Santa Barbara News Press ~ Travel ~ March 2, 2002
Gaviota kayaking trips explore playground of the Pacific
By DeAnne Musolf Crouch

With the glorious weather we've been having the last few weeks, it's hard not to want to be at the water or -- even better -- on the water.

Michael Cohen, owner of Santa Barbara Adventure Company and expert kayaking guide, understands this urge, having worked for over 10 years as a boatman in Idaho and a sea kayak guide in Belize. This is the time of year that locals wake up to the fact that they have the world's best water park right in their backyard: the Pacific Ocean.

The dream trip on the grand Pacific is kayaking from Refugio to El Cap -- three miles long and a good trip for beginners. The group meets at 10 a.m. at El Capitan State Beach -- where the kayak adventure will end. There they cover paperwork, lock up cars and load into the Santa Barbara Adventure Company van, and, with kayaks in tow, head up the coast to Refugio.

On the drive, Mr. Cohen reveals his passion for the Gaviota Coast. "Do you have any idea what an incredible to resource this is?" he asks. "If you flew from Tijuana up the coast of California, only in very few spots would you run into open coast -- and most is owned by the military or the government. "Gaviota is one of the last sections of undeveloped coastline -- and it's remained largely unchanged range land since the Mexican land grants."

The group peers out of the van windows with renewed interest at the grasslands beside Highway 101 -- what Mr. Cohen calls "ranchero land and farming land that's miraculously remained undeveloped." He also mentions the controversial move to consider three different plans to develop the area, one of which is "to put some regulation on the area and one option is a national seashore."

Mr. Cohen's other passions -- plants and animals -- quickly become apparent. He tells the group, now fixed to the side windows rather than staring blankly ahead, about chaparral ecology and points to the other side of the freeway. "All the plants that are in the chaparral community have good adaptations to avoid drying out. So every plant you're looking at has evolved unique adaptations to survive. The manzanita, for example, has an adaptation it turns its leaf edges to the sun to avoid drying out." He also points out seven varieties of sage in which the Chumash discovered medicinal properties.

As the van pulls into Refugio, Mr. Cohen tells the group about a pirate sacking that took place here in 1815. "Refugio is Spanish for 'refuge,'" he goes on as the group unloads and looks out across the great protected bay. Mr. Cohen unleashes the Santa Barbara Adventure Company stores in the back of the van: polypropylene, wetsuits, paddle tops and life jackets. "Even though the weather we've been having is phenomenal, the water is 57 degrees right now," Mr. Cohen explains. That means wetsuits. While the group gets outfitted, lunch and other supplies are packed in drybags and onto a boat.

Before hitting those glorious waves the group sees crashing not far away, Mr. Cohen stands beside what looks like an oversized, colorful, plastic bath toy and points out that "This boat has evolved from a long chain of kayaks started well over 4,000 years ago. They were made simultaneously in the Aleutians off Alaska and the lakes of Greenland. Anthropologists believe that the inventors were driven by the need to catch more food."

Mr. Cohen reveals two facts astonishing to contemplate: that the first kayaks were made from bone and skin -- after all, there isn't much wood in those areas. "And they had no concept of boats when they invented these things," Mr. Cohen asserts. "It's easy to think of a little boat when you know about big boats, but they invented them as a way to fly over the water, like birds. Amazing."

And the second astonishing fact concerns the Eskimo roll. Not a type of sushi as some might believe, the Eskimo roll is a technique necessary for righting closed-deck kayaks, which have a tight "skirt" that holds the kayaker in and water out. When the kayak capsizes, the submerged kayaker must execute an Eskimo roll to surface. "Early kayakers invented and perfected the difficult Eskimo roll in frigid arctic waters," Mr. Cohen says with obvious admiration. "And without an instructor."

Eskimo rolls are now a thing of the past for novice ocean kayakers, Mr. Cohen assures the group. "Now we've got the roto-molded, sit-on-top plastic kayak invented by a guy who wanted to go diving in certain kelp beds he couldn't get to." Tim Niemer, in an effort to avoid dealing with closed-deck kayaks that swamped, and needed rolling or bailing with a bilge pump, "opened up kayaking to a whole new level -- and he didn't even realize it," says Mr. Cohen. "After a 20-minute lesson, anyone can easily paddle around in these fun little craft. No problem."

And with that, he shows the group how. He talks about how to hold a paddle, how to sit in the boat and how to execute all of the proper paddling techniques -- all in the safety of the nice dry beach. Then he talks about surf entries -- which depend on the swell and the surf. "Basically," he says, "you have to make it through those crashing waves."

Luckily, it's a nice calm day. Mr. Cohen demonstrates how to expertly launch through the surf. He returns, dripping and grinning, and says the key is not to freeze up through what I consider the ill-named "crash zone." "Keep paddling in face of a breaking wave," Mr. Cohen instructs. He holds the boat while the bravest of the group loads first. He makes sure she's holding the paddle in the right position, then thrusts her kayak out into the drink. "Paddle!" he yells, as she busts through a small wave. Safe on the other side of the "crash zone," she whoops and hollers, completely thrilled that she's made it.

