#campshorts

A BATTENWEAR TRAVELOGUE

We stowed our camping gear in the hold of the midsize boat and climbed up to the top deck to settle in for the ride out of San Pedro harbor, past the enormous container ships, the coast guard patrols, and the little steadfast lighthouse. 

Santa Catalina Island is only about 22 miles from Los Angeles, but traveling over open ocean makes the distance feel more remarkable.  The teenage deck hand, chewing gum loudly, his eyes hidden by reflective sunglasses, showed us how to use our life vests. He hurried through the presentation but at the end stopped and smiled and said, “Enjoy the crossing.” That seemed a good word, “crossing.” It wasn’t just a trip or vacation. It was like leaving one world for another, if only briefly. 

After a little over an hour bouncing around on the waves, we arrived. The desert island jutted up from the ocean, all cactus and dirt, and screaming gulls. There were two mini-islands in the harbor, both white with bird droppings and loud with the barks of seals. 

We had booked a campsite in Two Harbors. So, after we landed, we piled the kids into the wagon and started the hike along the coast to the beach-side campground. The campsites are arranged along a path from the top of the hill down to the ocean. We had chosen our site, #35, in advance, kind of randomly, and were very happy with it, although next time we’ll choose #45 for the even better direct view of the ocean.

After bit of swimming at the rocky beach, some exploring, a campstove dinner, and some s’mores, we were off to bed under a a bright moon and a sky full of stars. 

The next day, we walked the mere half mile across the thin strip of island to Isthmus Cove and then returned to Two Harbors for some beach time followed by kayaking. 

We hit the water with two young women who grew up on the island (one who used to go to elementary school in a single room school house and then took an hour-long bus ride each day to the bigger island city of Avalon for high school, the other who home schooled). They told us all about the island, how it was privately owned by the Wrigley Family (of chewing gum/baseball fame), how a film crew had brought a herd of 14 bison to the island to make a movie in the 1920s and then left them there to eventually grow into the 100-plus head herd that exists now, how the native octopi make nests at the waterline of the beach and chill out in the water with swimmers. 

They took us through a cave meandering under the cliffs, our eyes doused in cool darkness for a brief spell before we shot back out into the brilliant sun and choppy wake of boats. 

And then we headed out for the little mini-islands in the harbor to try to see some seals. We learned that one of the mini-islands, famous for having a species of grass grown nowhere else in the world, was now for sale to the public. It also stunk to high heaven, being so covered in layers upon layers of sea bird droppings. We won’t be asking for that for Christmas. 

After a post-kayak ice cream in the sleepy little town, we headed back to our campsite with fresh groceries. As soon as we set down our shopping on our camp table, we had to fend off the birds. Being from New York, it was funny to see pigeons among the many species of winged residents of the campground. They just seemed so out of place in the wilderness. We imagined our old, tough-as-nails Brooklyn neighbor pigeons spatting it out with these island natives and wondered who among them would walk away with the zucchini brazenly stolen out of our shopping bag while we cooked.