Defending the Waterfront

Through the windshield of a cruising car, with surf music twanging from the stereo and the summer’s first real heat wave shimmering off the pavement, Ventura County’s beaches are a fleeting vision of paradise.

But slow down to a barefoot stroll and the various battlegrounds of public policy debate that seem so abstract in headlines come vividly to life.

A weeklong hike of the Ventura County shore, led by scientists and nature lovers from the nonprofit organization Coastwalk, took me through a series of ongoing dramas. Surrounded by the thunder of surf and barking of harbor seals, it’s easy to see why the people who live here put such a high value on maintaining, defending and at times restoring this awesome asset.

Along several lonely stretches of beach, driftwood and other flotsam have been crafted into whimsical sculptures or rustic shelters. Near Rincon Beach someone has painstakingly knotted perforated rocks onto the stringy roots of an inverted tree, creating a surreal Christmas tree. At Ormond Beach, one particularly elaborate driftwood tepee is guarded by a stern, clearly unofficial sign that warns: “Don’t [foul] this one up.”

That pretty well sums up the message that Ventura County’s residents, business people and tourists would like to send to the dozens of local, county, state and federal agencies that share responsibility for portions of the coastline.

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Coastwalk’s mission is educating the public about its rights to access to the coast, at least to the beach below the high-tide line as guaranteed by Article 10 of the state Constitution.

At Rincon Point and Malibu Village near Mugu Rock, private homes extend right up to the surf line, in places holding back the waves with sea walls or rock revetments. When the tide permits beach walking at all, strollers on the sand draw suspicious looks from the homes’ raised decks.

Tom Maxwell, the anthropologist and Chumash expert who has led the Ventura County Coastwalk for five years, does not call for removal of homes that encroach into public territory but believes those that are damaged or destroyed by storms should not be rebuilt.

Elsewhere, such as the 10-mile stretch from Faria Beach to Emma Wood State Beach, the Ventura Freeway skates so close to the shore that rock-hopping is the only way to pass.

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At the Ventura River estuary beside Emma Wood State Beach, the massive task of rooting out giant weeds is never-ending. A $750,000 campaign has uprooted 6 million pounds of exotic plants such as Arundo donax, castor bean, poison hemlock, German ivy and myoporum and replaced them with native plants such as wild roses and willows, cottonwoods and coyote brush.

That yearlong restoration project ended two years ago, although a 10-year monitoring program is continuing. Left behind is a 110-acre wonderland of habitats returning to their pre-civilization state: coastal dunes, cobblestone beaches, riparian woodlands and various types of wetlands. Paths such as the Ocean’s Edge Trail and River’s Edge Trail snake through Emma Wood State Park and Ventura’s Seaside Wilderness Park. School groups and the Native Plant Society regularly conduct tours.

But while victory seems at hand--for now--on the western bank of the Ventura River, some of the same battles are yet to be fought on the eastern bank.

There, the giant leafy reed called Arundo donax is working its persistent roots into the sand of Fairgrounds Beach. Last winter’s El Nino floods carried bits of Arundo downstream and dropped them there, allowing the stubborn cousin of bamboo and sugar cane to gain an ominous foothold on the beach at Seaside Park, home of the Ventura County fairgrounds.

From the river mouth east to the beginning of the city-maintained area, the sand is an minefield of wave-tossed driftwood--as large as full-size trees and railroad ties, as small as shattered Arundo stems that cut the feet of unwary walkers. Along the drop-off that marks erosion’s unabated assault on the Surfers Point bike path, small clumps of Arundo raise their green flags and provide privacy and shade for street people.

Ventura city officials say the fairgrounds management has been very responsive to their requests that the Arundo be removed before it spreads further, but this month they are otherwise occupied. After the crunch of fair season ends, they promise to give some attention to cleaning up the beach.

It’s also time for some progress toward stopping the erosion of the bike path, which continues dramatically. An innovative plan put forth in November remains in limbo--but the ocean is not waiting. If steps are not taken to permanently solve this problem, future Coastwalkers may be able to stroll down the fair’s midway without taking a detour.

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Farther along, a water taxi ferries our group across the mouth of Ventura Harbor for a stop at the Channel Islands National Park visitor center. There we participate in a live video chat with a diver on the bottom of the Pacific off Anacapa Island.

