, but the choppy conditions didn't settle down until
almost dawn and the moon was usually obscured by a thick layer of clouds.
The wind cooperated by blowing on our backs and never exceeding ten
knots. The waves were quartering us from behind on the left, which kept
us busy kicking the rudders back and forth to stay on course. Our paddle
jackets kept us warm while we were moving, but we felt cold during the
breaks.
Once it became dark, there was a glow of lights on the clouds over
our destination at the peninsula. At that point, we stopped steering
by compass and followed the glow. Eventually, we passed within 8 NM
of the west end of Catalina Island, where we could see a navigational
light, and the city lights on the peninsula appeared.
The three of us were just silhouettes going up and down the waves.
Because we were paddling with our lights turned off to prevent seasickness,
it was up to us to avoid the ships. Twice we stopped to figure out which
way ships were going. One time was about halfway in the crossing and
another was closer to the peninsula, where we had three ships coming
at once. The lights on the ships made them easy to spot from far away.
Once the ships were closer, the color of the lights, red on the port
side and green on the starboard side, helped us figure out the direction
they were going.
All night long, Pedro was seasick. He couldn't hold down food or water,
and he ending up doing the 40 NM crossing without the benefit of either.
Bryant and I let him set the pace, and he stayed tough, not once needing
any help or complaining. His only regret was eating sardines earlier
that day. Not only did the sardines taste bad on the way back up, but
the olive oil they were packed in made his paddle shaft slippery. By
dawn his face was pasty white from dehydration.
Bryant and Pedro approaching Cabrillo Beach at
dawn.
Our kayaks hit the sand at Cabrillo Beach on Monday at 6:30 a.m., thirteen
hours after launching and only forty-nine hours after the trip began.
We were tired, cold and hungry, but most of all, elated. We weren't
even off the beach before planning the next crossing.
