A strong ocean wind hurtles over the ridgeline, whipping salty wisps of hair into my mouth and nose as I push toward the summit of Santa Barbara Island's Signal Peak. I'm chasing the scattered rays of an October sun; the golden light eludes my pace, sliding over the volcanic basalt landscape before lingering atop the 635-foot summit, goading me upward.
Jasun breathes steadily in rhythm behind me, as a white-faced barn owl swoops between us and careens upward to surf the wind currents. Quietly, I marvel how only 20 minutes earlier we'd been cavorting with seals in the graceful kelp forest below the sea's surface. I relax into the wind, as a full moon rises above the eastern horizon. To the west, the setting sun infuses turquoise blue water with overtures of orange and red.
Out here on the smallest of Southern California's Channel Islands (Santa Barbara Island is just over one square mile in size, with 5.5 miles of connecting singletrack trails), it's just the owl and us listening to the discordant calls of California sea lions from the beach below. In the distance, glittering lights illuminate the mainland and greater Los Angeles.
My cohorts, Jasun Laminen, a window cleaner and father of four from Ventura and David Branson, an ex-river guide turned photographer, join in the marine symphony, laughing like lunatics at the unexpected wonder that we've encountered.
"And this is only the first island," David exclaims, skipping along the ridgeline. We're scheduled to explore four more islands in the chain over the coming weeks.
We retrace the trail to our campsite for an evening drumming session on the edge of a sea cliff. Attracted to the music, three young boys from Los Angeles turn up. I tell our fellow campers that we danced under water with seals, mimicking how their fins sway easily like kelp leaves. The boys begin to dance like seals to Jasun and David's rhythms.
Born of plate tectonics and subsequent volcanic eruptions, the Channel Islands began transforming from sea bottom to offshore ridges some 30 million years ago as earthquakes slowly nudged the ocean floor upward. The Chumash Indians, native people of the Channel Islands and coastal California, believe that earthquakes happen when two giant serpents holding up this world from below grow tired and move.
The history of the Chumash and the Channel Islands are remarkably similar in that both have suffered near-complete annihilation and painfully slow recovery post-European invasion. The islands were used for sheep and cattle ranching, naval bomb testing and DDT dumping before coming under the protection of the National Park Service in 1980.
Nowhere in the Channel Islands has recovery been more impressive than on San Miguel, which lies 25 miles off the coast of Point Conception, north of Santa Barbara. My younger brother, Jeff, joins David and me on our ferry ride to this northernmost island. Over the loudspeaker, Captain Evan Waite announces, "There should only be hearty people on board from here on out. It gets pretty rugged."
Jeff, who has lived in Ventura 22 years and never been to San Miguel, laughingly raises his eyebrows at the captain's decree and goes to the front of the boat where the wind and waves are strongest. We cruise into Cuyler Harbor, where the azure water spills onto blinding white beaches. Green leafy plants cling to the dunes blown about by relentless gales and maritime forces. We land by skiff and make our way up Nidever Canyon toward the mysterious Caliche Forest-calcified pine and cypress stumps left over from the Pleistocene Era. Because of continued naval activity on the island, a park ranger must accompany us on the trails, lest we wander onto an old bomb testing site or some covert activity. We are permitted, however, to run back along the smooth singletrack from the Caliche Forest, with our ranger escort bringing up the rear.
"I can't believe this place used to be a complete wasteland," David remarks as we travel past coastal sagebrush, endemic deerweed and Live-forever succulents that fade into the misty horizon.
Beyond the Caliche Forest and some eight miles from Cuyler Harbor, Point Bennett boasts one of the largest seal and sea-lion haul-outs (migratory pit stops) in the world, and is the only known place where six species of pinnipeds come together in one spot. During the summer, an estimated 30,000 animals rest on the sandy point. It is spectacles such as this that prompted Jacques Cousteau to declare the Channel Islands "the Galapagos of North America."
Perhaps one of the most well-known land events in the Channel Islands is the Catalina Marathon, held every March on the southern island famous among Hollywood jetsetters. David has lined up a flight to Catalina and tells me to pack light.
Twenty minutes after leaving the Oxnard airport, we descend toward Catalina's aptly named "Airport in the Sky," appearing suddenly, poking through layers of mist. Peering down from the clouds, the island is a maze of firebreaks and dirt roads, a marked contrast to the desolate, federally protected San Miguel.
Bypassing the chic town of Avalon, we catch a shuttle van to the more remote Two Harbors, washboarding along dirt roads dotted with pygmy bison until we arrive at what could be the St. Tropez of California. Sizzling cheeseburgers, piped reggae and silicon-filled bikini tops assault our senses. We set up camp, and head for high ground in search of marathon-worthy trails.
We end up at a sewage effluent flanked by a burned-out resort van. It's a stellar view from here: the sun slinks down over the isthmus as the wind (known to the Chumash as Cenhes or "breath of the world") kicks up, rustling scattered oak trees. We find few singletrack trails that aren't wickedly steep, erosion nightmares, and opt to cruise along West End Road, taking in water-sculpted shore cliffs and raven calls.
The following week, we land on Santa Rosa Island, and are again within the National Park boundaries. With 56 square miles of genuine trail-covered terrain, Santa Rosa feels like the coastal outback. David, Jasun and I traverse toward Black Mountain, the island's highest peak at nearly 1300 feet, making our way through sedimentary-rock canyons layered with epochs of life-archaic shells and a 13,000-year-old Chumash village poking through sandstone.
