Return to Birthday Island
I'd made my plan a few months ago, to give myself something to look forward to through the long weeks of audit preparation and online class creation. Catalina Island offers a number of deals to people who go there on their birthdays, including two-for-one on the boat fare out there. I'd gone to the island just after my birthday last year and loved it, and I already knew I wanted to take Emma back there, so she was an easy choice as my "plus one."
There's just one problem with celebrating a birthday in public. It's that you're celebrating your birthday in public.
At the Catalina Express ticket window, they give you a big, festive button and invite you to put your name on it. Eventually, I did pin it onto my hat, but as you can see, I remained the anonymous birthday boy. Others were more into the birthday spirit, including this one lady and her gal pals who sat next to us on the boat. Pretty much everything that happened during the ride was completely hilarious to them. As if there wasn't enough for me to deal with on a boat ride.
Speaking of which... actually, the ride out to Catalina wasn't too bad. I was a little anxious because I'd forgotten my wrist bands, but the things I've learned over the past year really helped. Enough that I was able to help out a less-fortunate young woman who had to make a dash for the trash can at one point, giving her some of my ginger chews to see if they might help her. It looked like they did.
We pulled into Avalon Bay under overcast skies, after I'd picked up Emma in a Downtown LA rainstorm and we'd boarded the boat in a sunny Port of Long Beach. The cloud cover didn't last very long, though. By the time we had walked through Avalon and up to the Hermit Gulch campground, the sun was out to stay. We trekked up the side of the ravine, taking in the sights and looking for the local wildlife. Alas, there were no island foxes to be found. They seem harder to find than the ones on Santa Cruz.
There's a small pavilion at the top of Hermit Gulch, along the side of the Trans-Catalina Trail. We rested there, had a bite to eat, took in the view and talked to some of the other hikers who also stopped there. In retrospect, I feel like I might have been a bit chatty, but I love the island and was having fun sharing what I knew about it. It wasn't long before we were on our way again, though. Another side trail just up the Trans-Catalina took us over to Lone Tree Lookout, a point high above the island's southern shoreline. We had to go over several steep hills, into a stiff wind, but it was worth the effort. The water and the sand beneath it combined to produce a mix of blue hues along the shore, while San Clemente Island sat out on the horizon, across the whitecapped ocean. A single boat coming toward us from western end of the island was the only sign of civilization.
After Lone Tree, we went back down the Trans-Catalina, in the opposite direction from what I'd done last year. About a mile past the pavilion at Hermit Gulch, we found the trail leading back down into the Wrigley Memorial and Botanical Garden. That's "Wrigley" as in the chewing gum folks, who owned Catalina and set up the Conservancy that maintains it now. The Memorial is big and grand, looking out over the ravine that the Botanical Garden occupies. The garden itself is mostly made up of dry-climate plants, which makes sense given that Catalina is mostly a dry place. All the palm and eucalyptus trees were brought over either by Hollywood or for the tourists. We wandered among cactus and aloe varieties, with the occasional scrub oak or other local plant, before returning to town.
It was already nightfall by the time our boat back to the mainland arrived, and it was chilly in Avalon, so we tried going inside on the boat for the ride back. TV screens were showing the Thursday Night Football game, and I tried to distract myself by explaining the rules of American football to Emma. She wasn't very impressed. Roughly a quarter of the way back, my stomach was telling me the inside-the-boat experiment hadn't worked. Either that, or the "color rush" football uniforms the Rams and 49ers were wearing had gotten to me. Either way, I had to make a break for the outdoor upper deck. And so I learned some new important boat lessons. Outside is good. Inside is bad. Standing up is good. Sitting down is not so good. Nighttime isn't so good either, because there are fewer things to focus my eyes on, but I don't know how critical a factor that is. I imagine I'll find out sometime in the future.
We pulled back into Long Beach a little past 8:30, tired but glad for the experience. And nobody sang "Happy Birthday" at me the entire time. That may have been the best part of all.
There's just one problem with celebrating a birthday in public. It's that you're celebrating your birthday in public.
At the Catalina Express ticket window, they give you a big, festive button and invite you to put your name on it. Eventually, I did pin it onto my hat, but as you can see, I remained the anonymous birthday boy. Others were more into the birthday spirit, including this one lady and her gal pals who sat next to us on the boat. Pretty much everything that happened during the ride was completely hilarious to them. As if there wasn't enough for me to deal with on a boat ride.
Speaking of which... actually, the ride out to Catalina wasn't too bad. I was a little anxious because I'd forgotten my wrist bands, but the things I've learned over the past year really helped. Enough that I was able to help out a less-fortunate young woman who had to make a dash for the trash can at one point, giving her some of my ginger chews to see if they might help her. It looked like they did.
We pulled into Avalon Bay under overcast skies, after I'd picked up Emma in a Downtown LA rainstorm and we'd boarded the boat in a sunny Port of Long Beach. The cloud cover didn't last very long, though. By the time we had walked through Avalon and up to the Hermit Gulch campground, the sun was out to stay. We trekked up the side of the ravine, taking in the sights and looking for the local wildlife. Alas, there were no island foxes to be found. They seem harder to find than the ones on Santa Cruz.
There's a small pavilion at the top of Hermit Gulch, along the side of the Trans-Catalina Trail. We rested there, had a bite to eat, took in the view and talked to some of the other hikers who also stopped there. In retrospect, I feel like I might have been a bit chatty, but I love the island and was having fun sharing what I knew about it. It wasn't long before we were on our way again, though. Another side trail just up the Trans-Catalina took us over to Lone Tree Lookout, a point high above the island's southern shoreline. We had to go over several steep hills, into a stiff wind, but it was worth the effort. The water and the sand beneath it combined to produce a mix of blue hues along the shore, while San Clemente Island sat out on the horizon, across the whitecapped ocean. A single boat coming toward us from western end of the island was the only sign of civilization.
After Lone Tree, we went back down the Trans-Catalina, in the opposite direction from what I'd done last year. About a mile past the pavilion at Hermit Gulch, we found the trail leading back down into the Wrigley Memorial and Botanical Garden. That's "Wrigley" as in the chewing gum folks, who owned Catalina and set up the Conservancy that maintains it now. The Memorial is big and grand, looking out over the ravine that the Botanical Garden occupies. The garden itself is mostly made up of dry-climate plants, which makes sense given that Catalina is mostly a dry place. All the palm and eucalyptus trees were brought over either by Hollywood or for the tourists. We wandered among cactus and aloe varieties, with the occasional scrub oak or other local plant, before returning to town.
It was already nightfall by the time our boat back to the mainland arrived, and it was chilly in Avalon, so we tried going inside on the boat for the ride back. TV screens were showing the Thursday Night Football game, and I tried to distract myself by explaining the rules of American football to Emma. She wasn't very impressed. Roughly a quarter of the way back, my stomach was telling me the inside-the-boat experiment hadn't worked. Either that, or the "color rush" football uniforms the Rams and 49ers were wearing had gotten to me. Either way, I had to make a break for the outdoor upper deck. And so I learned some new important boat lessons. Outside is good. Inside is bad. Standing up is good. Sitting down is not so good. Nighttime isn't so good either, because there are fewer things to focus my eyes on, but I don't know how critical a factor that is. I imagine I'll find out sometime in the future.
We pulled back into Long Beach a little past 8:30, tired but glad for the experience. And nobody sang "Happy Birthday" at me the entire time. That may have been the best part of all.
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