Channel Islands National Park

The Channel Islands are a chain of 8 islands off the coast of southern California.  The biggest ones, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, Santa Barbara and San Miguel are remnants of old California.  Arid, scrubby mountains with grassy canyons and the tang of the Pacific in the air.  Refreshingly void of both people and progress.  No roads, hotels or improvements.  The biggest island, Santa Cruz is barely habited, the only concession to tourists is several potable water taps, a shack that houses kayaks for guided tours and daily ferry service.  

When we first started thinking about visiting the Channel Islands, our Isle Royale experience was still fresh in our minds.  An endlessly long ferry ride for a few hours of hiking wasn’t great the first time around and we didn’t want a second whack at it.  So, for our CI trip we decided to spend a night on Santa Cruz allowing us to maximize the visit.  Like all camping trips, there is an element of adventure, nothing ever goes quite as planned and no one gets quality sleep.  But an extra day in the CI’s seemed worth it.

The adventure started on the ferry dock in Ventura harbor.  There were two lines for the ferry, one for campers and one for day visitors.  The camper line was short – there are only a few sites on Santa Cruz – but its occupants amusing.  In front of us were 5 guys in their 20’s clearly prepared for a good time.  They had a random scattering of gear dominated by a case of Modelo and a liter and a half of whisky and rum (coconut rum at that!).  I silently started forming my mom lecture while I watched them board, something to the tune of “guys, its midnight, knock it off and get some sleep.”

When we got to Santa Cruz, we were greeted by a ranger for our safety briefing.  Essentially, be mindful of your water supply, don’t be stupid about cliff edges and watch your belongings and food lest the ravens or island fox help themselves.  We had read about the endemic Channel Island fox, a very small species about the size of a cat.  They are endangered and the guidebooks gave me the impression we would be lucky to see one.  Well they may be endangered but they aren’t stupid, they know how to find easy food!  Each campsite came equipped with what most people would call a bear locker, a heavy metal food storage locker.  On Santa Cruz it is a fox locker.  As soon as we had our tent set up an inquisitive fox started to nose around our site.  Luckily Dan remembered to tie our zipper tabs together because when we returned from a hike we found one busily trying to untie it presumably, according to the ranger, to let himself in and mark his territory.  Lovely.

After a nice afternoon hiking to Potato Cove and watching the sun set over the islands we tucked into our tent with books and lanterns, waiting to deliver the aforementioned lecture to our neighbors.  Turns out we didn’t need one.  The event of the evening wasn’t our neighbors, they settled down by about 10, it was the weather.  The evening low was supposed to be in the low 50’s but around midnight I woke to the sound of my eldest shivering in a 35 degree tent.  Ava is 100 lbs soaking wet, it’s a miracle she has enough body fat to insulate her vital organs.  She definitely wasn’t built to sleep in a 35 degree tent in what I would call a “sleepover” bag.  Not a real backcountry bag, but one intended for someone’s living room floor.  Hazel was in a similar condition and so, in a true test of parental affection, Dan and I got out of our top notch, toasty warm Marmot bags, and swapped bags with the girls.   It was a long, cold night!

The next morning, grateful for the warmth of the rising sun, we broke camp and headed out on an ambitious trek across the island to Smugglers Cove.  The island is mountainous, crossing it meant hiking 1,700 ft up and over grassy trails before descending another 1,700 ft into a pretty cove on the other side.  Smugglers Cove is the site of an old ranch house dating back to the island’s use as a sheep ranch in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, complete with an olive grove and orange trees.  Now it is a seldom visited spot on the water; a great place to stretch our legs and refuel for the trip back across the island.  All told the journey was 8 miles and 3,000 ft of elevation change.  We arrived back at the dock for our trip back to the mainland tired but happy.

Our last bit of adventure was on the ferry ride back when we were surrounded by hundreds of dolphins surfing our wake and diving around the boat.  There wasn’t a somber face on the boat.  Young and old everyone was glued to the boat railing in wide eyed delight.  The sheer exuberance of the dolphins was a joy to behold.  We arrived back in Ventura harbor exhausted but glad of the adventure.  A mostly delightful 36 hours having enjoyed a small unspoiled miracle.  On to Sequoia National Park!