The group waits in the calm and quiet outside the breakers until Mr. Cohen brings up the end. Though the mood of the group is definitely filled with levity, beneath all the laughter is the buzz of the seriousness of their endeavor. The world out on the ocean is magnificent -- and daunting.

The group quiets quickly to hear Mr. Cohen's instructions and again practices their paddle strokes -- forward, backward and pinwheel turns, this time on water. Mr. Cohen also demonstrates tipping the boat over, falling in, righting the boat, then getting back (belly first, then rotating his butt in and -- last -- slipping his feet back inside).

"If you use your feet or knees at first, you tend to fall back in," Mr. Cohen warns. The group watches with calm detachment, then realizes with no small amount of alarm that he wants everyone else to try it too. "Why?" a man with his 13-year-old son asks. "To make us feel comfortable on the water," explains Mr. Cohen. "That falling in isn't the end of the world, but also as an ice breaker -- so you won't be afraid. With protective gear, you don't even notice the water -- and with a little tenacity, you pop right back up into your boat. It's like climbing up out onto the edge of a pool. "The hardest part is not climbing back in," Mr. Cohen laughs, "but to make yourself fall in."

Giddy with the dousing and the confidence that comes with new skills, the group begins to paddle east, toward El Cap. The dramatic buff-colored coastal bluffs block all sign of human life. In five minutes, the bluffs sink away, a mere backdrop to the amazing marine environment the group now finds itself surrounded by. Here, away from the cars and the crowds, the group settles into a paddling rhythm that is nothing if not primal. No one breathes a word as they soak in this new realm.

In time, Mr. Cohen moves toward a kelp bed, onto which the group floats. Here, he talks about the kelp forest -- its origins, growth, and its role in the lives of marine life, large and minute. Mr. Cohen even jokes that he ate a bowl full just last night -- in ice cream (in which a kelp by-product -- carrageenan -- is used as a thickener). With that he snaps off a fresh-looking golden bulb of the leafy green and takes a bite. The group erupts with sounds of disgust, then realizes -- again -- that he wants them to do the same. Once he gets everyone chewing, he takes a poll: it's unanimous -- kelp is slimy and has a vegetable flavor.

Next, he invites the group to take a "micro-hike. Look down into the kelp," he says. "Look closely at its surface." Indeed, upon closer inspection, the stuff is teeming with life -- from the tiny to not-so-tiny spider crabs and fish. "These bring in bigger creatures, too," says Mr. Cohen "like harbor seals, sea lions, dolphins, even sharks."

Half-expecting Mr. Cohen to next entreat the group to swim with sharks, they are happy instead to head a mile east with the prevailing current and swell to a secluded cove for lunch, where the group will set up a table and enjoy a deluxe deli-style lunch and explore the intertidal zone tide pools there filled with barnacles, limpets, green anemones, soldier craps and sea stars.

Afterward, the group continues on to El Cap, this time coaxed by Mr. Cohen into playing games like floating Frisbee and holding their own seafaring Olympics with group members trying to switch boats or paddle while kneeling -- even standing -- in their kayaks, each level increasing the chance of falling in (which is really the point).

Along the way, sea lions pop up to check out the flotilla -- looking for all the world like human swimmers with black bathing caps and the world's most amazing supermodel eyelashes.

"Sea lions are a mammal that can swim for bursts of 30 miles per hour," says Mr. Cohen. "They eat about 20 pounds of fish a day." The group spies another on its back with its fins in the air. Sun bathing? "Sort of," Mr. Cohen explains. "That's a cool adaptation -- vaso-dilation in their fins allow them to take on or give off heat as necessary. That one is soaking up solar energy to get warmed up."

Mr. Cohen tries to coax the sea lion over to his boat to scratch his chin. The children in the group move in close to watch, holding their breath. The sea lion eyes Mr. Cohen curiously, but doesn't budge. "Ah, it never works," Mr. Cohen laughs. "But that's a good thing, because the Marine Mammal Act states that we're not supposed to get within a certain number of feet of these creatures anyway." As the group paddles on, the sea lion circles around and follows close behind one of the children's kayaks -- clearly not obeying the law.

Mr. Cohen says this happened once with a dolphin who swam next to the boat of a 16-year-old for some distance. Indeed, it's not unusual for kayakers on this journey to find themselves in the midst of broaching and playing dolphins, harbor seals or even gray whales. Dolphins often come with 5 to 10 feet of the boats. The group sees some swimming directly under the boats -- cheers go up, and everyone starts scrambling for plastic cameras, laughing.

Beyond the breakers, there's what seems to be a virgin section of coast, with its rugged sand-colored bluffs tumbling back into the sea, with dramatic bands of coloration one can never appreciate from land -- tans, reds and browns, evidence of ancient underwater geologic events. On the other side are Santa Cruz and Santa Rosa islands, all so exotic compared to how we normally see the ocean.

But the biggest thrill is the animals. "To take in these beautiful wild animals up close, in a wild setting, is a chance of a lifetime," says Mr. Cohen. "The kayaking is amazing, the coast is amazing, the islands are amazing, but then here come these incredible marine creatures -- right there! That's something you never forget."