One Week before the Mast (cont')

Santa Cruz

After another struggle to raise the anchor, this time even more difficult as it appears to be snagged on something far below, we set sail for Santa Cruz Island. Our captain, Jim Wehan, brings the ship to within 50 yards of the soaring cliffs, pock-marked with sea caves and strange formations. Mile after mile of pristine coastline passes by.

Around one corner a huge cavern opens up. Its maw appears big enough to hold a ship and, sure enough, it does! A sailboat with a 60 foot mast is anchored 125 feet inside the mouth of the cave. Behind it is pitch black.

The Pilgrim's two small boats go over the side-no small task as it must all be done with ropes, pulleys, and muscle. Motoring past the sailboat we enter the darkness. In the blackness ahead of us we hear howls and moans echoing off the cave walls. It sounds like the haunted house at Disneyland and, with the absolute darkness barely being penetrated by our flashlights, the echoing bellows put everyone on edge. We're pretty sure that what's making all the racket are California Sea Lions. It isn't until we see their glowing eyes at the back of the cave that we start to relax. We are clearly the most excitement these raucous animals have seen all day and they're determined to let us know who's cave it is.

Santa Cruz is the Channel Island's largest and the most varied in its landscape and fauna. It supported a large population of Chumash Indians whose presence on the island goes back over 6000 years. In more recent years the island was privately owned and used mainly for ranching. A 1988 deal by the Nature Conservancy, however, has preserved the western 90% of the island as a wildlife sanctuary.

And what a sanctuary it is. There is no sign of human habitation and some of its slopes look utterly inaccessible. Mile after mile of pure wilderness passes by. We can only look however. Landings on the island are tightly controlled and the Pilgrim does not have a landing permit on this particular voyage.

We anchor for the night near the west end of the island in preparation for a sail through the Santa Cruz channel. I sense a bit of dread in the crew regarding this section of ocean. In such tight quarters it doesn't take long for stories, rumors, or complaints to travel and I soon discover that on the last journey through this channel the crew encountered gale force winds and six foot swells. I pop an extra Dramamine before I go to bed that evening and hope my stomach continues to remain in my body.