Jasun shoots me a wide grin while David scrambles up behind us, shouting, "These trails make you want to take your clothes off and just run until you hit the water!"
After a few miles, we lie down in the tall grass and watch the sky explode ruby red, before heading down through the rare and ancient Torrey Pine forest. Earlier in the day, six endangered pygmy island fox were released into the wild here from their breeding quarters on Santa Rosa's interior.
Found only in the Channel Islands, pygmy island fox were nearly killed off completely by non-native golden eagles. According to NPS fox biologist, Jeff Klein, since 1999 recovery efforts have raised the fox population on Santa Rosa from 13 to 64 animals.
Jasun, David and I shuffle back to our tents in blackness. A pre-teen named Sebastian, who is camped next to us, gushes how this is the first time he's ever seen the Big Dipper because the lights in his hometown of L.A. hide the stars. We show him the seal dance and let him beat his own rhythm on the drum.
The weekend of Halloween, David and I visit the last and largest island in our journey, Santa Cruz. According to legend, the Chumash originally emerged from Santa Cruz Island and came to the "big land" on a wishtoyo or rainbow bridge made for them by the Earth Goddess, Hutash, Chumash ceremonial leader Mati Waiya tells me.
We run from Scorpion Bay toward Prisoner's Harbor, a 20-mile round-trip. It takes most of the day; by sunset we're standing on top of the Montañon ridgeline where the wishtoyo bridge supposedly began, eating the last of our dried apricots. I bend down to pick prickly pear needles out of my socks and feel something watching me; I look up to see a Red-tailed Hawk hovering directly overhead. I sense that I am being blessed.
With the sun dropping fast, I'm glad I brought my headlamp. As I turn down the technical cut-bank trail, David is trying to get a reading on his GPS, circling around the summit aimlessly before following me down.
"Did you see that hawk hovering over you up there," he asks, incredulous.
I nod. "That was weird, man."
We make our way in silence, navigating feral pig holes and ball-bearing-like volcanic spheres in the trail. We get to the cut-off from Scorpion Canyon trail, and I remember the steep contour around the knoll above our camp.
"This way," I mumble.
"Wait," David says, "I can't find a reading on my GPS." We stand there in the eerie glow of the hand-held device.
I look down the grassy slope and see fox-sized eyes flash green. "What's that?"
David startles, "That's not a fox, is it?"
"Looks like it," I say. It's clear to me that we should follow the fox.
"This is the way down," I say again.
"But it won't give me a reading," says David, annoyed.
I start walking slowly, trusting my memory, the fox and the fence line. Suddenly, David yowls, and I hear a loud snapping noise from above. "Are you OK?" I yell up.
"I think I broke my ankle."
"Maybe that noise was the GPS hitting the rock," I offer optimistically.
"No, it was my foot."
The constellation Orion hovers overhead, as I schlep David down off the mountain and back to the tents. Park Ranger Danny Black is waiting for us with ice cream and warm cookies he's baked from scratch.
We ice and wrap David's ankle and begin the long wait for dawn and the boat. I lie in my sleeping bag, listening to Cenhes blowing through Eucalyptus trees, grateful for strong ankles and hawk blessings.
Trailhead (Channel Islands, California)
Getting There: For passage to Channel Island National Park, contact Ventura-based Island Packers (805-642-1393, www.islandpackers.com); for Catalina Island, look up Catalina Express (310-519-1212, www.CatalinaExpress.com).
Season: Year-round on Santa Cruz and Catalina. On Santa Rosa, avoid trail closures during hunting season by going mid-November to March. Ferries to San Miguel and Santa Barbara run from April through late October, although the Park is open year-round. For info on park rules and regulations, contact Channel Islands National Park (805-658-5730; chis_interpretation@nps.gov).
Accommodation: Contact the National Park Service (800-365-2267, www.reservations.nps.gov) for campground reservations on all islands except Catalina. On Catalina Island, camp at Two Harbors campground or relax at the historic Banning House Lodge (for camping and lodge info, contact 888-510-7979, or www.visittwoharbors.com).GUIDEBOOKS: Pick up 50 Best Short Hikes in California's Central Coast, by John Krist for trail descriptions; Catalina Island Hiker's Guide, by Scott A. Panzer is the best guide to Catalina's trails. See the Park Ranger on each island for updated maps and trail info.
Recommended Trails: On Santa Cruz Island, the 20-mile round-trip jaunt from Scorpion to Prisoner's Bay via Montañon and the Del Norte Trail offers endless Pacific views; Santa Rosa Island's Carrington Point trail (14 miles roundtrip from campground) encounters the archeological site of the prehistoric pygmy mammoth; on San Miguel, the eight-mile Point Bennett trail takes you to the largest pinniped haul-out in the world; choose Santa Barbara's Elephant Seal Cove Trail (five miles roundtrip) and enjoy a sunset cacophony of sea life. From Catalina's Two Harbors, run to the spur Lion's Head Trail off West End Road for a five-mile round-trip cruiser; continue on the road for unlimited mileage.
World-renowned sea kayaking, diving and snorkeling opportunities abound for rest-day activities. Check with Island Packers (805-642-1393, www.islandpackers.com) for tour info.
Bridget Crocker is a freelance outdoor adventure writer, who has traveled remote trails, rivers and seas from the Philippines to Patagonia. On a clear day, she can see the Channel Islands from her home in Ventura, California.
This article appeared in Trail Runner magazine, issue #33 (MAY 2005).
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