Refuge on Refugio State Beach

Pulling into Campsite 35 at Refugio State Beach on an overcast Friday afternoon, I feel as though I have gotten away with something those poor B&B weekenders shelling out for the Red-Tile Walking Tour in nearby Santa Barbara have not.

In the warmer months, this unassumingly sweet little cove of sand, with its fringe of skinny and fat palms, its gentle surf, its bluff-side bike path that leads to bigger and better-known El Capitan State Beach, will be filled to capacity with Winnebagos, tents and local day users with roof racks.

But in the off-season, there’s no better place on the Southern California coast to disappear for a night of pure faux-tropical solitude. If Kauai were a small campground with coin showers two hours north of L.A. and 200 yards from a bridge humming with oblivious freeway traffic, this might be it.

And at Campsite 35 (which shares front-row status with 34, 36 and 60), walk about 30 steps and your feet are salty wet. Every so often, a train rumbles past from behind, reminding me that I’m sharing this tranquil spot with Amtrak’s Pacific Surfliner passengers. But only for about 10 seconds.

Today, my neighbors are a lone surfer riding the mild break by the north headland, a guy ankle-deep in the Pacific with a fishing rod, an old-timer arranging firewood and a coterie of sandpipers.

Buffered by the Channel Islands, Refugio is a magnet for swimmers, divers, sea kayakers and casual surfers. The paved bike trail accesses El Capitan just 2.5 miles southeast of here. Twelve miles north, you can take a strenuous three-mile hike (one way) to the summit of 2,450-foot Gaviota Peak, which pays off with superb views of Santa Barbara County, Point Conception and the Channel Islands. (To get to the trail head from U.S. 101 North, take the Highway 1 turnoff, make an immediate right onto the frontage road paralleling the freeway and drive 0.4 miles south into Gaviota State Park.)

If Refugio’s premium campsites — 34, 35, 36 and 60 (23 to 27, on the other side of Refugio Creek, are also front-row but a little farther back) — were any closer to the waves, I could shore-fish from inside my tent.

Some of the extras: bathrooms, coin showers, indoor and outdoor sinks, and an outlet or two for ailing cellphone batteries. There’s a small on-site camp store, and lifeguards are on duty only during summer. No hookups for RVs.

At night, a blissful ocean soundtrack drowns out traffic directly behind me — but, alas, can’t quite contend with those cargo trains screeching by beside the freeway in the evening and surprisingly early in the morning.

But now, the sun goes down. The Surfliner whizzes by. The 101 hum recedes into the sound of waves.

Tomorrow morning, a few more cars will pull in with their rods, their sea kayaks, their boards, their marshmallows. But the quiet will remain. It will be overcast again. It will be just perfect.