Carlsbad Cliffs Continue to Test the Mettle, and Sanity, of Youth

The muscular, blond teen-ager stood on the edge of the precipice, considering his reflection in the black waters 85 feet below, thinking about the jump.

“What’s his name?,” someone asked from below.

“Brett. Brett Johnson.” came the answer.

“You mean Brett ‘The Crazy’ Johnson.”

That’s when the chanting began. Like taunting urban onlookers standing so many stories beneath a window ledge and a troubled soul, they cajoled: “Jump, jump, jump.”

So Johnson took a deep breath. And he jumped.

He sliced through the air for a teen-age eternity. Then the 17-year-old tucked his arms to the side, his feet meeting the water with a sickening thud that sounded hard, like the smacking of concrete.

Not exactly the stuff of Greg Louganis. But the resulting oohhs and aahhs from two dozen teen-agers showed more approval than even an Olympic judge could give.

“Serious hang time,” somebody said.

“Stud,” another youth said.

At first, only air bubbles rose from the water’s black depths. And then Johnson sprang back to the surface, smiling. For the moment, anyway, he was king of the La Costa cliff jumpers, on top of the world.

Brazen Bodies Meet Water

Who said the coolest dudes rode surfboards? Every day after school and on weekends, scores of youthful daredevils converge on a little corner of Carlsbad known as Box Canyon, where the most brazen bodies meet the water with a resounding splash.

The freshwater hole, about the size of a small public pool, is fed by a 70-foot waterfall pouring from one of the jutting rocky cliffs.

Those ledges provide the platforms for all sorts of daring leaps--from 20 feet all the way up to the Big Daddy, an 85-foot drop from a spot known simply as Level 1.

The canyon walls are spray-painted with colorful slogans, hard-rock references and the signatures of famous leapers. There’s a skull and crossbones, a Batman insignia and an inscription that reads, “Just jump.”

But the best thing about Box Canyon, teens say, is that there’s only one way to get there--down a treacherously steep

and winding trail that descends from the eastern rim of brush-covered San Marcos Canyon, which stretches from Rancho Santa Fe Road to Batiquitos Lagoon.

That way, the jumpers are free of any nosy policemen who might cruise by for a peek. And the perturbed residents of the adjacent condominium complex? Well, they can only stand by and shake their heads.

Box Canyon has been a teen-age hangout for a quarter of a century now--longer than those condos have been in existence--and has become a historic challenge of nerves and skill, jumpers say.

Through the years, news of the place has been passed down by word of mouth. Some teens said their fathers and older brothers used to swim there. The deaths and injuries at the watering hole have become legend.

There are other water holes in San Diego County to show your cliff-jumping style--places with names like Black’s Canyon in Ramona, Devil’s Punch Bowl in Alpine and the Clam in La Jolla.

But no place has higher cliffs, or more potential danger, than Box Canyon, according to teen-agers who have made the rounds. It’s the spot, everyone agrees, for thrills that can make surfing look more like figure skating.

“It’s the ultimate thrill,” said 18-year-old Andrew Grabhorn, who jumped from one of the lower levels. “Just watching some of those other guys up there can make your heart pump.”

Thrill or not, residents of the adjacent Sea Point condominiums would like to see the wraps put on Box Canyon and its divers.

“It’s going to get to the point where a calamity is going to happen there,” said Louis Denov, editor of the condo association newsletter. “Not only is it dangerous there, but so many people show up, someday soon we’re going to have an absolute riot.

“Every day, these young people come. And they expect you to clean up after them, wipe their noses. They swim in our pool, damage our property. The city of Carlsbad hopes it will all disappear. But it’s not going away.”

One Known Death

Police Chief Bob Vales acknowledged that at least one death has occurred at Box Canyon and that injured jumpers have been airlifted from the site.

Authorities have posted signs alerting jumpers to the dangers of the canyon, but those have been torn down, Vales said.

“Someone got killed there in the early ‘80s, but in recent years it’s been pretty quiet,” he said. “It’s just so inaccessible we don’t pay much attention to it. I mean, it’s a bear to get down there.”

Carlsbad City Atty. Vince Biondo said the canyon area has been designated open space and that recent state laws protect the city from any liability for what goes on there.

“We’re just not responsible for people who get hurt on public open space in its natural condition,” he said. “Otherwise, cities couldn’t have parks; they’d go out of business.”

Biondo said he doesn’t recall any lawsuits resulting from accidental deaths by La Costa jumpers.

