The magic of Jalama is a part of the Santa Barbara County Parks system. One of my favorite runaway spots in Southern California, where, even during the crowded summer season, you can get an afternoon all to yourself if you walk far enough down the beach.
Being out in the water here is a beautiful experience. Besides the outline of a few mysterious things perched atop a distant ridge over at the Vandenburg Airforce Base, the hills are untouched, rolling and golden. Deer come out of the brush and walk on the beach here, and even if you miss them, you can often see their tracks (with tracks of bobcat nearby most likely) running up and down the wet sand in the morning. There are seabirds; gulls, sandpipers, pelicans, and royal terns roam the shore in large groups. The marine life is abundant, from dolphins to seals (and an occasional big toothy fish), to surf perch to kelp forests to jellyfish to urchins and anemones and abalone - there's plenty to see.
The reason that I'm drawn to this place, however, is the surf. There is a rivermouth right in front of the campground that offers fast, fun, and often hollow rides, but the real treat is about a mile south (walking is the only access), where you can get a shifty, ledgy A-frame, where, on the right swell, the left will bowl and boil - a thick brown beast - and the right will stand and run - a deep blue wall, glistening in the sun.
The wind, well, anyone who's been to Jalama can tell you about it. It's often straight out of the NW, cold and strong. It comes up in the morning and lasts all day. It can be an onshore, howling, nightmare. There are stories of people going up there for 3 days and never getting in the water. Even though it's a bummer when it happens, it's still nice to get away, and it's times like those that make trips with cooperative conditions all the more special.
I made two trips up to Jalama this month, and both were graced with swell and offshore winds. We could go on forever about the afternoon two friends and I got Tarantulas all to ourselves for 4 hours (literally without seeing another soul in the water or on the beach), overhead (+- 8 ft.) and offshore at low tide, but I think that letting you mind-surf the photos would be more humane.
(Watch out for massive tar-balls on the beach and don't leave without grubbing a burg'!)
Being out in the water here is a beautiful experience. Besides the outline of a few mysterious things perched atop a distant ridge over at the Vandenburg Airforce Base, the hills are untouched, rolling and golden. Deer come out of the brush and walk on the beach here, and even if you miss them, you can often see their tracks (with tracks of bobcat nearby most likely) running up and down the wet sand in the morning. There are seabirds; gulls, sandpipers, pelicans, and royal terns roam the shore in large groups. The marine life is abundant, from dolphins to seals (and an occasional big toothy fish), to surf perch to kelp forests to jellyfish to urchins and anemones and abalone - there's plenty to see.
The reason that I'm drawn to this place, however, is the surf. There is a rivermouth right in front of the campground that offers fast, fun, and often hollow rides, but the real treat is about a mile south (walking is the only access), where you can get a shifty, ledgy A-frame, where, on the right swell, the left will bowl and boil - a thick brown beast - and the right will stand and run - a deep blue wall, glistening in the sun.
The wind, well, anyone who's been to Jalama can tell you about it. It's often straight out of the NW, cold and strong. It comes up in the morning and lasts all day. It can be an onshore, howling, nightmare. There are stories of people going up there for 3 days and never getting in the water. Even though it's a bummer when it happens, it's still nice to get away, and it's times like those that make trips with cooperative conditions all the more special.
I made two trips up to Jalama this month, and both were graced with swell and offshore winds. We could go on forever about the afternoon two friends and I got Tarantulas all to ourselves for 4 hours (literally without seeing another soul in the water or on the beach), overhead (+- 8 ft.) and offshore at low tide, but I think that letting you mind-surf the photos would be more humane.
(Watch out for massive tar-balls on the beach and don't leave without grubbing a burg'!)
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