Lyn's Log, 29th October 2008
Channel Islands

Santa Monica, California
N33º59', W118º27'
19,734 miles.

No, not Jersey and Guernsey, but the nine islands off the coast of southern California. Our little fleet of yachts left Monterey on Thursday 16th October and for a few hours enjoyed a good sail south before the wind died. Our intention was to sail for two days to Santa Barbara, the first port in southern California after Point Conception, which is where one pilot book said we would leave behind the Pacific swells and the weather would get much warmer.

We motored through the first night, and by the next morning realised we were running out of diesel, so we detoured to the little fishing village of Port San Luis Obispo. Diesel was available on a very delapitated wooden pier, partly over-run by sealions which had taken up residence and can be a real nuisance in this area. We were then about twenty miles behind the rest of our fleet, though we were still able to make contact by VHF radio. Then, a couple of hours out of Port San Luis, we ran into really dense fog. Shortly after dark, a little way north of Point Conception, the fog cleared and we found we were surrrounded by oil rigs whose lights made them sparkle like gigantic Christmas trees. We reckoned we would make Santa Barbara before daybreak, so we stopped the engine and spent three hours slowly sailing with the genoa. Then at the next radio call, I heard that Kristen had phoned Santa Barbara marina and was told there was no room, so everyone was going on a further twenty miles to Oxnard. On went the engine again and we arrived at Oxnard at eleven in the morning. Oxnard is a very new beach resort with a large marina and an intricate network of canals, Florida-style, designed to allow every house to have a boat mooring outside. The Channel Islands Harbour was a beautiful sight with lots of palm trees, low level buildings and the blue sky, which compensated for the tiresome passage.

We planned to meet Jan Maes, our friend from Belgium, at Oxnard. He was coming to visit us for a three week holiday. When he phoned and I told him we had just been at sea for fifty hours, his response was, “lucky sods”! The days waiting for him passed quickly working on the boat, drinking, talking and laughing with our friends in the evenings. It would have been a long walk to get to the shops, but going by dinghy was easy and enjoyable. One evening the Channel Islands Yacht Club invited us all to join them for a fun evening including a meal, and we had a great time. Just a few minutes walk from our moorings was the huge sandy beach facing the Channel Islands. We were in 'Bay Watch' territory and we'd already heard Malibu Bay Watch respond to a call from a motorboat with a leak. There was much reminiscing about the television series of the same name and the pneumatic Pamela Anderson bouncing around on the beach.

On 22nd October Jan arrived, and after giving him a day to get over his jet lag, we left this idyllic spot to visit the Channel Islands. First was Santa Cruz island where we met up with Rolande and Angus on Periclees again. We were keen to visit the Painted Cave, one of the largest sea-caves in the world, 600ft deep, narrow but with an entrance tall enough to take a yacht. The sea was too deep for anchoring outside so first Andrew and Jan went into the cave using the the inflatable dinghy with the outboard, while I stayed to mind the yacht. Inside the cave it got smaller and darker like going down the throat of some enormouse sea-monster. Then they realised that the swell, slight at the entrance, was being funnelled into waves that now surfed them forwards, and threatened to break and swamp or hurl them against the rocks. From deep in the pitch-black cave came the bellows of sea-lions, strangely distorted by echoes. It was a dangerous and frightening moment, but luckily they managed to turn the dinghy round between swells, and make their way out. So when I went in, I was too nervous to go so far, but it was a wonderful sight looking out and seeing Sentinel framed by the triangular entrance (pic above). Although it was called the Painted Cave, I only saw a slight variation of colour in the rocks.

A couple of miles from the cave was a rather exposed bay where we anchored. Not long after we were on board Periclees enjoying the company with a few bottles of wine, the wind must have got up and a nasty swell started to roll us about. We rolled for the rest of the night, and what with the wine I did not get a good night’s sleep.

The next morning fog was shrouding the mainland. We left Periclees and headed for the eastern end Santa Cruz island, managing to keep clear of the fog. We anchored in Little Scorpion Bay, took the dinghy to the beach and walked a little way up a canyon. There was an abandoned ranch here (the island is now all protected park, and has no permanent inhabitants) with remnants of farming implements and machinery littered around. This bay was more sheltered, and we had a more peacful night before an early morning start towards Catalina Island, 70 miles to the south-east. En route we heard a mayday from a yacht near us which reported a pregnant crew member had gone into labour. "Let's go," I said, "I always wanted to be a Delivery Skipper!".

It was three in the morning when we arrived in a deep inlet on the south side of Catalina island, where after an abortive attempt at anchoring we picked up a visitor's buoy. The tiny village of Two Harbours here has a bay on both the north and south coasts, separated by a strip of low land on what otherwise is a mountainous island. There was a one-room school for younger children, an expensive general store, a gas station, and a pub with restaurant. That afternoon we scrambled up a track up to the top of the high hills, starting near our anchorage, went along the top ridge and then down the other side to the village. Some of the path at the beginning and end was so steep I travelled on all fours as if climbing a cliff! But it felt good to have achieved it, there were spectacular views at the top, and a cold beer to be drunk at the bottom.

Next day we had a good sail for the fifteen miles to Avalon, on the eastern end of Catalina Island. Avalon is a real tourist trap of a town, reminiscent of the villages on the French Riviera, and inundated by day-trippers from Los Angeles. It was a nice surprise to find Bristol Blue and Naida arriving here at the same time having sailed down the north side of the island. We were early enough to walk around the bay to the rather splendid Art Deco casino building, see most of the town and have dinner out.

We had decided to return from here to Los Angeles, in order to rent a car and see something of California with Jan. The most convenient place was Marina Del Rey, in the resort town of Santa Monica. Friends who had recently been there told us of a friendly yacht club which would not charge us for using their moorings. By the time we reached the entrance to the harbour, it was dark and then dense fog closed in. Marina Del Rey is one of the largest marinas in the world, with eight enormous basins branching off the main channel accomodating over 6,000 yachts, and it was extremely difficult to find our way with no visibility at all. But with me on look out in the bows, and Andrew watching the radar and calling out instructions to Jan on which way to steer, we got close enough to be met by one of the club members in a dinghy with a flashlight directing us into the vacant slip in front of the club house. I doubt if it would have been possible without radar.

The club members at the Pacific Mariners Yacht Club were indeed very friendly. There was always someone in the premises ready to help with anything and we were invited to join their Halloween party the following night. This was a fun night with nearly everyone dressed up, plenty of food and drink and a very good band. Andrew was on good form and danced a few dances with me. The winner of the fancy dress competition was a beefy guy dressed up to resemble (very badly!) Pamela Anderson complete with blond wig, falsies and a skin tight Bay Watch swim-costume. Later we walked along Santa Monica beach with its lifeguard lookout posts and rescue equipment just as we remembered it in Bay Watch, though behind the beach were tacky tourist traps, T-shirts, tattoo shops, body-building, clairvoyants, leather gear etc and some very eccentric people wandering along the embankment, like a Rasta on home made roller blades and the steroidy body-builders at "Muscle Beach" lounging amongst the weight lifting equipment. At one spot there were twenty or so people dressed as chefs posing around, we could only imagine it was some sort of performance art.