Sea Kayaking
Channel Islands National Park
And the Central California Coast
Toll Free US & Canada: 800.773.2309
International: 805.968.7231
Address: 111 Verona Avenue
Goleta, CA 93117
The Channel Islands may be to Santa Barbara County what Disneyland is to Orange County. That's partly because the
islands hold Mother Nature's answer to "Pirates of the Caribbean."
But also, there are these unique places you can actually see from the mainland, yet if you mention the islands around a Santa Barbaran, you are likely to hear some form of the familiar I've-lived-in-Southern-California-all-my-life-but-never-been-to-Disneyland syndrome.
I can understand how this afflicts the Channel Islands. As a native Californian, I've seen my share of the state's scenic wonders, especially those that line the coast. I've even been to Disneyland a few times.
So I was in no particular hurry to spend $169 on a potentially bumpy two-hour boat ride out to an island when I could just as easily head for the near-by hills to sample the great outdoors and have my breath stolen by scenic vistas.
But then I started hearing about... the sea caves.
Not only would sea caves be something to look at, but something to experience, like a good surfing spot or a ski slope. Unless you're trained in scuba diving, the most practical way to view the caves is by sea kayak.
Don't count yourself out just because you've never been in a sea kayak. I had only been kayaking once before I decided to explore the perimeter of Santa Cruz Island, the largest of the Channel Islands with an abundance of sea caves along its 77-mile coastline.
Sea kayaks are more stable than river kayaks-like the ones you may have seen recently bouncing and tipping down the Olympic Games' white water course in Barcelona. Paddling a sea kayak is about on a par with a bike ride and for the most part you can go at your own pace.
I had the option of making a day trip to Santa Cruz Island, or staying overnight on the east end of the Island. A small seaside campsite was recently re-opened near privately-owned Scorpion Ranch, a 19th century structure where some dormitory-style accommodations are available.
I decided to camp overnight and spend two full days on the Island. If we got bad weather on one of the days, then that would still leave us another. As it turned out, good weather and favorable kayaking conditions prevailed throughout the trip.
My wife and I were met at the docks in the Ventura Marina at 8:30 a.m. by our guide, Eric Little, owner of Aquasports, a kayak outfitting business based in Santa Barbara, and his assistant, Alice McPherson.
Along with several dozen others bound for Santa Cruz Island, we boarded the Sunfish, one of the boats run by Island Packers, the National Parks Services sole concessionaire for taking visitors to the Channel Islands.
Ours was the only group toting kayaks. Most people were going for day hikes, or just to lounge around the beach around Scorpion Ranch. About a half-dozen of those going had arranged to stay overnight at the ranch.
The boat ride takes almost two hours and on a rough day has the potential to test the tolerance of an ocean-wary stomach. A morning cloud cover kept the winds down and the ocean relatively calm as we made the 25-mile crossing. About halfway, our boat was escorted by numerous Pacific white-sided dolphins.
The dolphins apparently enjoy getting a free ride off of the pressure wake created at the boat's bow. They're a common site in the National Marine Sanctuary that extends six miles around San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, Anacapa and Santa Barbara Islands, which together comprise Channel Islands National Park.
The dolphins turned out to be harbingers of the wild life we would see as we paddled around the eastern tip of Santa Cruz during the next couple of days.
The last of the morning clouds were lifting as we approached Santa Cruz's strikingly jagged shores, a product of volcanic activity some 20-odd million years ago. A rocky sea floor also helps keep the water clear-very clear.
It's almost hard to believe these Pacific waters are the same ones that wash up on the beaches back on the mainland. Visibility of up to 60 feet below the surface is common around the Island.
By 11:30 a.m. the Sunfish dropped anchor just offshore and a skiff began shuttling visitors and their gear to the ash-colored sands of the 100-yard long beach at Scorpion Anchorage. The beach lies at the end of a valley flanked in mid-summer by the golden grass of the surrounding hills.
As enticing as the interior of the Island appeared, I couldn't take my eyes off the mangled, prehistoric rockiness of the shoreline. If a pterodactyl suddenly swooped down, it would scarcely look out of place.
The sun had burned away the last traces of fog by the time the skiff made its last run to shore about an hour later. The Sunfish crew then took our kayaking party a couple of miles up the eastern tip of the Island to where we would make our spelunking debut.
After a five-minute course on paddling techniques and basic safety instructions, we were off the Sunfish and into our sit-on-top kayaks. The sit-on-tops are like jumbo-sized surfboards thick enough to have a seat and footholds carved out of the middle.
