San Miguel Island is the most westerly of California's northern Channel Islands, a dolphin-shaped wedge that sits 60 miles from Ventura harbor. Mostly a plateau, San Miguel is nearly impossible to see from the mainland except on a clear day, a narrow shadow hanging near the horizon. Here, a harsh and enchanting world, seldom visited, awaits.
The Pacific Ocean unleashes the brunt of its bad weather on the 8-mile long smear of land: Unrelenting winds and thick, wet fog not only hide it from mainland eyes, but make the island a challenging destination. Tents that aren't tied down have been known to blow away, and when the wind is really whipping up, even staying on the narrow trails takes some focus. When the wind is calmer, the fog settles in, pressing its dewy fingerprints into the island's mounds and canyons.
But San Miguel is undeniably magical. Long after you've left, its remote and rugged hand tugs you ever back to its beautiful, uninhabited shores. From afar, the wailing winds winnow to a whisper, its exquisite desolation and the promise of splendid solitude reaching a crescendo.
For 12,000 years, the island was a home to California's native Chumash, a people whose presence still lingers on San Miguel in the form of crushed sea shells and bony trash piles. More recently, the nearly tree-free mesa found itself hosting hunters, sheep ranchers, and the U.S. Navy, before becoming a national park in 1980.
Many who've lived on the island didn't want to leave. In 1942, resident sheep rancher Herbert Lester -- the self-proclaimed "King of San Miguel" is said to have taken his own life when faced with eviction by the Navy, in part because he couldn't imagine an existence anywhere else.
Now, the island is alone, a temporary home for researchers and park rangers, who staff a solar and wind-powered ranger station. Each year, fewer than 200 campers arrive for a weekend stay at the small and tough-to-reach campground. The seas separating San Miguel from the mainland can be some of the roughest in the northern hemisphere.
Here, in photos, are some scenes from San Miguel.
Above:
Harris Point
Slicing through the sea on the island's north coast, Harris Point is a rocky promontory that offers epic views (when not foggy...) of Cuyler Harbor and Simonton Cove, normally filled with elephant seals. The 3-mile walk from the campground takes you through fields of endemic dudleya and native American middens. Herbert Lester said Harris Point was his favorite place on the island; it's here that he killed himself, and where he and his wife, Elizabeth, are buried.
All photos, Nadia Drake