“It’s just not the city’s problem when people go out and do dumb things,” he said. “If someone did call, I’d tell them that I don’t let my kids play in canyons; they shouldn’t either.”

Around Carlsbad City Hall, Box Canyon is considered a source of complaints as well as fond memories. For some workers, the place was part of their rites of passage into adulthood. Several said they once jumped there, or played the role of awed spectator.

City Councilwoman Ann Kulchin is one of those with a personal perspective. She has investigated complaints for condo owners. And she once scolded her own daughter for making a Box Canyon leap.

“Several years ago, my daughter and the quarterback of the high school football team held hands and jumped from the top ledge,” she recalled. “I found out when she got home, and I could have wrung her neck.

“She said she’d never do it again. Not because of what her mother said, because she was terrified.”

Blair McKinney has fonder memories of his Box Canyon days. He recalls bouncing down an old dirt trail from Rancho Santa Fe Road in his Volkswagen Beetle in the early 1960s.

“It was sort of a secret place back then,” said the Vista High School graduate, now a law professor at National University. “I don’t recall ever drinking there. For us, it was a thrill just to jump.”

He remembers the black waters with an air of mystery.

“We always wondered if anyone could ever touch bottom,” McKinney recalled. “Once, when I jumped from the 45-foot level, it shocked me to feel how far down into the water I went. And I didn’t touch.”

Today, beer cans and other trash float in the waters. But intrigue still surrounds the Box Canyon pool.

Jed Dreben, a 15-year-old junior at Torrey Pines High School, insists that it sits atop the mouth of an old mine shaft running beneath the falls.

In any event, he said, few teens have set foot on the water hole’s floor.

There are other legends: Jumpers tell of the girl whose boyfriend promised to give her his car if she took the plunge from Level 1. She came up short and died when she impaled herself on a maple tree that spreads out at the water’s edge.

As the story goes, the dejected boyfriend drove his car into the water hole. To this day, swimmers say, the Volkswagen sits there on the bottom.

Another unlucky jumper reportedly hit a rock at the water’s edge and died, teens say. A hand-painted target now marks the spot.

Last weekend, a woman was hospitalized after she bashed her head on the canyon wall while riding a chair swing suspended from one of the maple tree’s branches.

But it’s the danger that brings the teens back. And sometimes, their fathers come with them.

“My dad just said he wanted to come down here with me; he didn’t say anything about jumping,” said Aaron Garrow. “Then I heard him yell ‘Aaron!’ and saw him go off.

“He told me later that guys do stuff like this once in their life. He never did it when he was my age. So now was the time.”

Along with leaping dads, the place has other celebrities. A man they call Jumpin’ Jim, a middle-aged guy who does fluid swan dives from the top ledge, has spray-painted his name there to advertise it.

Not all jumpers hit the water so gracefully. Others land awkwardly, like wooden statues. Still others flail their arms as though realizing they’ve made some terrible mistake and hope to climb back up.

Thrill, Jolt of Splash

But they all come for one reason: the thrill of the hang time and the jolt of the splash. They jump, climb back up the ropes, and then they jump again.

Some teens said they jumped so much they often went home with headaches.

“You do it for the adrenaline,” said Johnson. “I mean, it’s scary, but it just stays with you a few seconds. You’re so overwhelmed by the rush, it’s a small price to pay.”

This is a place of challenges, where the phrase “Bet you can’t” is repeated like an anthem and where being a little crazy is a badge of honor.

“On July 4th, there were a hundred people here, and that’s when things really got wild,” said 20-year-old Gino Niccoli. “That’s when everyone wants to one-up the next guy. And when they do, the crowd claps. It’s cool.”

But there’s another reason to take such chances. Girls.

Ugne Skripkus was one of several silken-haired teens with sunglasses who sat on the cliffs, nodding their approval for the most daring jumps.

“I mean, everybody surfs,” she said. “My little brother surfs. This is just more impressive. With all those rocks you can hit in the water, there’s only a few guys willing to go off Level 1.”

Johnson was one of the daring. In less than an hour, he had made several sensational leaps, turning a few smiles from his female audience into a bona-fide telephone number and a possible date.

Some teens fear, however, that the thrill may someday be gone at Box Canyon, taken away by overly cautious officials. La Jolla lifeguards now chase would-be divers from the Clam there, they say.

“It’d really be sad if they drove us from this place,” said Jennifer McClure, a former Mt. Helix High School diver. “Coming here gives you something to do other than spend money at the mall.

“It’s really one of the only things you can do that’s really fun and still free.”