The 15-foot kayaks are quite comfortable and stable-you'd have to work at it to fall out. If you do happen to fall out, you just climb back on and water automatically drains through several holes in the bottom.
It does take a moment to adjust to the precarious sensation of floating on the water surface against a towering backdrop of lunar-like cliffs. After years of admiring the California coastline from similar clifftops, I was now privy to the view from sea level.
Kayaking provides an opportunity to see the shoreline up close, and to feel the white water bounce off the rocks.
But all this was just a walk in the park compared to the first-man-on-the-moon sensation I got as I paddled tentatively into a gapping hole in the side of the Island.
Nervousness quickly turned into wide-eyed wonder as I gazed around this rocky cathedral with its liquid emerald floor. At the back of the cave, some 40 yards away, I could see daylight through a second opening that had just enough clearance to paddle through.
A third tunnel leading out of the main cavern was too narrow for passage because the tide was still fairly high. The rise and fall of the tides constantly change the shape and the look of the sea caves, so being in the right place at the right time can be critical.
We passed this T-shaped cave twice during the course of the following day. In the morning, around 9 a.m., the seas were calm, the tide was low, and we could easily paddle in and out of all three openings. On our return trip no more than three hours later, the tide had risen and the cave's interior churned with each passing ocean swell.
Echoes of splashing water ricocheted all around, and while there was just enough headroom to slip out through the back tunnel, surging water and protruding rocks combined to create the effect of gnashing teeth where the third tunnel had been.
While it's possible to get into some of the larger caves at almost any tide, the smaller, narrower caves literally close up as the tide rises. At low tide, a few caves become too shallow for a kayak to pass.
Sea conditions can also make a big difference, since a rolling swell may give a considerable lift to a floating kayak and shrink the available headroom - a frightening prospect when you're in one of the smaller passages.
Our first afternoon of paddling turned out to be just a sneak preview of what was to come. That night we camped on the designated ridge just a stone's throw from the beach at Scorpion Anchorage. We were the only campers, but about a dozen other visitors were staying a couple of hundred yards away in the austere rooms at the old ranch house.
We watched pelicans dive for their dinner until nightfall. A star-speckled sky emerged to the gentle lapping of water on the shore.
The next day began under gray skies with low tides and little wind-favorable conditions for kayaking. By 8 a.m. we paddled out of the little bay at Scorpion Anchorage. Sitting in the kayak already felt second nature. We headed west for a three-mile jaunt to the cove at Potato Harbor, where we would stop for a snack before turning back.
A light headwind picked up as the sun started to break through, meaning a little more of an uphill paddle. But presumably the same breeze would give us a helpful push on the way home (it did).
We visited more than a dozen sea caves in the course of the day, each with its own surprises, each changing with the tides and the mood of the sea.
Not far from where we had entered our first cave on the day before, we paddled through an h-shaped opening about 20 feet high into a chamber the size of a large living room. A passage no wider than a doorway and not much higher led another 10 feet or so back into the darkness of a smaller second chamber.
This was one of those times that it was helpful to pull the snap-together paddle in two, putting one half in the kayak and using the other to creep into the narrow space. Sometimes it was easiest to put my hands on the moist walls of the cave and gently push myself along.
As we rounded a corner, the outside light turned to a stream of white rays and then disappeared in the blackness. Flashlights often come in handy in the deeper caves. But even a bright beam leaves patches of black around you.
This cave zigzagged for about 200 yards before reaching a deadend where water washed up on the beach of a miniature cove permanently engulfed in midnight.
If you fear the dark or have claustrophobia, this type of experience might not be for you. But you can always hover at the mouth of a cave-no one says you have to go in.
A cave at Cavern Point, about a mile from where we camped, was as roomy as a warehouse. Pink algae on the walls made a striking contrast to the aqua-blue water. A wheezing blowhole on one side of the cave sporadically spit out buckets of sea water with a noisy fury.
As we continued paddling silently along the shore's edge, pelicans, seagulls, cormorants and oystercatchers accompanied us. Curious harbor seals often popped their heads out of the water to take a peek. Patches of purple sea urchins dotted the ocean floor. Bright orange Garibaldi fish made frequent appearances.
Later that afternoon, after a leisurely lunch back at Scorpion, the wind dropped and the sun lightened up the water as we set off to explore more of the shoreline.
By now I was like a kid in a candy store, eagerly paddling into each nook and cranny just to see what I could see. Sometimes the sounds rival the sights. A small opening no larger than a few kayaks can produce a bone-rattling
KA-BOOM! as swells roll in.
