The Santa Barbara Independent ~ October 3, 2002
Ten Miles of Gaviota - Kayak Expedition Reveals the Natural and Embattled Coastline
By Matt Kettmann

For outdoor enthusiasts, fog is a touchy topic. It's loathed by many because it conceals awe-inspiring mountain peaks and impedes endless ocean views. But it's exalted by others because it makes a busy freeway seems miles away and morphs otherwise plain turns around familiar corners to mysterious adventures into the unknown. Fog both stymies stunning landscapes and provides a veil of calming silence.

I'm at heart a Northern Californian who celebrates a thick fog, just like weather conditions the morning that I teamed up with the Santa Barbara Adventure Company for a 10-mile kayak paddle from Gaviota State Park to Refugio State Beach. Though I drive my truck up and down this last undeveloped stretch of Southern California coastline almost every week, this was to be the first time I, and most of the two dozen S.B. Ski Club members I toured with, had the chance to see the Gaviota Coast from the sea. I anticipated a fog burn-off during the course of our five-hour trek, revealing the dramatic sandstone peaks and rolling pastures that make driving the coast the highlight of my trip up north.

After paying the $2 day parking fee for Refugio, we loaded in shuttles to disembark from the shores of Gaviota Beach. Along the way, Adventure Company's founder Mike Cohen informed that this coast was currently embroiled in a bitter debate about its future. It was a topic I knew all too well from my job as an Indy news reporter: Many fear that urban sprawl will swallow the coast, so they've enlisted the help of the federal government, specifically the National Park Service, to see if creating a national seashore would be a good thing. Landowners-the ranchers, avocado growers, and citrus farmers who have kept and promise to keep the area in agriculture-immediately attacked both the Feds and the anti-sprawl activists for colluding to take their land, further arguing that any federal designation would simply bring more littering and traffic-causing tourists to the land. Meanwhile, a handful of groups are working to find a solution that would appease both the urban environmentalists and rural landowners.

But in any case, Cohen was correct when he explained that we were in a special place at a pivotal time, and that future generations will not likely have the opportunity to see the Gaviota Coast as it is now, no matter what the outcome.

When we arrived at the Gaviota State Park around 11 a.m., it was clear that the fog hadn't ruined anyone's Saturday plans. Overnight campers were already spread throughout the parking lot. Sitting on the sand a dazed couple stared aimlessly at the ocean after an apparently long night, one smoking a pre-noon cigarette, the other slurping a Natural Light beer. Scores of fishermen held their poles wishfully off the pier or casted with surf rods just past the breaking waves. An out-of-place family wearing colorful clothes played multiple instruments and sang loud Spanish songs to bring out the sun.

Despite these distractions, our group, situated smack-dab in the middle of the beach for a quick kayak lesson, was certainly the spectacle that morning with our bright windbreakers and jackets making us easy targets for finger-pointing even if we weren't waving our oars around for practice. Everyone laughed during the dry-land practice run, but after we got the info, we hit the water without incident.

Within a few minutes of paddling and just around the first tiny point, the cream-colored sandstone cliffs that line most of the coast from Point Conception to Santa Barbara emerged. As discovered, a Gaviota Coast paddle is largely for the geology- and geography-lover, with rocks that comprise the points that give life to an otherwise nondescript coastline. Yet there are certainly perks for wildlife watchers as well, and our day-trip included run-ins with sea lions, harbor seals, and a school of dolphin that were feeding near the shore. The skies and ocean surface also teem with seabirds-the word "gaviota" does mean "gull"--and many a paddling break featured talks by Cohen and his two hired hands on pelagic cormorants, petrels, and pelicans.

Paddling within earshot of Cohen, I learned that the cliffs were turning into sand before our eyes. The cliffs are quite young geologically speaking-barely 10 million years old. As we observed them from the water, they were contemporaneously getting bigger, by underground lifting, and smaller, by the tides that washed the stone into sand.

It was on that sand that we stopped for lunch about four miles later, right before the tremendous train trestle that marks the Arroyo Hondo Ranch. Cohen and his two guides laid out a picnic lunch with sandwich fixings, fruit, cookies, and other treats while the rest of us explored the secluded nook of shoreline. Some of us admired the layers of rock that built the imposing cliffs, others scoured the wet sand for shells and polished stones.

After our one-hour lunch break, we learned how to paddle our kayaks into the growing surf. By timing the beach escape between waves, most paddlers got away dry. However, my timing was off, along with a female ski clubber, and we took a breaker head-on, the two-foot wave crashing over the bow and filling the entire boat with water. I laughed as I wondered whether the kayak would sink, and only then realized that Cohen was yelling, "paddle!" frantically as I floated backward toward shore. I followed the command and easily cleared the next wave, but not before a bit of unexpected adventure nearly threw my sunglasses and borrowed camera into the sea.

Land of Loss and Hope: As we traveled the second leg of the journey, we got a rare peek at the sprawling mansions of Arroyo Quemada and caught a glimpse of the mounds of garbage within the Tajiguas Landfill. The fog began to evaporate, but left an overcast haze that still guarded the powerful peaks that protect the Santa Ynez Valley.

With more time to focus on the nearer sea-cliffs, it became clear to me how much the railroad construction of the early 1900s had damaged the region. Instead of building bridges, the railroaders who aspired to connect California filled entire watersheds and their corresponding marshes with dirt to make way for tracks. Filling must have been cheaper that building trestles. It takes a keen eye to see, but the tan cliffs sporadically give way to these foliage-covered fills that block the intended flow of creeks to the ocean. Here and there a concrete tunnel allows fresh water to flow through, but the cleansing qualities of coastal wetlands have been forever lost.

But hope exists for the waters of Gaviota, and the most promise resides with underwater plant life. As we approached the last point on our journey, Cohen gathered everyone around into a thick kelp bed and, along with another guide, spoke about the higher points of kelp. It can grow up to two feet per day, it provides raw materials for toothpaste, ice cream, and make-up, and, because it's from the Algae family, it's as distinct from what we know of as the plant world as animals. Most importantly, everything that lives in the ocean survives, in one way or another, on kelp. And around the prominent points of the Gaviota Coast, kelp is as abundant as anywhere, which is good for fish and humans alike. I even tasted the slimy stuff, though one guide referred to it as the iceberg lettuce of the ocean: little to no nutritional value.

We rounded the last point and, with sore and tired arms, headed toward the now sunny beach filled with hundreds of summer campers and day-trippers. Ten miles was undoubtedly long, and although some were first-timers, everyone made it back safely.