Going Coastal

The California Coastal Act ensures that the public has the right to enjoy a  day at the beach, but according to news reports, including this article in the Los Angeles Times, some members of the Coastal Commission—the agency created by the Coastal Act to protect the coast—have reportedly sold out to developer interests and are attempting a coup. All photos @ 2016 S. Guldimann, unless otherwise noted.

So many key environmental issues have been in play in the first weeks of 2016 that it's hard to keep up without a scorecard, but the biggest news story here in Malibu is the revelation that  development and energy industry lobbyists are reportedly working to get California Coastal Commission Executive Director Charles Lester replaced with someone less committed to upholding the Coastal Act and more amenable to massive development. 

In the January 20 Los Angeles Times, reporter Tony Barboza wrote: "Members of the California Coastal Commission are moving to fire its executive director, touching off a fierce debate over the commission's recent shift in favor of more development along the state's 1,000-mile shore."

The article in the L.A. Times suggests strongly that the move to get rid of Lester is coming directly from Governor Jerry Brown and his commission appointees.

That would be ironic, since Brown signed the California Coastal Act into law in 1976.

"The move to oust Lester, a low-key but conservation-minded attorney who has headed the agency since 2011, is being led by pro-development members of the panel, including Gov. Jerry Brown's four appointees, said people familiar with the matter who requested anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly," the L.A. Times article states.

The coastal zone generally extends just 1000 yards inland from the mean high tide line, but in significant coastal estuarine habitat and recreational areas it reaches inland to the first major ridgeline or five miles from the mean high tide line, whichever is less. In Malibu, the coastal zone includes much of the Santa Monica Mountains, and it's a major reason why areas like this portion of Corral Canyon are parkland and not golf courses and country clubs like the one Bob Hope was going to build here in the 1980s.

Surfrider Foundation spokesperson Stefanie Sekich-Quinn told the Times that the move is "a power grab in an attempt to undermine the integrity of the coastal program, gain control over an independent staff and make the commission more developer-friendly without any public accountability or transparency."

"It's about turning control of the coast over to development interests," Longtime Malibu resident and former Coastal Commissioner Sara Wan told the Malibu Post.

The California Coastal Commission's mission is officially "To protect, conserve, restore, and enhance the environment of the California coastline." Ensuring public access to the coast and habitat conservation is the Coastal Commission's prime directive—something some commissioners appear to have temporarily forgotten.

Although this drama is being played out on the state stage, it has a direct and significant impact on Malibu, where the Coastal Commission is often the final arbitrator on challenging development and access issues, and has been a key part of the battle to restrain out of control development and preserve public open space.

It's not the first time development interests have tried to oust the Coastal Commission's executive director, but previous attempts have rarely been quite so blatant.

The California Coastal Commission was established by the Coastal Act, Proposition 20, in 1972, and later made permanent by the Legislature through adoption of the California Coastal Act of 1976. 

Protecting endangered and threatened coastal species like this snowy plover is another major commission responsibility. Developers and energy industry lobbyists are far from being endangered species and are not supposed to receive special consideration.

The agency plans and regulates the use of land and water in the coastal zone—the entire California seashore 1000 yards inland from the mean high tide in urban areas, and as much as 5 miles inland in biologically significant areas, including coastal mountain ranges like the Santa Monicas.

All development activities—construction of buildings, division of land, and any plan that changes land use intensity or public access to coastal waters, requires a coastal permit from either the Coastal Commission or the local government.

Here in Malibu the CCC weighs in primarily on beach access and residential development issues, but the commission has broad powers that include all development activities along the coast, including major ports like San Pedro.

In Malibu, the city council responsible for drafting a Local Coastal Program for the new municipality in the 1990s, dug in their heels and refused to cooperate. The commission eventually drafted a plan for us, but most governments opt to develop their own LCP, which is then submitted to the commission for certification.

Once an LCP is in place, a city can issue its own coastal permits, but projects in the appealable coastal zone can still be appealed to the Coastal Commission, a tool often used by activists and neighbors to contest a controversial project as a a court of last resort. 

