Santa Rosa Island, Day 1

Maybe you don't like the islands. Maybe they look boring, uninteresting. You can see them from the 101 freeway—and they're just sittin' there doing absolutely nothing. They're uninteresting. Nothin' going on out there. Ain't no Micky D's out there. No shops, no paved roads. No wifi, no cell service, no showers, no street lamps, no cars, no noise, no skyscrapers, no nothin'. But when you're offered an opportunity to go out to the islands—you better jolly well go. At least that's what I say. Who knows. You may end up likin' it very much.

At 7:00am we arrived at the harbor. A guy who looked like the offspring of Ron Perlman and Santa Claus was organizing the luggage and tellin' people where to go. Every time he had to enunciate or raise his voice or tell people to "not stand there, sir, SIR, YOU CAN'T STAND THERE," he'd take off his mask and then immediately put it back on. He continued doing so until taking it off and putting it back on became too much of a hassle so he just took it off and threw it in the trash. And there were others walkin' around, others in khaki cargo shorts and converse sneakers and white cotton socks and the signature blue collared polos, all of them organizing, shuttling, informing, and herding the passengers onto the docks. 

And there was a guy with his hair in a bun standin' there by all the college luggage handing' out parking passes. And the group of students formed around him and he had the boarding passes and he handed them out to all of the students and he kept reminding us that we "needed a parking pass if our car is stayin' here overnight—remember—you guys—parking permits if stayin' overnight—." And the students were just faces and they were clean faces with clean clothes and clean bags and clean attitudes. And I didn't know any of them too particularly well—not a clue of who they were or where they came from or why they chose to go on the trip or what kind of ice cream they liked or whatever. There we were, standin' around in a circle, filling out  last minute paperwork, checking' off names, names that went through one ear and out the other. Faces, just faces, standin' around in a circle, waitin' to get on the boat, waitin' for the excursion to commence.

A surfur dude with a surfer accent gave us the lifejacket safety lecture. His mannerisms and posture told us that he had given this spiel many a time before and was likely sick of doing so—but his voice was crisp and clean and clear and effervescent and made all of us feel very safe and confident. And the boat roared to life and off we went, out of the harbor, out into the blue. And some people walked around and some people snacked inside and some braved the wind at the bow and others sat silently in the stern, souped up on Dramamine, praying for the ride to be over with as quickly as possible. 

The boat was packed. Stuffed to the brim. And interspersed with the faces of the students were the faces of complete strangers—strangers that I will likely never see again. There was the old guy with the floppy hat and Ray-Bans standin' at the bow with his arms crossed staring into oblivion. There was the tall woman in the synthetic t-shirt and cargo pants with hair blowing in the wind, not a single goosebump on her arms. And there was the bearded individual who looked like an intellectual wrestler and the guy in the Hawaiian shirt with only three buttons in use and his hairy chest sticking out and his bucket hat and aviator sunglasses and he kept on saying, "in about 45 minutes we should be in whale territory." And there was the elderly Asian couple sitting upstairs and a skinny Jason Momoa lookalike and his Angelina Jolie girlfriend walking' around, both of them trying do find something to do to pass the time. And there were dolphins and pelicans and seagulls and waves and cold water splashing up on the sides and Santa Cruz to our left and the mainland to our right and the wind was loud and cold and nice and the ship moved like a zipper across the channel—stopping only for wildlife and mylar balloons.

Santa Cruz

Our going was good. We were making good time. We skirted the edge of Santa Cruz with its imposing, scat encrusted cliffs falling into the ocean. Around the western tip we caught our first glimpse of our destination: Santa Rosa. There it was, the land of little foliage and excessive wind. And the closer we got the more was revealed. Brown grass, deep canyons, sandy points. Santa Rosa, land of wind and heat and arroyos and ravines and secrets and wind and bent trees and bent grass and bent sticks and sand and wind and dunes and desolation and wind and wind and wind. Lots of wind. 

Northwestern tip of Santa Cruz

Santa Rosa

We arrived at the pier. Left the boat. We made a human assembly line. Passed the gear from the boat to the people to the pier. There was a Ranger on the pier. Super tan with tattooed arms. Handle bar mustache. Filthy boots. Pistol at his side. He gave the Island lecture to all of the visitors except us: "If you're with the college...you'll get your own orientation." And so we left and walked to the research station and we learned the rules of the game and what to do and what not to do and we picked rooms and put everything away and then chilled out for a little bit before headin' on out into the hinterland for our first assignment.

It was dry and barren; looked like the whole place was just itchin' for some rain. And the wind was ever present and getting noticeably stronger every hour or so. And we walked and we talked and we arrived at the assignment and we wove sticks together and cut fabric and made "cloud fences" to catch the morning fog. And we were told that a total of four inches of rain graced the island last year. No wonder it looked so dry! These cloud fences would sure come in handy. And we talked and worked and drank water and talked some more and the wind kept blowin' and we ended up makin' 28 fences but had to re-do 13 of them because we made them upside down. And it felt good makin' those fences and seein' our progress and gettin' to know one another and before we knew it the work was done and we had to head on back. 

Cloud Fences

And on the way back we saw some history in the form of old buildings and forgotten boats and rusted vehicles and temporary structures and old hunting tents with the old sun-bleached skulls of some deer species mounted on the outside. And the Eucalyptus windbreak was old and dry, and the trees were bent at  45° angles and the sun was going down and the wind just wouldn't quit and Santa Cruz stood in the distance—a golden, sun-baked stretch of mountains and canyons and who knows what else. 

Santa Cruz in the distance

A relic of the past

Spooky

Back at the station we had some free time before din-din so a few of us ventured on down to the beach. It was far too windy and cold for me to venture into that icy blue beyond but it didn't stop the others. They dove in without hesitation and swam and floated and let the wind whip the water over their faces and it looked like they were having a good time and I walked down the beach lookin' out across the channel and out at the pier and at the waves breaking on the rocks and the sand whipping across the beach and the little tiny invertebrates crawling around in the washed up seaweed and everything was good, everything was nice.

But after a while we had to head on back and the wind was gettin' stronger and stronger and while we were waitin' for din-din I talked to one of the students and she told me her father was good friends with one of Tolkien's sons. And she told me how she grew up reading British literature and all of the classics and about the new story she was workin' on and how she once had a poetry teacher who told her that her style of writing sucked because she used big words and I told her that that must have been a pretty bad poetry teacher and she said yes and we laughed and chatted and our voices were carried away with the wind.  

And for dinner there was angel hair pasta with marinara and vodka sauce and Italian sausage and salad and breadsticks and whoever helped cook this meal did a fantastic job and it was warm and cozy in there with random bits of conversation and dinnertime ambience bouncing back and forth across the walls and out of the open screen windows and into the wind and across the island. 

I helped with the dish crew and the dishes were dried and before we knew it it was 9:00pm and it was time to walk out to the pier to look at the stars. And out there on the pier and lookin' at the stars we sat and chatted with shivering bodies and chattering teeth and had philosophical conversations about the meaning of life and how beautiful the night sky was and how pretty the island looked at night. And some students wore two jackets while others wore flimsy windbreakers while one was wrapped up in a sleepin' bag. And the wind was loud and the wind was cold and the wind was nice and it never stopped and it never seemed like it was gonna stop and that seemed like a good thing. 

Back at the station we were informed that we should see the sunrise in the mornin'. 6:30am to be exact. Told that it would be one of the prettiest darn things that we would ever see in our entire lives. That's a pretty bold statement. Had to see if it was true. I set my alarm, day one complete, excited for the next.