The islands are in an awkward stage of transition now that the National Park Service has taken charge of 6,400 acres on the largest of the islands, Santa Cruz, from the private ranchers who worked it for 100 years. Negotiations with the Nature Conservancy could bring another 8,000 acres into park service control by the end of the year.

The change of management has had its difficulties. Floods demolished several historic buildings at the Scorpion Ranch, bringing criticism from those who believe the park service should have taken steps to prevent the damage. There have been vigorous prosecutions of people believed to be taking artifacts from the islands, and emotional debate continues on the future of a small heard of horses on Santa Cruz.

Like the Chumash who preceded them, the ranchers and their cattle are fading into history on the Channel Islands. As the park service continues its push to open up privately held portions of the islands to public use, it’s worth remembering what a magical place the Channel Islands are to visit--by excursion boat, by kayak or even by two-way video.

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It’s also a time of transition at Channel Islands Harbor, about five miles down the coast from Ventura Harbor and vigorously competing with it for the dollars of boaters and tourists.

Here, as in the mall wars, dueling auto centers and rival plans for downtown redevelopment, the neighbor cities of Ventura and Oxnard are about as cooperative as the British navy and the Spanish armada.

Even our group of well-seasoned hikers sags at the sight of nearly four miles of paved parking lots that stretch out between street and waterfront. Viewed up close, at pedestrian pace, it is clear that the harbor could do much more to capitalize on its excellent location.

The county Board of Supervisors has authorized a plan to revitalize the aging and underused harbor by luring new businesses that would attract a wider spectrum of shoppers and fun seekers. Several elements of the plan would strengthen the connection to the sea: water taxis, more dockside dining, nautical-themed retailing.

As with so many challenges along the Ventura County coast, this one is complicated by a Rubik’s Cube of interlocking and often conflicting jurisdictions, only beginning with the city of Oxnard, the county Harbor Department and the Channel Islands Beach Community Services District.

The success of all these entities in working together will determine when--if ever--Channel Islands Harbor lives up to its potential as a magnet for ocean lovers, even those who only like to look.

From the commercial hubbub of the harbor to the peaceful solitude of Ormond Beach isn’t all that far to a beach walker, but the psychic distance is profound.

At Ormond, most casual visitors and--thus far--development have been kept at bay by some of the county’s heaviest industry. The ironic result has been an isolated wetland area where endangered birds such as the snowy plover and least tern compete for nesting space in the sand among the pickleweed and beach primrose.

Once these wetlands ran undisturbed all the way to Mugu Lagoon. Now, after an ill-advised plan to build 5,000 homes in the area finally helped drive its developer out of business, hopes run high for preserving and restoring a big chunk of this largest remaining undeveloped stretch of Ventura County’s coastline.

The Metropolitan Water District is buying 309 acres in the area, intending someday to build a desalination plant on about 50 of those acres. The city of Oxnard has agreed in principle to become a partner in the venture, maintaining some control over how the remaining acreage will be used. The hottest current prospect for the site is a film production complex; whether it fares better than numerous previous big ideas for the site remains to be seen.

For now, the salt breezes ruffle the dune flowers as the endangered birds take advantage of the isolation that keeps this beach much like it was centuries ago.

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Isolation of a different sort has protected another remarkable and too seldom seen nature preserve: Mugu Lagoon. The largest remaining coastal estuarine salt marsh between Monterey and Mexico, it is home to seven endangered species.

The forbidding fences and no-nonsense security guards of the Naval Air Weapons Station at Point Mugu are the best friends a thriving colony of harbor seals and a resurgent purple dune flower called the salt marsh bird’s beak could have. About 2,000 of the base’s 4,500 acres are sensitive tidal wetlands or marsh.

For decades, the U.S. Navy concentrated on testing weapons systems here with scarce attention to the impact on the local ecosystem. But since the military decided to make its stewardship of this land a higher priority, its efforts to restore wetlands and nurture endangered species have created an isolated (if sometimes jet-noisy) refuge visited by hundreds of Ventura County students each year. Point Mugu’s cleanup efforts recently won four awards from the Department of the Navy.

Watching a line of brown pelicans flap their way up the coast while a state-of-the-art fighter jet streaks across the sky far overhead and an E-2C Hawkeye radar plane circles in for a landing, one can only marvel at the extraordinary ways the elements of the Ventura County coastline work together.

Don’t foul this one up, indeed.