Lost Coast Sojourns

Santa Barbara Has Its Own Unique Rugged Coastal Topography Within Relatively Easy Reach

Paddling around Point Conception in Santa Barbara County | Photo: Chuck Graham

The coarse black sands of the Lost Coast in Northern California were gritty and cool as naturalist Holly Lohuis and I backpacked barefoot along the classic 25-mile-long route from Mattole Campground south to Shelter Cove. The only blemishes on those glistening sands were the prints of foraging black bears, coyotes, raccoons, gulls, and the occasional skunk — lots of traffic between 12 creek crossings at the foot of the mighty King Range.

Of the 840 miles of California coast, the Lost Coast is gratefully roadless. The only access is backpacking and/or paddling its windswept, wave-battered shores. The King Range towers above it. The daunting coastal range receives 120 inches of rain per year, feeding year-round creeks and naturally filtered springs spilling out of crumbly shale. Those reliable water sources eventually converged with the Pacific. While we trudged in the soft sands and beneath weathered marine terraces, we soaked in the grandeur of the Lost Coast’s endearing solitude.

However, while we trekked the Lost Coast, we couldn’t help dwelling on Santa Barbara’s own version of its “Lost Coast.” Yes, there are stretches of Northern Santa Barbara County that are roadless and/or inaccessible. It’s some of California’s most unique and stunning scenery with rugged coastal topography swept in coastal sage scrub; rolling, wind-groomed artistic sand dunes; lonesome pocket beaches; and hefty marine terraces.

Coasteering along Point Sal with Sea Lion Rock in the background — Santa Barbara’s own version of the Lost Coast | Photo: Chuck Graham

Wildness in the Wilderness

Wilderness areas just don’t seem wild unless wildlife abounds within natural habitats. The Lost Coast in Northern California and Santa Barbara’s north coast share similarities of terrestrial and marine mammals alike, coastal fauna enjoying the diverse biomes along each isolated shoreline.

Just when Holly and I finished backpacking one of the Lost Coast’s four-mile-long “Impassable” sections, it was nearly dark when a rambunctious river otter bounded out of Randall Creek and into the ocean. Apparently, river otters forage in the ocean too. However, the Lost Coast lacks sea otters, but Santa Barbara’s north county possesses a contingent of southern sea otters reveling in the teeming kelp forests off Point Arguello, and between Jalama and Point Conception.

The black sands of the Lost Coast | Photo: Chuck Graham

Both coasts boast strong numbers of seals and sea lions. They even possess similar sea lion hotspots. Several miles south of Mattole Campground is Sea Lion Gulch. It’s where Holly and I waited out a mid-afternoon extreme high tide at one of the impassable sections. During our five-hour delay, we were serenaded by their raucous barks and bellows. Just beyond the narrow gulch was a large rock outcropping just offshore where they basked in the sun. They also playfully utilized the north side of the crag as a natural slide back into the ocean. Like adolescents at a water park, they repeatedly leapt from the water, quickly clambered up the weathered pinnacle, and slid back into the deep blue.

Similarly, while kayaking around or hiking out to Point Sal just north of Vandenberg Space Force Base, there was no ignoring Sea Lion Rock just west of the craggy promontory. Cloaked in a healthy layer of seabird guano, its aroma was abrupt, especially while paddling between Point Sal and Sea Lion Rock. The pecking order for sea lions was also obvious. The established bulls had eked out broad ledges for the best sunbathing, but to also observe the pinniped drama in perpetual motion. It’s one for the senses, but a smelly requirement while experiencing Lost Coasts north and south.

Southern sea otters | Photo: Chuck Graham
A river otter on the Lost Coast | Photo: Chuck Graham

Lost Coasteering

Beneath these remote coastal mountain ranges — the spectacular King Range and the serpentine east-to-west-running Santa Ynez Mountains — each possesses historic lighthouses embodying these challenging coastal topographies. Their reputations have enhanced the allure of the Lost Coast and the roadless and inaccessible expanse of the Northern Santa Barbara County coastline.

There’s a good reason why the Punta Gorda Lighthouse was built at the base of the mighty King Range in 1911. Also known as “The Alcatraz of Lighthouses,” the combination of dense fog cloaking the black sand beaches and King Range bluffs disoriented even the most seasoned sea captains.

Punta Gorda Lighthouse on the Lost Coast | Photo: Chuck Graham

The lonely lighthouse reminded me about my own kayaking trip along the southern fringe of the Lost Coast. While searching for rideable surf with friends, it was getting late, and we needed a beach to land on. As it grew dark, thick fog rolled in, the canopy hanging well below the King Range, but just above the black sands. Visibility was poor, but we had to land. And although we were disoriented, we all made it to the beach safely, but it was quite a yard sale.

The same held true at Point Conception. Built in 1856, it was one of the earliest constructed light stations on the entire California coast. Many ships have lost their way where the Santa Ynez Mountains converge with howling winds, the swirling California Current, and huge seas earn the burly headland the reputation as “The Graveyard of the Pacific.”

The epitome of these seafaring titles has only enhanced the allure of these ragged but impressive shorelines that are hundreds of miles apart, but so closely related.