Hang on to your hats! The crew of Jenny Lane beats across Santa Barbara Channel, also known as “Windy Lane,” on their way to SANTA Santa Cruz Island.
CRUZ’INA CHARTER IN CALIFORNIA’S CHANNEL ISLANDS PROVES YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO ABROAD TO FIND ADVENTURE.
Story by Betsy Crowfoot Photographs by Sharon Green
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eventy-five miles north- to the south. west of Los Angeles, the Two hours into the trip, the cockpit Pacific rushes up to the filled with squeals. Dolphins! We al- WE OBSERVED OTHER BOATS IN THE ANCHORAGE POINTED WILLY- tidy Mediterranean-style tered course to greet a pod of common city of Santa Barbara, at the dolphins, much smaller and more ac- NILLY IN THE LIGHT AIR, BUT THE SWELL AND DARK BLUE PERIMETER Sfoot of the Santa Ynez Mountains. Chic tive than the “Flipper” or bottlenose OF BREEZE JUST OFFSHORE FORETOLD MORE SERIOUS CONDITIONS shops and galleries line State Street, variety. More than two dozen species OUTSIDE. WITH A GALE WARNING IN THE FORECAST, WE WOULD STAY tasting rooms and restaurants nestle of whales and dolphins are found in TUCKED CLOSE TO THE ISLAND. in the Funk Zone and rusty trawlers Santa Barbara Channel, along with make room for luxury yachts in the many species of fish, marine mam- marina, opposite timeworn Stearns mals and birds. The convergence of Wharf. cold northern currents and warmer Santa Barbara is one of the key jump- waters from the south creates a veri- ing-off points for California’s Chan- table chowder of marine life. nel Islands, a chain that parallels the As we approached the rocky shores coastline. Embraced as both a national of Santa Cruz Island, we spotted park and a marine sanctuary, the land Painted Cave, a 160-foot-tall sea cave and surrounding waters have been that is one of the island’s most famous protected since 1980. features. With a nominal surge, con- Twenty miles long and 6 miles at ditions were ideal to explore, so we its widest point, Santa Cruz Island is took the dinghy into the cathedral- rugged, verdant, and the jewel of the like entrance painted with variegated Channel Islands. Last summer, it was rocks, algae and lichens. The deeper our destination for a brief cruise with we went, the smaller the impressive photographer Sharon Green and her cavern became. Dollops of condensa- partner, Brad Brown; friends Saman- tion plopped and splattered around tha and Steve Worzman; and Capt. Ken us in the dimming light, and random Miller, who, with more than 200 trips splashes and barks betrayed sea lions in local waters under his belt, acted as within. our guide. Our chariot was the 50-foot The cave’s atmosphere seethed Catalina sloop Jenny Lane, chartered like the heavy breathing of a sleep- from Santa Barbara Sailing Center. ing dragon, with the rising and falling SBSC, an independent charter com- sea forcing air through unseen natu- pany based in Santa Barbara Harbor, ral vents. As we turned the corner we maintains a quiver of modern sailboats were pitched into total blackness, the from 22 to 50 feet, plus kayaks and shadowy haze disappearing astern. Ut- paddleboards for extracurricular fun. terly creeped out, we spun the dinghy We took off on a Monday morning, and headed back toward the channel, hoisting our main and unfurling the jib where Capt. Ken hovered with the right out of the harbor, and set course mothership. for Santa Cruz Island about 20 miles The wind had picked up, so we
Captain Ken Miller and the author comb Santa Cruz Island’s coastline for a protected anchorage (above). They find one, Yellowbanks, in the lee of the island, where the wa- ters are calm (right).
