Camping at Jalama Beach near Lompoc

From a map, Jalama Beach County Park looks like one of the most isolated beach campgrounds in Southern California. The beach hugs a crescent-shaped coastline between Point Conception and Point Arguello, just south of Vandenberg Air Force Base.

No multimillion-dollar mansions or rickety piers mar the coastline for miles in either direction. Just the ocean lapping at the raw land, as it has for millions of years.

Despite its remote locale, Jalama Beach is not the rough, isolated park I expected to find when I drove a winding, two-lane country road to the sand-swept campground in February. A dozen relatives and I arrived a few hours before sunset.

The youngest of our clan scampered along the nearly vacant beach, collecting rocks and shells. The adults soaked in the view: undeveloped hills cascading into the shore, like folds of green felt. The last rays of light were shining on white-capped waves, as kite surfers cut switchbacks just beyond the foam.

My nephew, Willie Martinez, a 24-year-old outdoorsman, and I were the only two of our family foolhardy enough to plan an overnight stay in the campground. Foolhardy, I say, because storm clouds hung low over the nearby town of Lompoc, threatening a cold downpour on the coast.

Still, Jalama Beach County Park had all the amenities we needed for a comfortable camp-out. The park, with its 98 campsites, has fire pits, picnic tables, showers, toilets, running water and a grocery store and cafe with a reputation for tasty hamburgers.

The larger sites, set aside for RVs, are on the eastern end of the park, high on a bluff. The smaller campsites for tents are arranged in two elongated loops, closer to the beach.

Before the store and cafe closed at 5 p.m., we stocked up on essentials: beer, chips, sunflower seeds, firewood and hot chocolate. We set up our tent in a site with a view of the dunes but within walking distance of the outhouses. We had the only tent in a row of campsites near the dunes. On the bluff, lights shone from a line of RVs.

Willie and I explored the beach, waded across Jalama Creek and looked for starfish and anemones hiding in tide pools in the sandstone outcroppings north of the park.

Jalama’s name comes from a settlement the Chumash Indians once occupied on a nearby gurgling creek that snakes through rolling foothills of oak and sycamore trees before trickling into the Pacific. The natives called it “Halama,” but European settlers later changed the spelling to Jalama (but it’s still pronounced hah-LAH-mah).

I wondered whether trains run on that old trestle that travels along on the eastern end of the park. Minutes later an Amtrak Surfliner roared past.

I sparked a blaze in the fire pit, and my nephew and I initiated that all-American camp ritual of drinking beer and recalling stories about fishing, hiking and other manly pursuits. A full moon cast a silvery glow. The sound of children crying rang out from one of the RVs on the bluff.

Once the beer and the firewood were gone, we stumbled into our tent and were lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves.

I awoke early the next morning to the “whack, whack, whack!” of gulls attacking a popcorn package next to our tent. After chasing off the winged scavengers, I made instant coffee on my camp stove and headed for the shore. Beyond the dunes, a boogie boarder bobbed in the water, battling 2- to 3-foot waves. I sipped my coffee and watched him perform a few face plants in the shallow surf.

The rising sun cast an amber glow on the palm trees. Happily for us, the threatening clouds stayed away all night.

My stomach called out for breakfast, but the beach cafe wouldn’t open until 9 a.m. If I could fill my belly on gorgeous views and a relaxing setting, I would have stayed at Jalama Beach a little longer. Instead, we packed our tent and camp stove and pulled out of the parking lot in search of a hot, hearty breakfast.

hugo.martin@latimes.com