Isthmus Be the Slow Season

When summer’s over most everyone--tourists and employees--on the isthmus of Catalina Island packs up and leaves.

And that’s when it gets really good here. In the fall, the summer fog lifts, the prices drop and the water is clear enough to see the face on a silver dollar 30 feet from the surface.

As we arrived on a Friday in early October after a two-hour Catalina Express boat ride from Long Beach, I was happy to see that the shaggy, palm-fringed beach village I recalled--a far cry from gift-shop-laden Avalon on the other side of the island--hadn’t changed since my last visit three years ago. Same volleyball court. Same thatched-roof patio. And wasn’t that the same striped cat hanging out at the dive shop? Later, looking at black-and-white photographs, I realized that Two Harbors hadn’t really changed since the ‘30s.

My boyfriend, Rich, and I stayed at the 11-room Banning House Lodge, built in 1910. It was an easy choice because it is the only accommodation in Two Harbors. Everyone visiting this side of Catalina stays at Banning House or aboard a yacht, or camps.

Jacklyn Ferris, the innkeeper, came to the dock in a van to fetch us and our bags because the trek to the hilltop bed-and-breakfast is steep, as we would soon realize.

Outdoor stairs led from the house’s bougainvillea-draped veranda to our aptly named room, the “Crow’s Nest.” Tucked away in a corner gable, it was a large, simply furnished room with flowered wallpaper, lace curtains, a ceiling fan and a perfectly private balcony with a bird’s-eye view of Isthmus Cove. (Through March 19, winter rates at the inn are $130, $49 off summer prices.) Just around the corner on the back side of the house was the secluded and serene Catalina Harbor, or “Cat Harbor,” as the locals call it.

Two Harbors locals tend to say things like “Oh, that’s just the island way,” meaning that they don’t worry too much about details. Banning House Lodge did show signs of a relaxed attitude. The paint on the banisters was peeling, and our balcony floor was as weathered as an old dock.

But we plopped ourselves down in the white iron patio chairs to sit and get “that island feeling,” as Rich put it. Within minutes I wouldn’t have wished a paintbrush on anyone.

That night we went to sleep with the doors open, watching the lights of Palos Verdes on the mainland 20-odd miles away.

Breakfast--fruit, bagels, freshly baked muffins, cereals and raspberry jam--was served in a sunny room with wood floors, a fireplace and another expansive harbor view. The breakfast room and the gracious veranda were the prettiest parts of the inn. But the dark-paneled main room, with its stuffed trophy heads of goats, deer and a buffalo (which live on the island), was creepy. Especially the huge, gentle-eyed buffalo. He looked incredibly sad.

The evening before, we’d made arrangements at West End Dive Center (there’s only one in Two Harbors) to go snorkeling. Because the island was at its post-season pace, we didn’t need earlier reservations. Owner Dave Long was taking a group out at 8 a.m., and we tagged along for $19.50 each, including rentals of masks and fins. Wetsuits, a must at this time of year, were $6 extra.

The dive boat took about a dozen of us to Emerald Bay, one of the island’s most popular dive spots because of its extraordinarily clear water. Most of the people aboard, including me, had never snorkeled. Steve, the dive master, gave a quick demonstration, and we jumped off the back of the boat.

The water was 68 degrees, normal for the autumn months, and I was wearing a thick diver’s suit. So I didn’t expect the shock of cold that made me come up gasping. But once I acclimated to the temperature I forgot that I was breathing through a tube and looking through a mask. The water was a brilliant turquoise, the perfect foil for schools of bright orange garibaldi. These fish are a state-protected species, and they seem to know it: One fearless garibaldi about the size of a toaster swam up to me for an eye-to-eye. We both swayed in the currents, checking each other out.

There were swarms of blacksmith, blue fish with black polka dots. I saw a tiny piece of translucence para-gliding far below--a jellyfish. Rich dove down to touch a purple starfish.

After an hour in the water we clambered aboard the dive boat to head for Bathtub Cove, about three-fourths of a mile west of Two Harbors. On the way, Rich and I chatted with Olivia, a high-spirited physical education professor from Arizona who had brought her students with her. They ranged from three lively, middle-aged women to wide-eyed teens.

Olivia said she has been bringing classes to Two Harbors every May and October since 1991, and on every trip the weather has been perfect. Locals told us the sunny days usually hold through Christmas, and everything in Two Harbors stays open year-round.

Back at the dock in Two Harbors, we arranged to go hiking with Olivia after lunch at, yes, the town’s one and only snack bar.

From chatting with Olivia I knew she was a runner and taught dance classes and lifted weights, so I should have guessed we were in for a workout. Before we left, dive shop Dave warned us about rattlesnakes and told us we’d have to scramble a bit to find the trail going to the peak we had eyed as our prize.

From a firebreak road we scurried up a scrubby embankment to a trail that must have been climbing at a 60-degree angle. Olivia set a brisk pace. After 20 minutes I decided to sit a bit. “You did really well, though,” said Olivia in a voice teachers use when they give poor students gold stars to boost their self-image.

But I didn’t need to be consoled: Even from my wimpy vantage point I could see every place we’d gone on the boat. After I caught my breath I hiked up to Rich and Olivia on the highest ridge in sight. We could see the finger of land making up the isthmus and the harbors on both sides. Catalina is like a lopsided hourglass, pinched in at Two Harbors.

We passed one firebreak leading down (this was a big mistake) and chose what looked to be a trail dropping to Catalina Harbor. If it was a trail, it was one for the island’s tiny native foxes. I sidestepped down the incline, nervously eyeing the prickly brush for signs of rattlers and trying to recall whether Los Angeles County charges to rescue foolish hikers. (It doesn’t.)

When we finally hit a flat meadow, we high-fived before realizing our route was blocked by a forest of beavertail cactus. We had again missed a turnoff to a real trail, and had to backtrack to the right turnoff.

Once down in the village, we knew the way to the only thatched-roof bar for margaritas.

That night Rich and I had dinner at Harbor Reef, a touch of yacht club elegance on the otherwise completely casual island. It was the same restaurant we’d dined at the night before, because it is, of course, the only restaurant. The menu is pricey and streamlined: steaks, halibut, chicken, shellfish or pasta. The second night we had a shrimp cocktail, with shrimp as big as small lobsters. On the patio, a deejay started playing tunes, and everyone danced--the people from the dive boat, our innkeeper, campers and rangers. It was as friendly and inclusive as a giant wedding reception.

We left just before the music stopped, and we started the climb to Banning House.

“This is the steepest trail in all of North America!” exclaimed my slightly tipsy beau. (No one in Two Harbors has to worry about driving home after the party.)

From our perch of a room we could hear the distant melodies and laughter. But when the music stopped, there was a deep stillness, as if we were an ocean away from the rest of the world.

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Budget for Two

Banning House, two nights: $282.00

Lunch, Snack Bar, three days: 43.94

Dinner, Harbor Reef Grill, two nights: 141.90

Dive boat and snorkeling equipment: 51.00

Catalina Cruises: 50.00

FINAL TAB: $568.84

Banning House Lodge, tel. (310) 510-2000 or (310) 510-0303.