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quickly reunited and began anchor- 119º50W 119º45W 119º40W 119º35W age shopping. There are more than Lady’s two dozen spots around the island Harbor 34º05N Cueva Frys Harbor that are suitable for most any condi- Valdez Diablo tion. We popped into several along Painted Cave Pelican Bay the northern edge: Lady’s Harbor, Prisoners which was overtaken by a family Harbor San Pedro Point with a flotilla of kayaks and boards; Yellowbanks Santa Cruz Island Cueva Valdez, a beautiful but slight- 34º00N ly exposed spot when windy; tiny Diablo anchorage; and Frys Harbor
— a favorite, with its small pebbly Alberts Nautical Miles beach, but already packed with sev- Coches 0 2 4 Prietos eral other cruisers. We continued to Pelican Bay, tucked in behind the high cliffs, and dropped the hook in the deep mud-and-sand bottom for detours to admire breath- CALIFORNIA the night. taking vistas and take pho- tos. The path led up and ● Santa Barbara he next day began too down through washes and ● Los Angeles early. Like a pair of ravines, twisted through 34º N C Santa 5-year-olds on Christ- swaying grasses and skirt- h a Cruz n mas morning, Sharon ed trees and boulders. It n e l and Brad were up at was lined with a variety of I s l a dawn, tapping and thumping on the native plants and marked n d s T 33º N cockpit floor and whispering too loud- plentifully with the berry- Nau t i c a l Mil e s San Diego ly, “When is everyone going to get up?” peppered scat of island ● 0 30 60 Sharon eventually rowed the dinghy foxes, whose numbers have 120º W 119º W 118º W across the glassy pink water on a pho- increased tremendously tographic mission. Brad made coffee, thanks to a breeding program under- The wind was gusting in the mid-20s, and, tantalized by the aroma, the rest taken by the Nature Conservancy and so we ran briskly under jib alone at 7 of the crew roused and began a glori- the park. knots. The northern shore looked un- ous day. At the end of the trail we met a rang- inviting with the surly sea state, but the instant we rounded San Pedro Point on THE CAVE’S ATMOSPHERE SEETHED LIKE the eastern end, the wind plummeted. In the lee of the island, we peeled off THE HEAVY BREATHING OF A SLEEPING our jackets and basked in the sun. DRAGON, WITH THE RISING AND FALLING Our next anchorage was at Yel- SEA FORCING AIR THROUGH UNSEEN lowbanks, a calm, shallow inlet with NATURAL VENTS. AS WE TURNED THE CORNER a sandy bottom. As soon as we were set, we launched the kayaks. Saman- WE WERE PITCHED INTO TOTAL BLACKNESS, tha and Steve explored the shoreline THE SHADOWY HAZE DISAPPEARING ASTERN. while Sharon and Brad checked out the neighbors. Then, famished from our The western two-thirds of Santa er, Jim, who lives on the island and triathlon of hiking, sailing and kayak- Cruz Island is managed by the Nature maintains and manages the trails and ing, we enjoyed a dinner of fresh local Conservancy, which requires a land- historic buildings. Jim told us his fa- produce with tri-tip and lobster tails ing permit that we’d obtained ahead vorite season is the summer: The fall on the grill. We watched the sky turn of time. Right after breakfast, Ken months tend to have windless days blue and pink and lavender, like a layer shuttled us ashore to the southeast (hard to imagine), and the spring more of cotton candy on the horizon. corner of the bay, where we offloaded brisk conditions, though a spectacular onto a crusty ledge and scrambled up display of wildflowers. awoke Wednesday morning the faint remains of a stairway carved We were thankful Ken had offered to when the sun pierced the in the rock wall. We skirted the rem- rendezvous with us at Prisoner’s Har- overhead hatch. The cockpit nants of a resort that stood here nearly bor. From an overlook we’d seen the was adorned with birthday 100 years ago (popular with the Holly- wind dancing across the bight, fanning decorations for Sharon; there wood set during the Prohibition years) out her fingers to greetJenny Lane. We Iwas a fun and festive day planned. and found a small path that led us to a radioed the captain and he dinghied We observed the other boats in the trailhead. over to pick us up from the landing at anchorage pointed willy-nilly in the Jenny Lane, a Catalina 50 chartered from Santa Barbara Sailing Center, awaits the return of adventurers exploring Painted Cave by dinghy. The 2-mile hike east toward Prison- a large pier left over from the ranching light air, but the swell and a dark blue
er’s Harbor took us two hours, between days of the mid-1800s. perimeter of breeze just offshore fore- TUMINO SHANNON CAIN MAP BY
