So, we finally did it today. The NOAA forecast promised a brief weather window Sunday morning, so we met at 0800, for a launch not long after. Paul came early and scouted backup launch site Dan Blocker Beach, before finding that Carrillo looked do-able also. The beach was nearly deserted, except for a few hardy surfers and walkers.
Paul was showing off his latest hi-tech carbon fibre version of an ancient Greenland paddle-- go figure.
As I was standing on my car bumper trying to get my kayak down, I spotted our first whale, only 100 yards off the beach, near a forest of kelp. It breached 3 times and vanished, a good sized, very dark colored creature, spouting and harrumphing its way up the coast.
We launched into a light breeze, clear skies and 3-4' plunging waves, heading up the coast at a 3.5+ kt pace. Ron spotted a second whale farther off shore, but it was gone before Paul could complete the Guinness book prerequisites. We plowed through the kelp beds, avoiding the reef with breaking waves across it. We enjoyed seeing the beautiful Malibu coastline, with its many splendid mansions, condos and even beach shacks, coexisting in the California sun. A parade of Sunday traffic moved up and down Pacific Coast Highway--- cars, buses, trucks, RV's, motorcycle rumbling echoing off the rugged mountainsides.
The blue-green water looked unusually clean, compared to the filthy post-rainy season brine in the harbors and river outlets, where we usually paddle. In some places, we could actually see the bottom. We saw only one boat during the whole trip. This area, sandwiched between Pt Mugu Naval Air Station and the LA County beaches, is definitely out of the sea lanes, away from the air routes and very lightly peopled, especially in "off-season."
Our plan was to land for a break at Sycamore Beach, on the coast of the huge and beautiful pt. Mugu State Park. I was sent in to be the canary in the coal mine, or minnow in the shark tank, as it turned out. From a distance, the landing looked OK. Closer, it looked marginal.
Coming in for a landing, it finally looked a bit dicey, but hell, it was already too late to turn back. I backed into a six foot plunger before it broke, waiting for one more to hiss by, as I got into the rhythm of the surf. I rode the next one about twenty yards, pulled behind the crest and followed it all the way to the beach, digging my paddle into the gravely sand to keep from getting sucked back down the steep rocky beach. The surge dragged tons of gravel back down, with a roar and heady smell of powdered rock, brine and kelp. I had never seen Sycamore beach like this. Winter had not been kind to her, as he ravaged her face, stripped down to gravel and mud, exposing ancient pier pilings I didn't remember existed. The employee quarters were undermined by the winter surf, exposed pilings holding it up over a badly eroded beach.
I sensed that the others would not be following me in on this day, so I heeled my kayak 90 degrees over and pivoted the boat 180 degrees around to face the intimidating surf for a relaunch. I waved the guys off, just in case they were stupid enough to follow. I need not have worried. They were probably wishing they had their cameras with telephoto lenses.
Textbook procedures say that you should launch, sit just off the beach and wait in the "soup" for opportunities to penetrate the surf line, preferably between breaking waves. Textbook procedures don't work all that well for dumping surf with occasional plungers just offshore. I spent the next couple of minutes trying to dodge short period six foot dumpers, while waiting for an opportunity to speed seaward. I was tossed around, broached, washed up and down the rocky beach, covered with water, gritty mud, gravel, sand and salt. How I stayed upright, I don't know, but I finally made a beeline through a brief lull and nicked over a dark grey wave just starting to break, before getting back into the clear. I survived this with only a cut on my elbow, my "bad elbow," at that, that got me admitted to Los Robles hospital with a staph infection not so long ago.
Anyway, we proceeded up the beautiful coastline again, to finally pass Mugu Rock, site of more fancy car commercials than any other site I can think of. The plan was to land at the beach just south of the military target shooting range, but alas, that was not to pass, either. Although the beach had a gentler angle than Sycamore and far fewer rocks, it was even more exposed, so we lacked consensus for a landing.
So, we took a snack break rafted up 150-200 yards from shore, a bit west of the rock. We shared edibles, talked and enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells of the region. About the time we stirred ourselves to head back to Carrillo, Ron made still another whale sighting. We all turned to see a large mamma whale and her calf breach twice within seconds, together, only 30 yards away, headed directly for us--impressive! We backed out of their path, but they wisely vanished. What a treat! We had one of the best photographers in Southern California with us, but no camera.
A hard act to follow, so the trip home was an anticlimax after the events of the morning. At least, MOST of the return trip was. Aging bodies suffered back pains, bathroom anxiety, since there was no landing for a rest stop, as well as early spring lack of conditioning syndrome.
The wind was building in intensity, driving a stern quartering sea that challenged easy Sunday paddling. Ron was new to this and felt rather insecure, but was indistinguishable from a pro by the time we returned to Carrillo. It became apparent that we would not have a routine landing, so we reviewed landing approaches, signals and emergency procedures beforehand.
I was the minnow again, so I rolled over a few waves on the way in, briefly caught one and backed off from the crest, going like hell for the beach, for a relatively uneventful landing. I noted that they were breaking two deep, took up landing officer duty and made dramatic landing signals, which were largely ignored by the landers. Landing in these conditions must be something like an aircraft carrier landing in the North Pacific.
Paul came in first, taking his time in the big swells, bobbing up and down as they sped under him, looking for his big chance. He finally went for it and came speeding in. He raced down the face of one fairly close in, started to "pearl," then somehow pulled out of it, broaching and speeding in sideways. I just got out of the way and came in alongside of him as he ended up on the beach, facing back out to sea.
Ron is less accustomed to such fare and looked a lot more tentative, but is quite brave. He hesitated a couple of times, came in nicely, but then was caught by a steep wave that quickly flipped him over before he could broach and brace. He bailed out in a millisecond, unfortunately ending up inshore of a speeding kayak, never a good place to be. An experienced surfer, he instinctively ducked under as the kayak flew by, out of control. He had the presence of mind to retrieve his paddle that had gotten away. I grabbed his kayak as it passed me by, towing it up the coast in the soup, back to our launch point. Fortunately, he had stowed everything securely, so there was no embarrassing "yard sale," so characteristic of neophytes. He is a recent product of Wayne Horodowich USK training, which obviously took fairly well.
When we looked back out at sea, waves were breaking several deep, whitecaps as far as the eye could see and the wind was howling. Great timing, guys!
Oh yeah, one more thing. as I was strapping my kayak to the roof of my car, I sounded the alarm for still another whale, in the same close-in spot as the first one, breaching, spouting and snorting like a Hollywood whale model.
While we packed up, we talked to some prospective CKF members, who were actually excited by the landing challenges, then we headed out for brunch. I suggested IHOP or Agoura Deli and let Ron talk me into the latter. We were joined there by my wife, Carol and mother, Marie. Food and companionship were excellent. Thanks for another nice day on the California coast. Score: 5 whales, Four launches, four landings, 14 NM of great scenery and paddling, one good time!
Regards,
George Miller