The Thrill That Can Kill : Punch Bowl Site of Emerald Pools, Dangerous Diving

It’s a long haul up the steep, dusty and shadeless Santa Paula Canyon. But every day during the summer, about 100 people make the sage-scented trek knowing that at trail’s end a series of emerald pools await them.

The area is known as the Punch Bowl, a popular place for local hikers to picnic, swim and take dangerous leaps through narrow gorges.

Like lemmings setting off for sea, teen-agers--mostly male--view jumping off the towering cliffs as a rite of passage.

They may acknowledge the danger, but they can’t resist it. Not jumping would be like admitting that their Honda Civics and Ford Escorts aren’t race cars and that their driver’s licenses are a privilege, not an inalienable right.

It’s the ultimate thrill. Shooting through the air like a projectile, bathing suit fluttering, bronzed limbs rigid or flailing, nostrils ready for a watery entry.

But it’s a thrill that often leads to broken or crushed bones--and one or two fatalities a year.

“More than 90% of the people we rescue there each year are teen-agers, mostly male,” Ventura County Sheriff’s Sgt. Earl Matthews said. “They don’t think before they act because they think they can’t get hurt or killed. But it happens.”

About 35 times a year, the Sheriff’s Department sends in a helicopter to rescue injured jumpers, nearly drowned swimmers and lost hikers, Matthews said. And every year, there are one or two fatalities, usually due to jumps gone wrong and drownings in the waters that can become rough and turbulent after heavy rains.

“Most of the time, we get a lot of broken legs, snapped ankles and cracked skulls,” Matthews said.

While reckless stunts are not illegal, they are stupid, said John Boggs, a ranger with the National Forest Service.

“People of sound mind and normal intelligence won’t jump,” he said. “But a lot of people still do it. We can’t always stop people from doing harm to themselves.”

Victims are punished twice--first by the fall and then by the two- to three-hour wait for help.

“Someone has to hike out all the way to the highway to phone for help before a helicopter can even be dispatched,” Boggs said.

Sending out a helicopter isn’t cheap, either. It costs taxpayers about $850 per rescue, Matthews said.

The pristine Santa Paula creek is a fun magnet when temperatures soar above 90 degrees, which is often come summertime. The cool cascades rumbling down the stream-carved canyon are irresistible, and the flat boulders around the pools are tailor-made for lounging in the sun after a swim.

One recent afternoon, 18-year-old Erin Forest and six friends splashed about in a large pool and swam beneath a waterfall.

But none of them were about to climb to the top of canyon wall and jump--a leap of anywhere from 25 to 90 feet, depending on where one decides to make the plunge off the hot rocks.

The site is better suited for a carefree swim than stunts, they agreed.

“I wouldn’t let my friends do that,” said Forest, who led the day’s excursion.

“There was a kid from my high school in Ventura who was paralyzed a few years ago after making a bad jump. You just don’t know how deep the water is or where the rocks are.”

But that’s what attracts legions of danger-loving teen-age males from across the county to the Punch Bowl. It’s the magic of adrenaline-inspired, death-defying leaps of 40 or more feet that changes a regular old Thursday afternoon into a series of heroic episodes.

It’s something to laugh about. Something to brag about. Something to break up the humdrum of a summer often filled with flipping burgers in polyester uniforms.

Ryan Doyle likes the thrill. The 19-year-old from Ventura spent the day with a dozen friends jumping from dizzying heights into the gem-like waters below, careful to avoid the jutting rocks.

“It’s a rush, an adrenaline rush,” Doyle said. “It’s a rush because you don’t know how shallow the water is. You could hit the bottom. That’s part of the fun. You don’t know until you jump. You could also hit a rock or two. It’s a rush, you know?

“I’m into thrill sports. This is like bungee jumping--but without the rope.”

It’s a logic based on illogic. But one that so many like-minded teen-agers easily understand.

Danny Valenzuela hopped around barefoot, sporting a rope hammock over his shoulder and looking for a place to nap. He was pooped from jumping all morning and climbing to jump again.

He knows the thrill.

His face lights up just thinking about it.

“It’s a high,” the 26-year-old Oxnard resident said. “It’s safe, I think. But if you jump wrong, you hit wrong and . . . pow.”