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told more serious conditions outside. HUD! With a gale warning in the forecast, we THUMP! Flop, flop, would stay tucked close to the island. flop, flop, flop, flop, flop! A We departed Yellowbanks and clamor of thumping and hugged the southern shore of Santa shower of fish scales woke Cruz as we meandered west. Along the Tme at 0330. I discovered a 14-inch flying way we saw a charter fishing boat, and fish precariously straddling my hatch, decided to slow down and try our luck. attempting refuge in my cabin. Shoving We drifted along, tossing our lures to- him overboard, I pondered what mon- ward the kelp beds, landing a calico strous beast had chased him so vigor- here and a little mackerel there, but ously up onto the deck of the boat. mostly donating our bait to the bounty Outside, the sweet scent of sage waft- below. We spent so much time goofing ed through the gully and mixed with the off, we were forced to bypass a planned briny aroma of the seashore. Stars shone lunch stop at pretty Willows Anchor- bright overhead against the black velvet FAMISHED FROM OUR TRIATHALON OF HIKING, SAILING AND KAYAKING, WE ENJOYED A DINNER OF TRI-TIPS AND LOBSTER TAILS ON THE GRILL. WE WATCHED THE SKY TURN BLUE AND PINK AND LAVENDER, LIKE A LAYER OF COTTON CANDY ON THE HORIZON. age, and went directly to our haven for sky. The Big Dipper nestled in the crook the night. of the canyon; the Milky Way arced like Alberts and Coches Prietos anchor- a halo. Such is the magic of the Channel ages are separated by an imposing Islands. Although just off the coast of promontory — 432 feet of solid rock Los Angeles, it felt like we were worlds rising straight up from the water. We apart. chose the slightly eastern cove, Al- Later that morning Steve took invento- berts, where we anchored deep in, bow ry of our provisions and prepared a feast and stern, knowing that fishing boats to sustain us for the ride home. With the might be joining us in the wee hours. wind expected to pipe up even more, we It was blazing hot in the glassy inlet, decided to return while we could. Racing and once again we deployed our toys. against the impending gale, we steamed We kayaked around the promontory east in the lee of the island while ready- to meet the wind and seas head on. Big ing the boat for the channel crossing. waves charged at us. Sharon bobbed Here the water was slick, broken only up and down at the bow of the kayak as by rafts of sea lions warming themselves if on a seesaw, and we rushed around in the California sun. But out there it the corner. was blowing and then some. We reefed Once inside Coches, the bay was the jib and main, poked our nose around calm. Two other sailboats and a tall the corner, and ventured out into Santa ship laden with boisterous teenag- Barbara Channel. ers were anchored there. We landed Twenty-plus knots of breeze and big The rosy glow of sunset our kayaks and dinghy easily, and rolling seas blasted us from the north- softens the rugged Califor- nia coastline across Santa stretched our legs on the sandy beach. west as we beat back to Santa Barbara. Barbara Channel (above). On another visit, I’d hiked the short We bunched behind the dodger and en- The prevailing sea breeze interior trail and seen foxes, but today joyed the exhilarating 24-mile sail home almost always guarantees a was too hot for humans and canines at a lively 7 knots, meanwhile planning brisk sail to the islands and back (immediate right). Sa- alike. We contented ourselves in the our return trip for the spring. mantha and Steve Worzman delicious turquoise water. It was just kayak around the promon- as beautiful as any anchorage in the Betsy Crowfoot is a West Coast sailor tory at Alberts anchor- Caribbean or Sea of Cortez. and writer whose homebase is in Santa age, on the south shore of Later that night, after birthday Barbara, California. Yachting pho- Santa Cruz Island (middle). Photographer Sharon Green dinner and cake, the squid boats ar- torapher Sharon Green is the found- goes on a reconnaissance rived, circling the outer edge of the an- er of the Ultimate Sailing Calendar. mission at Pelican Bay, chorage, their bright green-and-white Her latest book, 30 Years of Ultimate bathed in the golden light of glow looking like extra party lights for Sailing, is available from her website, the rising sun ( far right).
BETSY CROWFOOT (BOTTOM RIGHT); SHARON GREEN CROWFOOT BETSY our celebration. ultimatesailing.com.
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