Saturday morning in Encino was just like any other day in Sherman Oaks. Only today was different. The tension in the air and my stomach was tense and wrought with tension. Today was the last day of my thirtieth year and Chaz, Dave, Juan and I were leaving the mainland for Xanadu. Only Xanadu was shot in Venice, so we went to Anacapa.
The hour long boat ride to our 'destination du jour' was completely uneventful. Unless you include seeing a shitload of dolphins (pride of lions, flock of seagulls, shitload of dolphins. Look it up) swimming alongside our boat at speeds up to 4,000 miles per hour (or so). When the four of us settled in for the ride an eerie moment washed over us as we simultaneously joined the rest of the boat's passengers in a coincidental soto vocce sing-along of the timeless lyrics "a three hour tour, a three hour tour." One hour later we were at Anacapa, the unexplored and hereto unknown island off the coast of the other Channel Islands. Oh, and Chaz, the guy who planned the trip, nearly puked several times.
This island, however, was no island. Unless a mountainous plateau in
the middle of the ocean is an island. The nearest level surface was
one-hundred feet above our tiny boat. We loaded up our requisite forty
gallons of water and camping equipment and scaled up the walls using tackle made
of shoelaces and paperclips. Then we noticed the 250 step staircase and
several of the girlscouts on board were spared their lives. We promised to
remember there were stairs on our return.
The first view of the top of this 'island' was awesome. The only word to
truly describe it: Brown. as 
far as the eye could see: a beautiful,
luxurious, shimming sea of brown. Not a tree in sight. We were
surrounded by gorgeous crusty brown cactus-like plants with dull brown husk
coming from it's lovely dried tips. Later we would learn that four months
out of the year, shiny yellow buds burst from its pasty nubs... just not this
month. We were instructed by the volunteer ranger not to disturb the
natural flora and fauna of the island. These included bones, dehydrated
cacti-like nobules and hantivirus infested deer-mouse droppings. We
weren't to take anything away from the 'island' except memories and trash...
and possibly hantivirus. I was quite sure that until six years ago this 'island'
hadn't existed and no 'facts' or 'geological proof' could convince me otherwise.
The volunteer ranger couldn't convince me that it'd been cut away from San Diego
in a massive earthquake and the plate had rotated until it lay outside Santa
Barbara. How could that be? Did he think we wouldn't have noticed?
There were only three buildings on the
island (photo was taken since fourth building was added). The lighthouse, whose
deafing toot was made survivable by the safety rope put across the path 100ft
from its base. This rope somehow averted 'certain deafness' from the nearly
undetectably low 'phfoooot' that kept ships at bay and dozens of sea lions
guessing which of those other sea lions was constantly wooing them. The
other buildings were left over from when the coast guard had manned the island
to protect American humanity from evil Japanese people. They were for
volunteer rangers only now and allowed them a shaded place to change their tight
green volunteer ranger pants and wipe pelican shit from their Anacapa Brand
Anoraks.
We were instructed never to sniff, touch or in any way imbibe any deer mouse droppings; apparently that was a guaranteed way to get a 45% chance of death from hantivirus even though there were no known sightings of deer mice on Anacapa and there was a better chance of getting it back in Encino.
Long walks, long sits and long stares were had to and from every
lookout
point on the paths. Sheer cliffs were
at every turn, but their crumbly
edges were of no threat, as ankle-high ropes were tied to not only ensure people
would trip and fall, but they'd also have a rope flimsily tied by a volunteer
ranger to cling to while postponing their inevitable death.
We 
sat at the northernmost point, staring at the other craggy and beautifully
deadly peaks of the other 'islands' as the sun set and the full moon rose.
Without a cloud in the sky the island was lit, as if by moonlight, and we
could've watched sea lions playing in the tide pools surrounding the island.
But instead we sat at our camp and drank beer. It was truly momentous.
We were in bed by 9:30 and awake by 9:15. We arose to a comfortable 75º day and a clear sky. There was nothing to do but explore the boringer side of the plateau. So after going back to bed until nearly noon, we awoke to a 90º midday and bloody marys. The eastern side of the 'island' was far less interesting, but it allowed us to see what fools we were for not renting kayaks and sailing around the foot of the island. Had we spent an extra $90 each we could have floated in a chilly 60º water, dangerously close to ragged lava stalagmites and into dark and foreboding caves filled (allegedly) with sea lion carcasses. We could've kayaked along the 'island's' jagged base, passing the 50 ft. natural lava arch Anacapa will someday be known for, overtaking sea lions sunbathing on its rocky and sand-free nine-foot beach, dodging guano, birdshit and bird-turds to someday recant stories of adventure and survival. Instead we stayed where it was brown, drinking beer and doing shots from the cracks of our own asses. (Yes, those girl scouts taught us a great deal this weekend.)
At three o'clock we packed up our goodies and trash and headed back to pier. Sunburnt, sore, tired and constipated by not daring to use the latrines for over twenty-four hours, our trip was nearly over. We waited patiently for the Ocean Packer to take us back home, fearing all the way that the trip would be ruined and completely a waste of a birthday if we didn't get back in time to see the Simpsons. We made it, a minute late (Thanks a lot, Dave! Yes, I'm being sarcastic!) and Chaz nearly puked again.
I'll never forget this birthday and seriously wish to thank my hosts and wonderful friends, Chaz, Dave and Juan for taking me to this wonderful brown Xanadu. We'll always remember Anacapa... but to me it will always be 'Birthday Island.'