At other times, you may hear nothing more than a gentle splashing. The water echoes sound as if you were sitting inside a giant shell-or maybe just somewhere on "Pirates of the Caribbean."
But also, there are these unique places you can actually see from the mainland, yet if you mention the islands around a Santa Barbaran, you are likely to hear some form of the familiar I've-lived-in-Southern-California-all-my-life-but-never-been-to-Disneyland syndrome.
I can understand how this afflicts the Channel Islands. As a native Californian, I've seen my share of the state's scenic wonders, especially those that line the coast. I've even been to Disneyland a few times.
So I was in no particular hurry to spend $169 on a potentially bumpy two-hour boat ride out to an island when I could just as easily head for the near-by hills to sample the great outdoors and have my breath stolen by scenic vistas.
But then I started hearing about... the sea caves.
Not only would sea caves be something to look at, but something to experience, like a good surfing spot or a ski slope. Unless you're trained in scuba diving, the most practical way to view the caves is by sea kayak.
Don't count yourself out just because you've never been in a sea kayak. I had only been kayaking once before I decided to explore the perimeter of Santa Cruz Island, the largest of the Channel Islands with an abundance of sea caves along its 77-mile coastline.
Sea kayaks are more stable than river kayaks-like the ones you may have seen recently bouncing and tipping down the Olympic Games' white water course in Barcelona. Paddling a sea kayak is about on a par with a bike ride and for the most part you can go at your own pace.
I had the option of making a day trip to Santa Cruz Island, or staying overnight on the east end of the Island. A small seaside campsite was recently re-opened near privately-owned Scorpion Ranch, a 19th century structure where some dormitory-style accommodations are available.
I decided to camp overnight and spend two full days on the Island. If we got bad weather on one of the days, then that would still leave us another. As it turned out, good weather and favorable kayaking conditions prevailed throughout the trip.
My wife and I were met at the docks in the Ventura Marina at 8:30 a.m. by our guide, Eric Little, owner of Aquasports, a kayak outfitting business based in Santa Barbara, and his assistant, Alice McPherson.
Along with several dozen others bound for Santa Cruz Island, we boarded the Sunfish, one of the boats run by Island Packers, the National Parks Services sole concessionaire for taking visitors to the Channel Islands.
Ours was the only group toting kayaks. Most people were going for day hikes, or just to lounge around the beach around Scorpion Ranch. About a half-dozen of those going had arranged to stay overnight at the ranch.
The boat ride takes almost two hours and on a rough day has the potential to test the tolerance of an ocean-wary stomach. A morning cloud cover kept the winds down and the ocean relatively calm as we made the 25-mile crossing. About halfway, our boat was escorted by numerous Pacific white-sided dolphins.
The dolphins apparently enjoy getting a free ride off of the pressure wake created at the boat's bow. They're a common site in the National Marine Sanctuary that extends six miles around San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, Anacapa and Santa Barbara Islands, which together comprise Channel Islands National Park.
The dolphins turned out to be harbingers of the wild life we would see as we paddled around the eastern tip of Santa Cruz during the next couple of days.
The last of the morning clouds were lifting as we approached Santa Cruz's strikingly jagged shores, a product of volcanic activity some 20-odd million years ago. A rocky sea floor also helps keep the water clear-very clear.
It's almost hard to believe these Pacific waters are the same ones that wash up on the beaches back on the mainland. Visibility of up to 60 feet below the surface is common around the Island.
By 11:30 a.m. the Sunfish dropped anchor just offshore and a skiff began shuttling visitors and their gear to the ash-colored sands of the 100-yard long beach at Scorpion Anchorage. The beach lies at the end of a valley flanked in mid-summer by the golden grass of the surrounding hills.
As enticing as the interior of the Island appeared, I couldn't take my eyes off the mangled, prehistoric rockiness of the shoreline. If a pterodactyl suddenly swooped down, it would scarcely look out of place.
The sun had burned away the last traces of fog by the time the skiff made its last run to shore about an hour later. The Sunfish crew then took our kayaking party a couple of miles up the eastern tip of the Island to where we would make our spelunking debut.
After a five-minute course on paddling techniques and basic safety instructions, we were off the Sunfish and into our sit-on-top kayaks. The sit-on-tops are like jumbo-sized surfboards thick enough to have a seat and footholds carved out of the middle.
The 15-foot kayaks are quite comfortable and stable-you'd have to work at it to fall out. If you do happen to fall out, you just climb back on and water automatically drains through several holes in the bottom.
It does take a moment to adjust to the precarious sensation of floating on the water surface against a towering backdrop of lunar-like cliffs. After years of admiring the California coastline from similar clifftops, I was now privy to the view from sea level.
