By Paul Lebowitz

November 9, 2007

California’s Channel Island National Park is a spectacular place to kayak. Marine life is abundant. On the weather side, the geography feels wild and primeval. Soaring cliffs are punctuated with sea caves that yawn and sigh with the tide. Waves crash and blowholes spit. The water is crystalline and pure.

Thus it was with a great sense of anticipation that Mark Pierpont of Confluence Watersports and I loaded kayaks onto an Island Packers boat this October. We unloaded at Scorpion Anchorage at Santa Cruz Island, site of Channel Island’s most visited campground.

We knew the anchorage lay square in a state marine reserve and were ready to paddle the necessary miles to open water. What we weren’t prepared for was the reception we’d get.

A Park Service ranger gathered all of the newcomers together for a briefing on the island’s natural attractions and the rules meant to preserve them. With a smile she dismissed everyone to explore the park, or nearly so. When she noticed the quiver of fishing rods we each carried, her welcoming smile vanished, replaced with a frown. We’d be detained a while longer, like school kids caught reading a comic book during class time, only this stern teacher wore a matte black 9 mm on her hip.

In a lecturing voice, we were informed we were out of luck. There’d be no fishing unless we cared to hike the four miles one-way to the beach at Smuggler’s Cove. Scorpion State Marine Reserve, she assured us, was so big we shouldn’t bother trying to paddle out of it. It would be too far, and we’d face hazardous conditions unsuitable for our “unstable sit-on-top kayaks.”

Pierpont and I were taken aback by the ranger’s outward hostility toward anglers, an attitude we were to discover is shared by much of the crew on the Island Packers shuttle boats.

DOES THIS LOOK UNSAFE? – Mark Pierpont of Confluence Watersports paddles his superbly seaworthy Tarpon 160i several miles west of the Channel Islands National Park campground at Scorpion Ranch on Santa Cruz Island. He had to; the park’s most visited spot is squarely in the middle of a marine reserve. Its unwise location has created an enforcement hassle for Park Service rangers. BELOW - Pierpoint shows one reason why kayak fishing the Channel Islands is so rewarding despite the hassles.

The latter motored out of their way to shout at us – inaccurately – that we were fishing in the reserve as we sat next to commercial lobster pots outside its western boundary at Potato Harbor.

The harassment didn’t discourage us. We were determined to exercise our legal right to fish outside the reserve and enjoy what is more than a hobby or pastime, but a way of life.    

In three weather-marred days we logged more than 30 miles in the saddle of our Tarpon 160i kayaks, fishing craft in the true sea kayak mold. We rounded the eastern tip of the island at San Pedro Point, fought the current off Yellow Banks, and ranged west of Potato Harbor across jumpy water. The fishing during what should have been prime fall conditions was slow, but improving enough as we ran out of time to show us its magnificent potential. Our experiences will be part of a future Western Outdoors feature covering the ins and outs of kayak fishing the Islands.

As we boarded the Island Adventure for the short run back to the mainland, I mused on the reasons for this unexpected antagonism, the likes of which I’ve never tasted in 40 years of visiting America’s crown jewels, our National Parks.

The answer is obvious. The reserve is a constant enforcement nuisance because it is foolishly located in a highly visited area much of the public expects to fish. The ranger stopped just short of admitting it when we bumped into her on our way out. Not only that, Scorpion sees a lot of inexperienced kayakers on the water. I can’t imagine the ranger wants to encourage novice kayakers who wish to fish to venture far from the cove. 

When I think back on the creation of the Channel Islands Marine Protected Areas, I don’t recall much angler buy-in. I asked Tom Raftican of United Anglers of Southern California if he knew why, on an island that comprises 96 square miles, one of the two reserves is centered on the island’s single busy campground. Although he couldn’t say with certainty, he suggested that private tour operators supported it.

That sounds all too plausible because we’ve just witnessed the same story in Central California. As part of the Marine Life Protection Act Initiative, the commercial SCUBA community spear-headed the closure earlier this year of the pinnacles area in Carmel Bay. The entire southern half of the bay was already slated for protection, but they wanted even more for their personal enjoyment and economic benefit. It mattered not that the pinnacles are popular among kayak anglers and free divers, thanks to its proximity to one of Monterey County’s few consistently calm beaches at the aptly named Stillwater Cove. 

Some of the same forces are at play in the current MLPA planning process in northern California. There, special interests are pushing for a reserve at Salt Point State Park, a mainstay launch site for kayaks and car-top boats and a well-known abalone dive spot. I’m sure one of the arguments in the pro-closure playbook is the enforcement angle. Wouldn’t it be convenient for the cash-starved state if park rangers could be compelled to police the new reserve?