During the recent twin rainstorms and sieges of confinement, many of us struggled to find passable terrain for longer hikes. Some of the backcountry roads were temporarily barred, and I carefully avoided favorite near-town canyon hikes such as Rattlesnake and Jesusita. In addition to avoiding slipperiness and water-crossing hassles, I think humans should stay off these paths until they have dried out to prevent damaging them further.

Thus, wild Pete and I resorted to an old favorite hike above the sea on the defunct bluffs bike path between the Refugio and El Capitan state beaches.

At 7:30 a.m. on a weekday, we found the sleepy junction of Refugio Canyon Road at the Highway 101 offramp hopping with huge trucks carrying bulldozers. Those and other heavy equipment were there to clear muddy roads — and Refugio Canyon Road had been blocked and officially closed on Jan. 8 (see 4.1.1. driving directions).

The work on the towering Highway 101 overpass at the same junction was also busy, and by 8 a.m., hard-hat workers were toiling on both jobs.

As we hiked in from our free parking on Refugio Canyon Road — the state beach remained closed — we walked beneath the old Highway 101 span near gushing Refugio Canyon Creek. Nearby, we could see old enormous rebar bars quite visible in the demolished concrete piers from the original 1974 construction.

The ambling walk south from Refugio State Beach threads its way on bluffs that occasionally open so hikers can also access the sand (e.g., at Arroyo Quemada beach). We enjoyed spectacular views of the Channel Islands on the strand side. Opposite, the land sloped steeply upward to the massive railroad tracks and the humming Highway 101. We felt the moon’s influential rays as we moved between the natural beach and the evident signs of the Anthropocene: bike path, railroad and wide concrete freeway.

After a couple of miles, we encountered the old closure with torn fencing — the signage is quite clear.

However, after the small collapsed section with the orange “End of Trail” signage, the crumbly asphalt path picks up and gains elevation again (do NOT bike this!) — but also narrows dramatically. Readers can detect in this photograph that wild Pete is literally “on the edge.”

Pete hadn’t brought his hiking poles, but luckily I could offer him one of the pair I had. After a time, I assumed the lead and slowed myself down to a crawl, and honestly considered going on all fours since the strip continues to narrow.

At this point, more of the path had crumbled away than on several of my earlier ventures here.

I had already known there are two quite narrow sections in this elevated area, and managed to get across one, but midway across the second restricted stretch that pesky “monkey mind” reared up and I began to think. Over-analysis often leads to physical paralysis, a common critique of the rational mind.

On an earlier excursion here, we had encountered a rattlesnake right in the tall grass, so I gnawed on that fact, too, and the day had warmed up considerably.

I called to Peter, who had wisely kept well back. “Gotta turn back, brother, kinda shaky here.”

He simply said, “OK,” and then, “Are you able to turn around and get back?”

Sigh. What an extremely beautiful beach day — blue skies, roaring ocean below, stone wall on my left (holding up the railroad tracks much higher up) … and a 60-foot drop on the right. These perilous moments stimulate spiritual thinking and deep concentration: Shall I stay or should I go (back)?

Shifting into steady breathing, recalling decades of yoga classes and pranayamic inhale/exhale therapy, I literally turned it and began inching back. I utilized both poles on my left side along the crumbling edge and focused completely on the eroded ribbon of ancient asphalt. In the distance, a train’s horn tooted and I somehow found sonorous memories of Roff and Kindt’s classic song “Wabash Cannonball” (4.1.1.). 

I later noted the safety sign about the notorious oil pipeline buried underground here — Sable Offshore Corp. — and marveled at the stupidity of placing a massive oil pipeline in this constructed space between the sea, the cliffs, the railroad and Highway 101!

I was able to recount to wild Peter the story of my undergraduate UCSB days when I had the chance to help rescue oil-soaked seabirds from the infamous 1969 Santa Barbara oil spill. That preventable catastrophe led to Get Oil Out! and to Earth Day — and to calls for the State of California to outlaw all oil exploration and development.

Sable Offshore Corp. is in big trouble with Santa Barbara County as well as the California Coastal Commission; currently, there is no crude oil moving in this supposedly repaired pipeline.

Alas, we did not reach El Capitan State Beach but returned the way we came. En route, we encountered two California State Parks rangers walking the bike path, one well-armed, and they wondered if anyone else was nuts enough to try getting through to El Cap, and if the “End” was signed? I showed them the “Area Closed” photograph on my camera, and they thanked me.

Back where the abandoned bike path begins at Refugio State Beach, we took the time to enjoy the copious runoff under the concrete bridge right at the park’s entrance.

In the shadowed light, the shimmering creek’s dark waters appeared slightly oily, and I found it easy to imagine Sable’s “black gold” surging into the sea, just like the 148,000 gallons of crude oil that gushed out in May 2016.

4.1.1.

Driving: Take Highway 101 north to the Refugio Road offramp; park outside since the park is closed (note the “No Parking” signs and avoid them).

Earlier article on this hike: noozhawk.com/dan_mccaslin_trudging_the_refugio_to_el_capitan_bikepath_20211226/.

Roy Acuff made the “Wabash Cannonball” song famous in the late 1920s.

Sable Offshore took over from Plains All American Pipeline after the spill. Of the 148,000 gallons of crude spilled, it is estimated that about 21,000 gallons poured directly into the ocean.