The Commission is quasi-judicial, and is supposed to be independent. The twelve voting members are appointed, four each by the governor, the Senate Rules Committee, and the Speaker of the Assembly. Half of the voting members are locally elected officials, and half are appointed from "the public at large." Three additional ex officio (non-voting) members represent the Resources Agency, the California State Transportation Agency, and the State Lands Commission. The current roster can be found here.

The Coastal Commission meets in different communities up and down the coast throughout the year, reminding me of a modern day version of the royal progress or some kind of medieval council. Image: the Council of Clermont, from the Livre des Passages d'Outre-mer, of c. 1474, via Wikipedia

Every month, the commission and its staff, and all the project applicants and their legal counsel and consultants and lobbyists, and the activists opposing their projects and their experts and advisors and lobbyists, and the local officials and their staff, and all the concerned members of the public, gather in one of the coastal cities for the monthly meeting, moving up and down the coast throughout the year. It reminds the Malibu Post of the medieval court on progress across the kingdom or the empire, only much less grand. Meetings take place in city halls or hotel conference rooms, and instead of rich brocades and jewels, it's business clothes and smartphones.

Unfortunately, if the Los Angeles Times article is correct, the situation at moment resembles a different aspect of medieval life. Image: 1225-1249, France. 

While the commission makes the decisions, the commissioners rely heavily on their staff to review plans, and make findings and recommendations. They also rely on the public to bring issues before them, through appeal or public comment. Although executive director doesn't sound important, it is. This is the person who steers the ship and makes sure it follows the course set by the Coastal Act, the law that governs the commission.

According to the Coastal Commission website, The Coastal Act includes specific policies that address issues such as shoreline public access and recreation, lower cost visitor accommodations, terrestrial and marine habitat protection, visual resources, landform alteration, agricultural lands, commercial fisheries, industrial uses, water quality, offshore oil and gas development, transportation, development design, power plants, ports, and public works.

That's a lot of power, and it is power that is intended to be used to protect coastal resources and ensure that the public has access to our coast. Because, thanks to the grassroots effort that gathered the signatures and passed the Coastal Act, the California coast belongs to the public, not to the corporate interests and wealthy individuals who would otherwise monopolize it. 

It's not a perfect system by any stretch of the imagination, but it helps. Anyone who doubts that should take a look at Malibu's future in the alternative universe where the Coastal Act didn't pass. Here's a glimpse, courtesy of a 1970 Los Angeles Times article that proclaims "Urban Sprawl Closes in on Malibu Isolation!"

A 1970 Los Angeles Times headline warns of a future that mercifully never fully came to pass, in large part because we were able to pass the Coastal Act.

"A population of 150,000—12 times what is is now—is planned for the Malibu area," the Times author reported. "With it will come the traffic, school and other problems which plague the more populated sections of the county."

The article points out that of the 26 miles of coastline from Ventura County to the Los Angeles city limits, only "about six are publicly owned although not fully developed for recreational usage."

The Coastal Commission, and its executive director are supposed to be committed to upholding the Coastal Act. Their purpose is to prevent any more of the coast from being transformed from the scene in this photo to the one below.

In Malibu, much of the ugliest development slipped through in the late 1980s, when the Coastal Commission was still finding its direction and before our community was successfully able to break away from the county and incorporated. We're still living with the aftermath of that era. It's a reminder that we need checks and balances, and a fair hearing when a problematic project needs to be appealed.

"A heavy demand—other than residential—is being placed on Malibu's coastline," the article states. "Proposals in the works include an off-shore causeway to carry the freeway, a nuclear power plant and a marina...no constructive thought has been given to preserving Malibu's rural charm and at the same time providing large blocks of open space for future generations. Planning for the area seems topsy turvy."

That may be the understatement of the past century. But the author was wrong on at least one major point. Constructive thought was being given to the future of the coast, just not by the developers. Take the name Malibu out of the article and it could have been just about any coastal town—San Clemente ended up with the nuclear power plant in its backyard,  Marina del Rey and Oxnard got the marinas. The causeway mercifully sank under the weight of engineering costs, but the struggle against coastal exploitation was going on everywhere.

