Sharing Deep Secrets : Underwater Park Gives Divers a Clear Look at Undersea Life in an Unspoiled Sanctuary

It is perhaps the most unusual park in San Diego County. There are no picnic tables, no kids playing ball. Nary a Smokey Bear sign can be seen.

That’s because this park is in the drink, down below the ocean swells in several fathoms of water off La Jolla’s rocky coast.

Dubbed the San Diego-La Jolla Underwater Park, the 6,000-acre preserve, which stretches 7 miles from La Jolla Cove north to Torrey Pines State Beach, serves as a pristine sanctuary for all manner of undersea flora and fauna.

While many stretches of coastline in Southern California have been polluted or picked clean by divers, the La Jolla underwater park remains an unspoiled outpost, an aquatic world rife with lobster, abalone, swaying blooms of kelp and fishes of all types.

Anchored by a 533-acre state ecological reserve that is designated a “look, but don’t touch” area, the crystal-clear waters of the park offer everyone from snorkelers and scuba divers to folks strolling the cliffs of La Jolla a glimpse into the past, a vision of the way the ocean was.

“If this area hadn’t been set aside, then sometime down the road, trite as it may sound, our children and our children’s children wouldn’t have had anything to see,” said Al Bruton, a scuba instructor and underwater photographer. “There’s an absolutely incredible variety of life in this park that you just don’t see in other areas.”

Chuck Nicklin, an underwater cinematographer who has shot such movies as “The Deep” and the James Bond thriller “For Your Eyes Only,” suggested that the area serves perhaps an even more pivotal purpose.

“It’s not just important because it’s a protected area where a person can go see marine life, but because it serves as a sort of spawning ground,” said Nicklin, who has been diving off La Jolla since 1946. “It becomes sort of a nursery for the whole coast.”

Marine Life Refuge

The genesis of the underwater park dates back to 1929, when the state set aside a rectangular parcel straddling the Scripps Pier as a “marine life refuge,” a spot where scientists could remove invertebrates for study without a permit.

In 1970, that area was incorporated as part of the city-operated park, which stretches more than 2 miles offshore. At the same time, the ecological reserve was created on the park’s southern flank in an attempt to preserve for perpetuity the most topographically diverse and environmentally rich stretch of ocean bottom in the region.

Though lobster fishermen and spear-hunting scuba divers can ply their passions in park waters to the north, the taking of game from the ecological reserve is strictly prohibited. The results of that ban are readily apparent, divers say.

Fish that normally scurry at the sight of man tend to wander right over to a diver in the protected waters of the reserve. Moreover, the numbers of mature lobsters and abalone far exceed those outside the park boundaries.

“Lobster fishermen feel there’s a real cache of lobsters in the reserve, so they lay their traps all along the edge,” noted Bert Kobayashi, a marine biologist who heads UC San Diego’s diving program. “A more apparent effect is that even the larger fish in the reserve are not afraid of you since they’re not shot at. It’s not unusual to turn around and see a 10-plus pound sheephead following you.”

Wayne Pawelek, assistant diving officer at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, agreed. “Somehow, the fish seem to know,” Pawelek said. “It’s like deer season. You see them all the time until it’s open season on hunting, then you don’t see them.”

Though many San Diego residents may not even be aware the park exists, the swath of ocean is well-known among scuba divers. On any given weekend, Bruton reports, he has seen divers “literally numbering in the thousands,” as well as scores of bathers, triathletes and marathon swimmers making the crossing between La Jolla Cove and La Jolla Shores.

Though most of them religiously observe the rules against disturbing sea life in the reserve, poaching is not an uncommon occurrence. Lifeguards watch closely for poachers, and state Fish and Game wardens patrol regularly. On occasion, even the police have been called in to chase down a fleeing thief with a bag of abalone slung over a shoulder.

“They’ve caught several people over the years,” Pawelek said. “I remember they found these guys who had been taking about 50 pounds of lobster a week from the reserve. It was a business.”

At times, even law enforcement personnel have been snagged. Last month, a state game warden caught four members of the Sheriff Department’s underwater rescue unit taking 13 undersized lobsters just outside the reserve’s boundaries. The deputies were given misdemeanor citations that carry penalties of up to $500 and six months in jail for each lobster.

Incredible Diversity

What attracts many law-abiding divers to the reserve is not so much the prospect of wall-to-wall lobsters or abalone, but the incredible diversity of the underwater habitat.

“Instead of one type of bottom topography, the preserve has a wide spectrum of choices,” noted Bruton, who served for several years on a council-appointed park advisory committee that oversees use of the area. “What you get is a much broader brush stroke. You can see the full slate of marine life found in Southern California waters, and it’s all in one park.”

The sub-surface landscape ranges from sandy bottom near La Jolla Shores to steep submarine canyons to craggy reefs to caves created by the waves. Near La Jolla Shores, a rocky, underwater cobble patch is spotted with stone bowls left by Indians more than 5,000 years ago; this section of sea bottom has yielded nearly 3,000 archeological artifacts over the years.

Moreover, the park is one of the few diving spots that is easily accessible without a boat. Divers can leave from the Cove or La Jolla Shores and with a short swim reach prime territory.

“There’s not many places in the United States that you can dive off the beach and get good diving,” Nicklin said. “If you live in San Francisco, you have to drive all the way down to Monterey. In Florida, you have the Keys, but you have to take a boat.”

(And for the city, the park is a bargain; with no grass to mow or garbage cans to empty, upkeep costs are nil.)

A broad menu of the sea life awaits those who venture into the reserve. Colorful algae and sea urchins bloom on the rocks and long streams of kelp sway in the currents. Starfish hunker amid the rocks. Sea urchins and sea fans sprout nearby.

Many species of fish dart about: jack mackerel, California halibut, bonito, garibaldi. Eels can be seen slithering about and bat rays fly across the bottom.

Mammals such as sea lions and harbor seals play in the swells, and, on occasion, California gray whales follow the contours of the submarine canyon into the preserve’s waters.

Although there are other underwater parks in the state, none provides such a diverse display of the ocean’s bounty, according to Bruton.

“From my standpoint, as a diver and a photographer, this is absolutely the best,” he said. “The other parks just don’t have the wide diversity. They don’t have the overall variety.”

Bruton recalled one dive in particular. Along with half a dozen of his pupils, Bruton was heading toward the edge of the La Jolla underwater canyon, a yawning chasm that stretches toward shore south of the Scripps Pier.

As they swam, the group moved into a blizzard of fist-sized squid in the process of mating. Eggs covered the ocean bottom, a foot deep, like a layer of snow. As the dumbfounded divers hovered in the water, a phalanx of fish moved in to feed on the squid--halibut, white sea bass, yellowtail, small blue sharks, bat rays.

To top it off, three sea lions approached the group. As the scuba divers stood in a line, their bubbles rising to the surface, the mammals queued up and, like a trio of undersea Rich Littles straight from Vegas, began blowing bubbles--a perfect imitation.

“You just never know what you’re going to see,” Bruton said. “I’ve had thousands of dives in that park. I’ve never made a dive that I didn’t see something different.”

Nicklin agreed that the park is something special.

“I think it’s one of the best,” he said. “You might talk to someone in Dana Point, and they might think their area is better, but I think we have a pretty wonderful park. I’m glad I live here and get to dive in it.”