AS THE BOAT pounds through the waves, I strain to see the island I know is somewhere in the distance.
When the hull of the speeding craft slaps the water especially hard, a magnificent, salty spray hurtles on deck. This sure beats the hell out of the drive to Phoenix. The boat is the Catalina Express shuttle and, as the name implies, I'm headed toward Catalina Island in the Pacific Ocean, off the southern California coast.
Most of the 21-mile long island is run by the Catalina Island Conservancy, says conservancy president Chuck Olson. The independent, non-profit organization was established in 1975 to protect the island's natural wonders. The 14 percent of the island not run by the conservancy is composed of a few private plots and land leased to individuals by the Catalina Island Company. The island's two towns, Avalon and Two Harbors, constitute most of this leased land. The rest is open desert grassland and scrub oak country I'm eagerly looking forward to exploring.
After almost two hours of this enjoyable boat ride (there's a full bar on board), our destination emerges from the mist. With its sheer cliffs and rugged terrain it looks like a deserty Fantasy Island. As the Catalina Express docks in Avalon, I half expect Ricardo Montalban to step out of his golf cart.
The guy who tosses us our backpacks and says adiós will
have to do. After stowing our backpacks (there are lockers available,
or you might get a hotel to hold onto your gear for a few bucks)
Avalon is where we spend the day. A host of activities await tourists
here: boat, kayak and jet-ski rentals, horseback rides, history
and nature tours and oodles of tourist shops. While a considerable
amount of fun, such activities can cut through one's wallet in
a big hurry.
Our main mission here is not hanging about town, but exploring the backcountry. So as evening settles on the little town, we head to Hermit Gulch Campground, just outside Avalon.
Any hermit once living here has long since fled, screaming and tearing wildly at his hair. This is Dante's campground. I'm certain there are no fewer than one zillion people camped here in space suitable for, oh, maybe 15. By the time we arrive, the campground manager guys have already given up trying to control the situation. Tents, gear, bodies and junk cover virtually every open space. I suspect the camp managers are on the verge of following the hermit into the hills. I sure as hell want to.
In a way, I suppose it's fortunate no camping outside designated sites is allowed. Otherwise this mess would blight a much wider area. But what a drag to set up camp here--I feel like a Haitian in Guantánamo Bay. One of the cheaper hotels would have been more convenient, and only slightly more expensive.
The next morning we race to catch the early-morning shuttle to the airport.
Here is where everything really goes to pot. The plan had been to take the little-used Empire Landing Road to the Little Harbor Trail, which descends right into Little Harbor Campground, and grab the shuttle. But someone tells us the Empire Landing Road is private and we have to take the Little Harbor Road. I found out later that the road leads to private property, but you can certainly take it to the trailhead.
Ignorant of that point, we hike along the roadside. Cars and a tour buses blow by us on the dusty track and we become coated in a fine film of crushed sandstone. Trudging along with my backpack on, I begin to feel like some sort of third-rate peasant. I hate road hiking. When we reach Rancho Escondido, a little equestrian tourist stop about halfway to Little Harbor, we poke around for the trail that supposedly runs from the ranch to Little Harbor Trail. The people there give us blank looks and say everyone takes the road and they know of no trail going to Little Harbor.
We continue trudging along the road, eventually climbing a bluff. I look back and in the distance I can see Rancho Escondido in its valley and then, behind it, I can plainly see a trail paralleling our route. From our position the trail is on the other side of a large valley and we'd either have to do a tough bushwhack or retrace our steps to hook up with it. We opt to stick to the course on the road, but I cannot believe people running a ranch for tourists were unaware of the trail running through their backyards. I'm beginning to suspect sinister things about these island natives.
Eventually we arrive in Little Harbor, a beautiful cove with a pleasant beach thankfully free of large crowds. It's also free of any permanent human habitation and places to eat.
Since you are not allowed to bring a stove or fuel onto the Catalina Express boats, we had pretty much planned to eat dinners at the island's restaurants. With little real food in our packs, we stumble back onto the road and begin hitch-hiking. Some friendly natives give us a ride into Two Harbors, saving us the seven-mile hike. Though even more expensive than Avalon, Two Harbors has food and a campground, so we spend the night here.
The next day we take the Catalina Express leaving Two Harbors back to Los Angeles, older and wiser. Catalina could make an interesting place to hike, but be prepared to be completely self sufficient, carry charcoal and take any advice from locals with a grain of sea salt.