Things could be a lot worse in Malibu, but we still face issues that require Coastal Commission intervention, like enforcing beach access, protecting public views, finding ways to cope with coastal erosion and sea level rise, and protecting open space—problems that are too big for our city, or any coastal city, to manage without oversight.

The L.A. Times article stated that Los Angeles County Superintendent Burton Chase, and his deputy for the Malibu area, Robert Potwin, "Admit they look to the chamber and the realtors for guidance on community affairs," instead of to the residents or the public. 

That attitude and the push for insane projects like the freeway through Malibu Canyon, fueled the battle for a separate Malibu city, enabling this community to eventually charter its own future to some degree, but we still need the Coastal Commission to help us meet our goals and keep us on track. That's why it's so important to have a Coastal Commission executive director who serves the Coastal Act, not the lobbyists. 

Like communities up and down the coast, the city of Malibu needs a fair, unbiased Coastal Commission to help it meet the goals of its mission statement and the requirements of the Coastal Act. If a pro-development climate has truly begun to pervade this agency in the way the Los Angeles Times article suggests, then maybe it's time to take a closer look at the six elected officials who sit on this panel. For those of us in the South District, that's Long Beach City Councilmember Roberto Uranga, but the full list with contact info is available here. A gentle reminder that the executive director isn't the only official who can be removed might be timely.

If energy and other development interests are given control of the agency that enforces that act, it's a loss not just for the people of California, but for the global fight against over exploitation of natural resources.

The executive director's fate will be decided on February 9, at Coastal Commission hearing in Morro Bay. 

Comments can be emailed to the commission at:

StatusOfExecutiveDirector@coastal.ca.gov. 

There's also a Change.org petition in support of Lester.

"Save Our Coast" was the slogan for the signature-gathering effort to put the California Coastal Act on the ballot, and it's still a relevant rallying cry.

The Call of the Running Tide

A child dances in the surf at sunset on Zuma Beach. All photos © 2014 S. Guldimann

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

—John Masefield

There’s a sort of restless small breeze in the afternoons now that carries the sound and smell of the sea and whispers autumn is coming, but in most years, the end of August brings not the end of summer but the best beach weather of year. 

It’s the last weekend before the start of school for many, and the beaches are packed today. Impatient travelers crowd the canyon roads or crawl along PCH at 10 mph, seeking a last summer afternoon of sea and sun. 

On Monday, everything will be different. Solitude will descend on beaches that have teemed with summer beachgoers, and once Labor Day is past, even the weekend crush diminishes and the sandpipers and gulls have the beach to themselves again.

A snowy egret forages on a quiet weekday evening at Pirate's Cove.

From September until the middle of October, the sun is out more often than not and the water is warm. By the end of October, the water temperature drops rapidly but the season of sunsets arrives, bringing with it all the birds of passage—species headed to the Southern Hemisphere and winter residents, returning from the north.

For me, this is the best time of the year to explore some of Malibu’s fabled 27 miles of shoreline. It’s amazing how much diversity exists along the Malibu coast—wide sandy beaches facing the open ocean; sheltered, cliff-lined coves where tidepools are full of life; dramatic sea stacks and caves that feel entirely away from civilization; and more urban beaches just a few steps from PCH.

Autumn brings dramatic sunsets and some of the best best weather of the year.

In 2013, beach access activist Jenny Price garnered media attention for her Our Malibu Beaches app, which features every public access way in Malibu. The app is available here, but visitors—and adventurous locals—don’t need an app to explore the coast; maps of the access ways are available at the Coastal Commission website, and many easements have signs that can be easily spotted from PCH. However, it is helpful to know what to expect when one gets there. Every beach offers something different.

A coastal access sign points the way to a staircase leading to Escondido Beach.

I interviewed Price for the May 21, 2013 issue of the old Malibu Surfside News. She told me that her main goal with the app was to highlight Malibu’s “less accessible” beach easements and to bring attention to what she described as fake driveways, illegal no parking signs, illegal and inaccurate trespassing and private property signs. 

