Come find perfection!
All your arguments about keeping Hollister Ranch
private make you sound like elitist assholes. There. I
said it. I said that whole thing in my outside voice. I will
probably get punched in the face at the coffee shop tomorrow. Live
dangerously, is a thing I always say.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you will know that
Hollister Ranch is slated to open to public access in April 2022.
Last week, California Governor Gavin Newsom signed into law
legislation that directs an assortment of land management agencies,
both state and local, to develop a plan to ensure public access.
Anyone who impedes this public access will be subject to fines up
to $10,000.
The new law leaves open the question of what form access will
take. Over the next two years, you can expect a succession of
shouty meetings here in Santa Barbara County, as the relevant
agencies try to resolve this question.
While the Coastal Commission, one of the principal agencies
involved, has far-reaching powers in California, there are limits
to what they can achieve. If you’re imagining that you’re going to
be able to drive your Toyota Tacoma straight into Cojo, you’re
almost certainly going to be disappointed.
That’s because, on the ground, the situation is more complicated
than it looks. There are a number fabulous homes with eye-candy
views, yes. The Ranch has this element in common with Malibu. And
as you have certainly heard, there are the divided and subdivided
parcels owned for the specific purpose of securing access for
people who want to surf there.
But the Ranch also includes working cattle ranches and tracts of
unfenced range land. In this respect, the area is not too different
from the properties that it borders. This range land is the open
space that is so often pictured when conversation turns to the
Ranch: rolling hills, dotted with California live oaks, turning
abruptly into tawny sandstone cliffs that drop to sandy beaches and
tidy hidden reefs.
Then there’s the old Bixby Ranch, which adds one more piece to
the intricate Ranch puzzle. This vast property stretches from the
boundary of the county park at Jalama down to the mythical point at
Cojo, and runs eastward along the coast. The area spans 24,000
acres and includes a mix of (mostly) untouched wilderness, cattle
range, and Chumash sacred sites.
A look at the Bixby’s recent history offers a brief tour of
California land use. During the early 20th century, it was intended
to be a steel mill. That never happened, and in 1912 Fred Bixby
purchased the land and the adjacent Jalama Ranch. Bixby ran cattle.
Between 1972 and 2003, an oil processing facility perched on the
bluffs above Cojo — and pipelines ran through the property.
Beginning in 2007, a Boston-based hedge fund owned the Bixby Ranch
and hoped to build a resort hotel there.
Now called the Jack and Laura Dangermond Preserve, the former
Bixby Ranch is managed by the Nature Conservancy. This same
organization also owns and manages lands on Santa Cruz island. In
the two years since the property changed hands, there has been
little talk of public access. Reportedly, it might eventually be
opened for limited science and research. But you’re not going to be
able to drive your Tacoma from Jalama to Cojo.
Put simply, it’s unlikely you’re going to be able to run
buck-wild around the Ranch, like you own the joint (unless of
course you do own the joint, then go crazy.) What is likely, is
that access will amount to a single trail, hugging the coast as
much as possible, and accessible by foot or by bike.
A 1972 law set it as a priority for the state to develop a
recreational trail that would run along the coast from Mexico to
Oregon. Subsequent legislation set out a process of securing
easements to complete the project — which remains in bits and
pieces to this day.
In western Santa Barbara County, sections of trail around the
state park at El Capitan have recently been built. Over the past
few years, there have been ongoing — and sometimes acrimonious —
efforts to establish easements across private ranch lands in the
area to build a recreational trail along the bluffs in eastern
Gaviota. It’s not hard to imagine that public access to Hollister
Ranch would look a lot like the access the County is already
working to secure on the private properties nearby.
Property owners at Hollister Ranch like to claim that they are
the best stewards of this idyllic land, but the area’s land use
history muddies this argument significantly. And present-day
behavior isn’t always exactly what you’d called environmentally
conscious. Just last spring, the Coastal Commission had to tell the
fabulous environmental stewards at Hollister Ranch to stop driving
their cars on the beach.
It’s the last bastion against Los Angeles! You know shit’s
getting real in California, when we summon up the bogeyman of Los
Angeles. The Ranch will become another Trestles! Or Rincon! Filled
with kooks!
Just listen to yourselves. Omg! Other surfers like me might surf
where I want to surf! I mean, I hate the kooks as much as you do,
but really, you are losing your minds here.
The idea of Hollister Ranch as some kind of Eden persists, but
is by now, largely imagined. The best-known spots on good swells
buzz with jetskis, zodiacs, and floating machines of all shapes and
sizes. Anyone with a boat or a friend with a boat can go there. And
we all know by now what happened to Eden.
Still, the Ranch has a unique hold on surfing’s imagination. I
think it’s because we need to believe that a place like the Ranch
exists in the world — even if the reality is nothing like our
imaginings, and even if we never actually go there ourselves.
For most of us, the reality of surfing is driving to our nearest
beach, finding a parking space in a sea of Sprinter vans, shimmying
into our suits, and paddling out with the Wavestorms. But we hold
on to the fantasy that there is something more. There has to be
something more to this strange pastime that we can’t quite quit, no
matter how absurd and pointless it sometimes feels.
We need to believe that John Severson wasn’t wrong when he said
that a surfer could still in a crowded world, find the perfect
wave, “and be alone with the surf and his thoughts.” Of course,
there was already a lie in it. The lone surfer in Severson’s image
wasn’t truly alone. Severson was there on the beach with a camera
to record it all. But it remains our talisman, passed from each
generation to the next.
Surf long enough, travel far enough, check that fickle local
spot often enough, and yes, you can still find what Severson seemed
to promise. Even in California, even here. Opening the Ranch won’t
change that, not really. It might make it more difficult, sure.
But there are no sure things in surfing, no matter how many
secret gates you can unlock.
And that one magic day, when you walk down the trail — wherever
you may be — and you see perfect, backlit, green walls, offshores
kissing the lip, and no one there to see it, no one but you, that
day will make a lifetime of chasing and imagining and dreaming
worth it. It just has to.
But I sometimes wonder if the true joy isn’t in the finding at
all. I wonder if the true joy of this ridiculous pastime that’s
seduced us all is in the dream of perfection, rather than the
perfection itself — and in the endless, frequently futile, and very
often stupid things we do in pursuit of it.
