One Chance to Go Out to Sea Before a Job Ties Me Down

“Wake up! Time to take over.”

As I rolled over to face the source of the hoarse whisper, I tried to remember where I was and why someone would want to wake me. A gentle rolling motion, the steady hum of an engine brought me slowly to consciousness: I was on a sailboat, and it was time to wake up and take my turn at the helm.

I checked my watch. Sure enough, it was 3:30 a.m., so I squirmed out of my sleeping bag and struggled to pull on my clothes in the cramped berth. As my predecessor at the helm climbed gratefully into his bunk, I lurched through the cabin and onto the deck.

A hazy glow far behind us was the mainland. Ahead under overcast skies loomed the dark shape of Santa Catalina Island, lit only by boats at anchor in its coves. Within minutes, I was soaked by a light but steady drizzle.

My watch partner was Sue, a high school teacher from Yorba Linda, who, like me, had never piloted a boat. Our job on the three-hour shift was to keep our 32-foot vessel on a 210-degree course, straight past the northwest tip of Catalina toward our first destination, Santa Barbara Island.

The trip was a present to myself, a way to ease my transition from the relative freedom of self-employment to the structure of a new full-time

job. I wanted something at least slightly adventurous, and had been planning a solo backpacking trek in the Sierra--an activity more up my alley.

Then I saw an entry in a local college’s extension catalogue: a four-day, three-night sailing trip through the Channel Islands, led by an experienced sailor and marine biologist. Two weeks and $300 later, there I was at the helm.

We were four paying customers. Kim, who works in a West Covina commercial real estate office, also was a newcomer to sailing. Robert, a doctor in Corona, recently had completed sailing lessons. Our skipper was Mark Howe, a marine biologist and educational director for Aventura Sailing Academy, a private Dana Point charter group that also organizes educational excursions like ours. Karen, who was visiting the United States from Sweden, rounded out the group as cook.

We slipped out of Dana Point Harbor at 9:30 on a Wednesday night, intending to motor all the way to Santa Barbara Island. (There would not be enough wind to sail.) I managed to get a few hours of sleep before Robert awakened me for my watch. At 5 a.m. we slowly passed Catalina and headed toward a dark horizon, the mainland now invisible. By the time our shift ended at 7 a.m., a gray morning had dawned, and Santa Barbara was visible on the horizon. I climbed back into my bunk for a little more sleep.

I was awakened a few hours later to a cacophony of wails, bellows, barks and roars. It sounded vaguely like a dog pound on a bad day. From the deck, I saw the source of the caterwauling: dozens of sea lions and a group of elephant seals lined the shore about 20 feet from our boat, their noise amplified by the steep cliffs that rose behind their strip of sandy beach.

The California sea lions ranged from tiny pups to huge bulls, some nearly nine feet long and more than 300 pounds. Several dominant males, marked by large bumps protruding from their foreheads, patrolled the water along the shore, stopping at times to bark menacingly at our boat.

About seven of the huge northern elephant seals dozed together, packed so tightly that when one shifted the others would wake up and roar out in sheer annoyance. They were stragglers from the recent breeding season, when their numbers in this cove are said to reach several dozen. They are named for the male’s large snout, but the name also fits because of their overall size--males grow to more than 18 feet, and females can reach 11 feet in length.

Breakfast was spent watching these pinnipeds, a prelude to a lazy day, since all of us were tired from the overnight journey. We did explore some nearby sea caves in our vinyl dinghies, and I tagged along as Mark went diving for abalone. He caught his limit with no trouble, which the rest of us appreciated at dinner.

When we pulled out of the cove to sail around the island that afternoon, the sky was still overcast. Unlike the larger Channel Islands, tiny Santa Barbara captures little moisture from storms blowing in from the Pacific. The scrubby and desolate island supports a breeding ground for pinnipeds and is a vital sea bird rookery. It boasts the largest nesting U.S. population of the Xantu’s murrelet and is the only nesting place in the country for the black storm petrel. The western gull also flourishes here.

We spotted brown pelicans, cormorants and the pigeon guillemot, a small black-and-white bird that beats its wings furiously as it flies just above the water’s surface.

We anchored in a cove near the island’s only landing and climbed steep stairs to the ranger station (Santa Barbara Island is part of Channel Islands National Park).

Mark gave us a running lesson in the natural history of this island, 40 miles from the mainland. There were the brown, candelabra-shaped trunks of the giant coreopsis, whose brilliant yellow blooms appear for a few weeks each spring. They once covered the landscape, and, when in bloom, were visible far out at sea. Nearly wiped out by an introduced population of rabbits, they are struggling to make a comeback.

From a hilltop, we could see all but San Miguel of the Channel Islands: Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Catalina, Santa Rosa, San Clemente and San Nicolas. A marvelous sunset capped off our day on the island as we climbed back down to the landing. Back at the boat, we feasted on abalone, a few glasses of wine, conversation, as a Van Morrison tape played in the background. It’s hard to improve on a night such as that.

Gray skies greeted us again the next morning as we set out on the 25-mile trip back to Catalina, alternately sailing and motoring, depending on wind. We anchored on the mainland side of the island at Blue Cavern Point. The water was blue and amazingly clear, and marine life was abundant in and around the kelp beds.

We sailed on to a nearby cove and had another excellent dinner--bouillabaisse with fresh abalone and fish--followed by more conversation and a nighttime swim. Later, I lay on deck in my sleeping bag, my eyes fixed on the lights of the mainland, and fell asleep to the rocking of the boat.

To ease our transition back to civilization, we stopped at Avalon on Saturday and wandered through the streets, stopping for sodas and a glance in tourist shops.

The sun finally broke through as we headed back to Dana Point. The windbreakers and long pants were traded for bathing suits, and we took turns working the ropes behind the boat for a refreshing ride through the water as Catalina slowly receded behind us and the mainland came into focus.

Six hours later, we were grabbing our gear and saying goodby. Mark was turning around to lead another sailing trip that night, but the rest of us had real jobs to anticipate Monday.

On the drive home, my face sunburned and my hair tangled from the sea winds, an Elvis Costello tune kept running through my head: “Welcome to the Working Week.”

DR, STEVE LOPEZ / Los Angeles Times