Buttonshell Cove, Catalina Island

The full moon casts a swath of broad, glittering light on the water on this Friday night, just before midnight.  Twinkling green lights, like 25 small floating emeralds are scattered across the water.  In slow motion, they bob and flutter from the fully lit dive boat 200 yards from us to the rock cliffs where they trace an outline of the shore before they circle back. 

For five days, we have been the only boat in this extraordinary cove – a veritable nature playground.  In the crystal clear water schools of silver fish, blue fish, and orange fish are abundant in the towering kelp that sweep up from their base 30 feet below and rock rhythmically in the surge.  Sometimes, thinking that it will escape a seal, a fish will make a mistake and jump out of the water. Simultaneously, the seal jumps, catches it in its open mouth and returns to its home with a splash.  Dolphins frolic, pelicans fly by wing tips hovering just above the water in perfect balance, ducks quack in formation, deer scurry up the hillside.  We have kayaked, snorkeled and walked the niches and beaches of the neighboring coves.  Other than the kids from Camp Fox who pass by on their kayak outings, we’ve had this place to ourselves. 

 

Then Friday arrives.  I look toward the mainland and see sticks and white blocks resembling Legos toys on the horizon advancing toward us with the determination of an invading army.  The ten buoys are filled by afternoon.  Boats arrive late into the night. 

We awake on Saturday with five boats anchored around us.  Next door, Hen Rock has 25 moorings and all are in use.  Further south, White’s Cove and Moonstone Cove have a combined 58 moorings.  We hear on the radio that just a few are still available. A flotilla of 25 kayaks from the camp passes.  By noon, there will have been three flotillas and I learn that this is a YMCA father-daughter weekend with 225 participants. 

Our quiet cove is suddenly a very busy place – a playground shared by nature and humans.