Laguna drummers try to keep mellow vibe as growth creates spiritual tug-of-war

As the daytime crowds at Aliso Beach packed up and the sun started its descent into the sea Sunday evening, the beat rose.

Tucked into a corner of the beach, men with leathery skin and matted dreadlocks sat alongside chic blondes in lawn chairs around an unlighted bonfire ring drumming, their palms pounding out a pulse that would ebb and flow over the course of the night like a tide, pulling in dancers with a kind of gravitational force.

Families spread out picnic blankets, while girls dressed like they were headed for the Coachella music festival snapped perfectly angled selfies.

Together, they formed the Laguna Beach Full Moon Drum Circle, an event that longtime drummers describe as a kind of organic gathering, inspired by similar ones that take place weekly on the Venice boardwalk.

For more than a decade, the Laguna Beach drum circle has attracted a relatively tame crowd of mostly locals.

In the winter months, the circles sometimes draw fewer than 100 people, said Billy Fried, a Coastline Pilot columnist and one of the drum circle’s organizers.

In the summer, though, that number swells to as many as 500 — a mix of regulars and curious tourists.

“It’s become a pretty famous event,” he said Monday.

But like so many of the quirks that have made Laguna the bohemian haven it is, the event has recently found itself at the center of a spiritual tug-of-war: On one side, participants say, is the impulse to share something unique with the world. On the other is a desire to prevent rowdy outsiders from ruining it.

“Bigger is not necessarily better,” said Greg White, a longtime Lagunan who helped start the drum circle.

Laguna Beach Police Department Cpt. Jason Kravetz wrote in an email that crowds in previous months had created a host of problems.

“They have generated lots of complaints from other beachgoers and residents in the area for the noise, drug use and unsafe activities, such as dancing with fire,” he wrote. “With the free advertising on social media, the events continue to get larger and larger.”

During the May gathering, officers said, a 22-year-old Australian woman was struck as she dashed across Coast Highway to the beach.

So last month, Laguna Beach police formed a special detail with OC Parks, which runs the county beach, to step up law enforcement at the July drum circle.

Officers closed parking lots and issued eight citations for drinking at the beach, as well as one citation each for littering, urinating in public and letting a dog off-leash.

The move — a veritable crackdown by Laguna’s laid-back standards — riled the drummers.

“It was like having your mom at the party,” said one drummer from Glendora, as he sat down with his 16-inch Remo drum Sunday. The man, who declined to give his name, said he’d been going to the Laguna event for about three years.

Since then, drum circle organizers have met with police to ensure smooth sailing this month.

And as of about 8:30 p.m. Sunday, things were going well, said Laguna Beach Police Lt. Joe Torres.

“Our goal is to have a peaceful event, and so far there have been no reported problems,” he said, pausing on the edge of the darkened parking lot. Cars rolled past on the hunt for open spots, and teens wrapped in hoodies wandered toward the restrooms. Bonfires flickered in the distance.

For the most part, Torres said, it was a typical summer night.

Authorities later said alcohol and marijuana use by participants decreased dramatically from past events. County park rangers issued three alcohol-related citations, along with parking tickets — hardly unusual at a packed beach on a warm evening.

Still, residents bristled at the sight of county park rangers and LBPD civilian beach patrol officers clustered on the fringes of the party.

“We mustn’t have too much unbridled enthusiasm,” scoffed Jen Hoy, 56. “That kind of flexing gives off the energy that they’re looking for something.”

Hoy’s friend, 64-year-old Ann Doty, added that although she understood the reasoning behind the police presence, she suggested that officers could make more of an effort to foster goodwill with law-abiding taxpayers.

Both wore black yoga pants and sat at a low picnic table, complete with aqua candles in tall votives and plates of roasted veggies, to celebrate the birthday of another friend, local jewelry designer Karin Worden.

Soon, they got up to join the crush of dancers moving and chanting in concert.

Robert Gluckson, a 61-year-old Laguna Main Beach denizen who sported a dashiki, handmade “hippie wizard robe” and sparkly bronze kerchief, said he was confident that authorities would back off a bit, once they saw that the drummers could keep things mellow.

“Isn’t it fine to be this free in Orange County?” he asked with a grin. “I’m hoping it’s a learning experience when they see there are better uses of their time.”

Other revelers enjoyed the festivities, unaware of the tension.

“It’s fun, it’s interesting,” said Shernae Hughes, 18. She and a group of friends had made the trek from Rancho Cucamonga and decided to stick around.

“It brings people together and all that,” her boyfriend, 17-year-old John Williams agreed.

By about 9 p.m., the pearly supermoon peeked over the steep hill separating the beach from Coast Highway, framed by the silhouettes of palm trees.

Below, the crowd didn’t seem to mark its appearance. Instead, they danced, propelled by the beat.