Kayaking provides an opportunity to see the shoreline up close, and to feel the white water bounce off the rocks.
But all this was just a walk in the park compared to the first-man-on-the-moon sensation I got as I paddled tentatively into a gapping hole in the side of the Island.
Nervousness quickly turned into wide-eyed wonder as I gazed around this rocky cathedral with its liquid emerald floor. At the back of the cave, some 40 yards away, I could see daylight through a second opening that had just enough clearance to paddle through.
A third tunnel leading out of the main cavern was too narrow for passage because the tide was still fairly high. The rise and fall of the tides constantly change the shape and the look of the sea caves, so being in the right place at the right time can be critical.
We passed this T-shaped cave twice during the course of the following day. In the morning, around 9 a.m., the seas were calm, the tide was low, and we could easily paddle in and out of all three openings. On our return trip no more than three hours later, the tide had risen and the cave's interior churned with each passing ocean swell.
Echoes of splashing water ricocheted all around, and while there was just enough headroom to slip out through the back tunnel, surging water and protruding rocks combined to create the effect of gnashing teeth where the third tunnel had been.
While it's possible to get into some of the larger caves at almost any tide, the smaller, narrower caves literally close up as the tide rises. At low tide, a few caves become too shallow for a kayak to pass.
Sea conditions can also make a big difference, since a rolling swell may give a considerable lift to a floating kayak and shrink the available headroom - a frightening prospect when you're in one of the smaller passages.
Our first afternoon of paddling turned out to be just a sneak preview of what was to come. That night we camped on the designated ridge just a stone's throw from the beach at Scorpion Anchorage. We were the only campers, but about a dozen other visitors were staying a couple of hundred yards away in the austere rooms at the old ranch house.
We watched pelicans dive for their dinner until nightfall. A star-speckled sky emerged to the gentle lapping of water on the shore.
The next day began under gray skies with low tides and little wind-favorable conditions for kayaking. By 8 a.m. we paddled out of the little bay at Scorpion Anchorage. Sitting in the kayak already felt second nature. We headed west for a three-mile jaunt to the cove at Potato Harbor, where we would stop for a snack before turning back.
A light headwind picked up as the sun started to break through, meaning a little more of an uphill paddle. But presumably the same breeze would give us a helpful push on the way home (it did).
We visited more than a dozen sea caves in the course of the day, each with its own surprises, each changing with the tides and the mood of the sea.
Not far from where we had entered our first cave on the day before, we paddled through an h-shaped opening about 20 feet high into a chamber the size of a large living room. A passage no wider than a doorway and not much higher led another 10 feet or so back into the darkness of a smaller second chamber.
This was one of those times that it was helpful to pull the snap-together paddle in two, putting one half in the kayak and using the other to creep into the narrow space. Sometimes it was easiest to put my hands on the moist walls of the cave and gently push myself along.
As we rounded a corner, the outside light turned to a stream of white rays and then disappeared in the blackness. Flashlights often come in handy in the deeper caves. But even a bright beam leaves patches of black around you.
This cave zigzagged for about 200 yards before reaching a deadend where water washed up on the beach of a miniature cove permanently engulfed in midnight.
If you fear the dark or have claustrophobia, this type of experience might not be for you. But you can always hover at the mouth of a cave-no one says you have to go in.
A cave at Cavern Point, about a mile from where we camped, was as roomy as a warehouse. Pink algae on the walls made a striking contrast to the aqua-blue water. A wheezing blowhole on one side of the cave sporadically spit out buckets of sea water with a noisy fury.
As we continued paddling silently along the shore's edge, pelicans, seagulls, cormorants and oystercatchers accompanied us. Curious harbor seals often popped their heads out of the water to take a peek. Patches of purple sea urchins dotted the ocean floor. Bright orange Garibaldi fish made frequent appearances.
Later that afternoon, after a leisurely lunch back at Scorpion, the wind dropped and the sun lightened up the water as we set off to explore more of the shoreline.
By now I was like a kid in a candy store, eagerly paddling into each nook and cranny just to see what I could see. Sometimes the sounds rival the sights. A small opening no larger than a few kayaks can produce a bone-rattling
KA-BOOM! as swells roll in.
At other times, you may hear nothing more than a gentle splashing. The water echoes sound as if you were sitting inside a giant shell-or maybe just somewhere on "Pirates of the Caribbean."
Santa Barbara News-Press
Written by Ben Hellwarth
August 9, 1992
Pirates
of the
Channel Islands