Hiking Along the Path of Much Resistance

Hiking the length of California’s 1,100-mile shoreline ain’t no stroll on the beach.

All right, it is. Partly. But there’s all that other stuff in the way. Power plants. Marinas. Containerized shipping docks. Ranches. Military bases. Waterfront estates. Craggy sea cliffs. Boulders. Lots of boulders.

“It’s tricky everywhere,” said Richard Nichols, who on Saturday was leading a hearty band of waterfront hikers who passed through Los Angeles to tell about their almost completed coastal journey. “There’s always something going on with the geography, the mouths of rivers, steep bluffs with rocky tidelands. [And] it’s always a problem with private property.”

Three months ago today, Nichols and 11 other coast-walking enthusiasts stepped off in Del Norte County at the Oregon border, bound for San Diego, to promote the notion of a continuous California Coastal Trail. Stretches of the state-endorsed trail project--ranging from magnificent redwood forest to mundane city sidewalks--are already in place. But the coastal path remains more an unfunded paper plan than the world-class recreational feature backers envision.

A new state park bond could help finance the improvements. But no one seems quite sure what it would cost or how long it would take for the required plotting, posting and easement purchasing.

None of which has dampened the spirits of the coastal trailblazers, who see themselves on an unprecedented, if not historic, journey. “I’m doing this for my grandchildren’s grandchildren,” said Barbara Johnson, 67, the oldest of the hikers and one of those who has hung in for the entire trek.

Added Don Nierlich, 61, a UCLA microbiology professor who is guiding the hikers through Los Angeles County: “If you know the world, and you had to pick one of its most important geological features, it would have to be the California coast. It’s like the coast of Italy, the Greek Isles.”

So, they have pressed on through a near-death experience on the treacherous Mendocino County sea cliffs, close encounters with cars on the skinny Big Sur coastal highway and nude-beach exposures in Ventura and Santa Barbara counties. “It’s mostly men,” reported one female hiker.

This weekend, the troupe is plodding its way along the 76--or it might be 86--miles of Los Angeles County coastline. (Don’t ask; it has to do with how you measure all the coastal nooks and crannies.)

The hikers, mostly retirees recruited by the nonprofit Coastwalk organization, rolled out of their tents and sleeping bags early Saturday morning at Leo Carillo State Beach campground and set out on the day’s 15-mile leg. The idea is to chart the most aesthetically pleasing route possible, hewing as close to the shoreline as practical.

In Los Angeles County, this means staying seaward of the cycling and skating gantlet of the beach cities’ strands and bike paths. “We consider the beach a trail,” said Nichols.

Saturday’s adventure began gloriously. Bright blue skies and waters. White-foam waves. The sandy shore weaving through soaring, broken-off chunks of coastal bluff along El Matador State Beach. Then . . .

“Go back. Go back!” someone in front hollered as the line of hikers clawed their way over massive boulders piled below luxurious homes on rocky Lechuza Point in Malibu. Breakers crashed below and the private homes and yards jutted out above, closing the eye of the public shoreline needle the group had hoped to thread. “The tide is higher than we estimated,” announced a disappointed Nierlich.

Working their way back and around through an enclave of private streets and million-dollar-view homes, the hikers found a broken fence at a vacant lot. A well-traveled path led to the sand on the other side of the point. “We try not to trespass,” said Johnson, stepping through a break in the chain-link. In theory, there is at least a sliver of public land along the entire coastline.

Part of the hikers’ mission is simply education, calling attention to the incredible variety and majesty of the California coastline and promoting the idea that the entire run of it should be accessible to the public.

But in high-end beachfront towns like Malibu, there are competing views about the ideal use of the coast. And the vision of backpackers from around the globe snaking through secluded, high-security neighborhoods of Lexuses and Land Rovers may excite some in a slightly different fashion.

“I can see nothing but a major battle, especially with the more affluent [homeowners],” said contractor Randy Berkeley, 40, a lifelong Malibu resident and long-boarder who was hitting the surf as the hikers trudged by. But he was definitely up for the idea. “That’s killer!” he said when Nichols explained the group’s presence. “Give me a call the next time you go.”

Truth be known, the going isn’t all that easy even on unobstructed stretches of the coastline. “We hate soft sand. It’s a lot of work,” confided hiker Fay Kelley, a 59-year-old retired nurse, as she squishy-footed along Zuma Beach.

Unfortunately, soft sand is largely it in the county that gave the world “Baywatch.”

And in about a week, the hikers will hit that other pedestrian unpleasantness known as the busiest international shipping harbor in the United States--the gargantuan, crane-bedecked ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach.

“We’re still trying to arrange for a boat,” said Nierlich, noting that the cross-harbor Vincent Thomas Bridge doesn’t allow folks on foot. “The worst-case scenario is we’ll have to take [a] van over the bridge.”