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Source:  LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE; May 1992 v37 n5 pS4(3).
Title:  Get lost!: Santa Cruz Island's Little Scorpion. 
Author:  Michael Tennesen
Data Base: Infotrac
 

GET LOST!

(Santa Cruz Island's Little Scorpion)

by Michael Tennesen

Though some 30 people waited on the dock of the Ventura Marina to board Island
Packers' Sunfish, a 55-foot powerboat, only 10 of us--sitting beneath the
crisp, blue morning sky surrounded by duffel bags, backpacks, sleeping bags
and fishing gear--looked like something out of a Patagonia travel poster. Most
of the group were just day sightseers. We hardy 10 were actually going to
spend the weekend on Santa Cruz Island, the largest of the eight remote
Channel Islands.

By 9 we had shipped out, leaving a group of playful porpoises in our wake.
Within two hours, Santa Cruz's 2,400-foot mountain peaks were looming up out
of the morning mist, a virgin island paradise--no phones, no television, no
roads.

We gathered around the bow as the boat pulled into Little Scorpion Cove on the
eastern tip of the island, then boarded a 20-foot skiff that took us through
the crashing surf and up onto a sandy beach, where host and hostess Mac and
Ilse McGowan waited.

The two led us on a short hike up the beach and through the mouth of the
canyon to the 100-year-old Scorpion Ranch, nestled in a steep canyon amid oak,
cypress and eucalyptus trees.

Once a sheep-and-cattle ranch and winery, it's still partly owned by the
Gherini family, longtime California residents who managed through a complex
arrangement to sell an interest in the property to the U.S. Park Service. For
the last 100 years, a handful of ranches and some of California's earliest
vineyards has dotted these shores. Five of the islands, including the northern
end of Santa Cruz, were grouped together in 1980 to become Channel Islands
National Park. The southern end, where we stayed, has the only facilities for
overnight visits.

Island Packers offers 12 different trips to the islands, ranging from my
two-day Santa Cruz trip ($105) to an excursion to San Miguel and Santa Rosa.
(For reservations, call 805-642-1393.)

The ranch today consists of the main house--which has a kitchen, a museum and
two upstairs rooms that can sleep up to six each--and a bunkhouse next door
with six private rooms, where I stayed. The accommodations are rustic--you
have to bring your own sleeping bags because they don't provide linen--but the
rooms are comfortable. Be warned, however, that the walls are thin. You
wouldn't want to do anything in your room that you might not want your
neighbor to hear.

After we unpacked, a group of us hiked up a hill past fields of iridescent
green grasses, yellow mustard, purple lupine and golden poppies to a high
bluff with a magnificent view over the coast.

Standing on that precipice, it was hard to imagine I was only 80 miles from
downtown. Below us was an isolated beach. Farther north, we could see a series
of sea caves carved into a stony cliff. The coastline here is 77 miles of
natural bays, rocky points and tide pools teeming with life. The water is
aquamarine, a diver's paradise of tall kelp forests and a rich community of
abalone, bass, perch, octopus, seals and sea lions. Behind rise majestic
hills.

Some geologists believe that the islands, lying between 14 and 50 miles off
the coast from Santa Barbara to San Diego, may once have been an extension of
the Santa Monica Mountains. Before the Spanish came, the Chumash Indians lived
in small villages on the northern islands, fishing the channel in large canoes
and trading with the mainland Indians. Today, pretty much the same as hundreds
of years ago, the area remains one of the most popular diving spots in the
world. From atop the cliff, I watched one boat whose 20 or so divers explored
the crystal-clear waters.

In the evening before dinner, I ran into Ned Smith and Sally Hughes, two Santa
Barbarans who had spent the afternoon hiking over to Smugglers Cove on the
other side of the island. Smugglers, known for its world-class fishing, was
made somewhat famous in a series of paintings by Richard Diebenkorn; Sally
likened it to a South Seas paradise. We took in the magnificent view from a
summit, with Anacapa Island and Point Mugu visible in the distance.

As far as meals go at the Scorpion, there are kitchen facilities, and you can
store food in the refrigerator (you have to bring your own edibles), but Mac
and Ilse keep a barbecue going all afternoon and evening, so you can cook
anytime you want. I'd brought a steak. Around the outdoor picnic tables, the
others were eating everything from sushi to hot dogs.

After dinner, we gathered around the campfire, and Mac brought out his
ukulele. He and Ilse started a songfest, with "It's a Small World" done in
near-perfect harmony. They sang for most of the evening, while the rest of us
tried to keep up.

After hiking all day and singing half the night, I slept quite soundly. But
then, I'm one of those outdoors types who equates happiness with how many days
of the year I wear my hiking boots, plus how many nights I sleep in my
sleeping bag, multiplied by how many fish I catch.

First thing the next morning, I attended to that. I went fishing with Ned and
caught a couple of bass, which we brought back and cooked to perfection on the
barbecue. After lunch, we spread out on our sleeping bags--with boots still
on--and he and I relaxed side by side, digesting our fish.

"Ah, no freeways, no cars, no background noise," Ned said. "Your ears get
hypersensitive. You can literally hear the leaves falling off the trees."

Try that in the city.
                                                                              
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