Surf Cat

“No matter your zip code, all Californians deserve a chance to enjoy our public parks and beaches. The Hollister Ranch is no exception.”

-Assemblywoman Monique Limon

When on October 10th, 2019, it was announced that California’s Governor Gavin Newsom signed Assembly Bill 1680, widely interpreted as legislation that will provide public access to eight-and-a-half miles of coastline bordered by the fabled Hollister Ranch, online surf sites started buzzing. This was big news: finally The Ranch, California’s premier surfing dream zone, is open! Or at least will be some years down the road, in some form or another.

Interesting, though, that most of the editorial coverage, rather than celebrating this victory of the common surfer over the landed, and Land Rover-ed, Hollister Ranch elite, questioned whether this was actually a good thing. Arguing that the very existence of a protected (albeit though varied incarnations of virulent localism, both physical and economical) stretch of pristine coastline that just happens to feature fabulous waves is a boon for all surfers, whether they’ve ever surfed there or not. That turning Little Drakes, for example, into another Lower Trestles might not benefit anyone—especially anyone who’s ever made their way down the garbage-strewn, graffiti-smeared public access Trestles trail, only to face a fiberglass curtain obscuring the wonderfully uniform cobblestone lineup. Something to think about, these editorials expounded. Food for thought.

Yeah, right. As a non-owner who, come hell or high water, has been surfing The Ranch since well before most of these well-meaning writers were even born, let me tell them something: The Ranch didn’t stand a chance. And no amount of thoughtful ethical examinations or cultural and environmental sensitivity is going to change that. It may have taken 40 years, but the forces that have sought to tear down the Ranch gate were going to have their way. And it has nothing to do with surfing. Because it never has been about waves.

It’s about Us versus Them.

How do I know this? Because a number of months ago I made my way down the 405 to Jamboree Drive and the heart of Fashion Island in Newport Beach, where in the quiet, carpeted halls of the adjacent Civic Center our august California Coastal Commission was holding a public forum on the Hollister Ranch access issue, to which I had registered to speak.

First impression was that I’d found the wrong room. Expecting to see a number of passionate Ranch surfers attending I was surprised to see only two: Tom Holbrook, longtime Quiksilver stalwart, and a twenty-something kid that I could only assume surfed, if for no other reason than, dressed like a Malloy Brother, he didn’t look like anyone else in the auditorium, most of whom resembled your average elementary school PTA members. The commission itself, seated at a raised, broad crescent desk that brought to mind a Soviet-era politburo, looked even less sea-centric: not a sunburned cheek or Reyn Spooner floral shirt in the lot. No, judging by their buttoned-up attire and expressions of mild annoyance they were all business, the business apparently being to simply indulge the public right to speak to issues marked on a rigidly defined agenda.

And I mean rigid. At the center of the crescent desk, directly facing the public’s podium, was a large digital clock, its red numerals set to countdown from the three minutes mark. This meant that the concerned citizens who preceded my turn at the mic had only 180 seconds to air their concerns and grievances over issues like adequate access to a Newport dog walking beach and a contentious residential sprinkler dustup. It also meant that a mental edit of my eventual ‘speech’ was in order, having figured, on the way down, that I’d need at least seven minutes to make my point.

I was recomposing my thoughts as the Hollister Ranch access issue was raised, and a strident, middle-aged woman whose credentials I missed began a rather formal presentation, including a slide show. For reasons not explained she was allotted way more than three minutes, clicking her way through projected images of various Ranch beachscapes, exclaiming almost triumphantly that with proposed public access accommodations, including a hike/bike trail and lottery-based shuttle service, an estimated 500 deserving citizens a day could eventually find themselves laying their towels and Carl’s Junior bags down on the shade-, snack bar-, toilet- and amenity-free beaches formally and, in her estimation, immorally denied to them by the Hollister Ranch’s elitist land owners. Asserting this point, at the 13-minute mark, with absolutely no irony at all.

The politburo seemed pleased at this conclusion, with the short, dark-haired female head commissioner exhibiting none of the abrupt, gavel-pounding disdain shown to previous speakers who dared pushing past the loud 3:00 buzzer. This behavior modification alone made it very clear to all in attendance that the commission was already in alignment with the zealous slideshow lady. To her, and the California Coastal Commission, apparently, the conflict can be clearly defined: rich folk were keeping poor folk out.

Starting in 2022, surfers may be boating and driving into the Ranch from Gaviota.

Forget the fact that there are three beautiful state beach parks within 16 miles of the Ranch gate: Gaviota, Refugio and El Capitan, all with the aforementioned amenities. Ignore the fact that the Coastal Commission and access advocates are expending no energy to open an additional 23 miles of Gaviota coastline to the public. And disregard the fact that, despite Sideshow Lady’s claim, no ‘public’ other than frenzied surfers are going to endure a 10-mile round trip hike or bike to get into the Ranch, nor sign up for a shuttle that will drop them on that coastline’s narrow, largely featureless sands. The entire tone of this farce made it clear that the efforts by Slideshow Lady, the Coastal Commission and concerned citizens like Assemblywoman Limon, a Democrat from Santa Barbara and author of the bill that Governor Newsom recently signed these efforts are not about the law, or fairness, or even love of the coast. They’re about Us versus Them. Owners versus non-owners. And about payback, pure and simple. This obvious fact made any contrary point of view…well, pointless. Especially mine.

But my 185 seconds? Man, I thought she was going to break that gavel.