In the entrance to my townhome, a small wood sign shows a diver sitting on the stock of an anchor with an octopus perched atop of the diver’s head. I JUST LOVE GOLETA BEACH DIVING captions the artwork.
This
item was a Christmas gift from John and Mary Erdahl. I worked with John at Delco Systems
Operations. He was a contact engineer, I
was a senior technical writer. I got my
start in sailing when I crewed with John on Max Lynn’s CF36, Tranquility, in the summer of
1982. John purchased a 29-foot sailboat, Windover, a few years later which he kept in a slip in the Santa Barbara Harbor.
I crewed for John during many of the summer “Wet
Wednesday” races sponsored by the Santa Barbara Yacht Club. He very generously let crew like me take the
helm during the races, something few other skippers would do. He always offered a cold beer to the crew as
the boat crept along on the downwind leg.
After tucking the boat into its berth and folding and stowing the sails,
we adjourned to the Yacht Club for cocktails and to await official race results. I have a couple of SBYC cocktail glasses, awarded
to the winner of each class, that John shared with his crew. Also, when my out-of-town friends visited,
John gladly took us out for a cruise.
People awed at the panorama of the city against the backdrop of the
Santa Ynez Mountains. Nothing quite says
“Santa Barbara adventure” like a sail on a sunny and breezy afternoon.
The idea for the gift originated in conversations
about my scuba diving at Goleta Beach with John and Mary. With a few exceptions, I absolutely did not
like diving there and expressed that opinion freely. Goleta Beach is a giant sandbox—acres and
acres of it. The littoral cells that
move sand down the Southern California coast seem to be particularly favor
Goleta Beach. Sand constantly moves, suspended
in the water column, rendering underwater visibility zero. I have compared it to “diving in a sand
storm.” To say the water is turbid is akin to saying the night is dark.
Even if you could see more than a few inches, not
much of interest to sport divers lives on the sandy bottom except an occasional
sting ray, a treasury of sand dollars, and a catalog of other
invertebrates. I suspect rays don’t bury
themselves in the sand at Goleta Beach.
Rather, they just kind of lay there and get buried by the sand grains
precipitating out of the water column like snow in an Alaska blizzard.
Some marine life clings to the hard surface provided
by the Goleta sewage treatment plant ocean outfall pipeline—at least the parts
that are not buried in the shifting sands.
Even then, a diver moving along the pipeline seems to be a target of the
fishers on the pier that parallels the pipeline. Some anglers relish aiming their casts at the
submerged diver’s air bubbles.
John and Mary came upon the sign while enjoying the
Sunday afternoon arts and craft show that extended along Cabrillo Boulevard
from Stearn’s Wharf toward East Beach. One
of the exhibitors offered various hand=painted signs. After spying the diver, they immediately
thought of my remarks about Goleta Beach diving. The vendor added the tongue-in-cheek caption that
made this most prized gift complete.
The gift has proven a great conversation starter
over the years. Placed in the front door
entryway, guests to my home see the sign as they remove their shoes—following
the Alaska custom. First-time guests to
my home ask, “where is Goleta Beach and why do you love diving there?” I animatedly regale them with tales of Goleta
Beach dives. That may explain why, on
subsequent visits, they pretend not to notice the sign as they hurry into the
adjacent living room.
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