Price said that beachgoers have received citations, threats from security guards and other harassment while using dedicated easements and legal parking.

“People are so tired of that,” she said. “We need to have signs that say ‘this is where you can walk. I see this as a first step.”

It is an important step, but not the first one. The first step was passing the California Coastal Conservation Initiative, Proposition 20, in 1972. Four years later, the state legislature enacted the California Coastal Act, providing the first real protection for 1.5 million acres of coastal land, and 1,100 miles of shoreline, and ensuring the public’s right to access the beach.

The Coastal Conservation Initiative was a grassroots effort. My parents were among the thousands of volunteers who helped gather signatures to place the initiative on the ballot. The image above is the front of one of the original petition forms. It's a reminder that community members can prevail against seemingly insurmountable corporate-driven opposition, if enough people are passionate about passing legislation. The Coastal Act may be far from perfect, but it's the main reason there's still so much open space in Malibu. 

It’s a complicated document, and while everyone who lives in the Coastal Zone, or is interested in protecting our coastal resources, should read it—the entire document is available here, the heart of the act is legislation that protects public beach access and environmentally sensitive coastal habitat. Under the Coastal Act, the public has access to almost the entire California Coast below the mean high tide line. And, in many places where private homes line the beach,  “lateral easements” have been negotiated that allow beachgoers access to dry sand.

The beach side of the "Great Wall of Malibu" is a bewildering mix of lateral (dry sand) easements and fiercely guarded private beach, but the right for the public to use the beach below the mean high tide is part of California State law and applies to every inch of California's 1,100 miles of coastline. Only the military has the authority to prohibit access.

That may not sound like much to people used to having the beach for their backyard, but it was a major victory for public access. Much of New England, including Maine, with all of its famous seascapes and nautical history, does not have coastal access laws, and even historically important public easements can be placed off limit by private landowners, who control the entire intertidal zone down to the mean low tide line. Public access is limited to “fishing, fowling, and navagation.” 

Thanks to the Coastal Act, almost the entire California coast is accessible to the public. Above,  beachgoers take advantage of an extreme autumn low tide to explore the intertidal zone at Leo Carrillo State Park.

It’s true that parts of Malibu have been a longstanding battleground of access issues. One inventive billionaire on Carbon Beach installed fake garage doors to prevent the public from parking in front of the easement on his property; another put a hedge, a wall, an air conditioning unit, and a tennis court on property they agreed to deed as a vertical easement as a condition for receiving a Coastal Development Permit; and the Coastal Commission heard from two Malibu property owners in June who argued that the vertical easements on their properties had "expired," despite the fact the deeds run with the land in perpetuity. But things are things are improving. The Coastal Commission was recently granted the authority to levy fines on obstructive property owners, which may speed the removal of some obstacles.

Sea level rise is bound to complicate the mean high tide issue along house-lined local beaches. In this case, loss of sand appears to have pushed the mean high tide line all the way under the pylons of this Malibu Road house.

Warner Chabot, an environmental consultant and former CEO of the California League of Conservation Voters, said in a press release that of almost 2000 outstanding Coastal Act violations throughout the state, most involve blocking access, removing access signs or posting illegal and unauthorized “no parking” or “no beach access” signs.

Beaches with high density housing are inevitably the site of access issues. This photo shows cheek-to-jowl Malibu Road in the foreground and Corral Beach, with wide stretches of open space, in the background.

In eastern Malibu, Carbon Beach, Malibu Road (the Beach is officially named Amarillo Beach, but no one ever calls it that) and Escondido Beach remain a confusing patchwork of public and private sand—the City of Malibu map shown above details which is which, and Jenny Price’s app is also useful for sorting out where you can sit and were you can’t. Western Malibu, which has many of Los Angeles County’s most beautiful beaches, is much more welcoming, and offers miles of easy to access coastline with ample parking.

One of the Malibu Road vertical easements that are opened at sunrise and locked at sunset.

I admire the determination of activists like Price, but have to confess that many of the hotly contested easements at locations are not my idea of inviting places to spend the day at the beach—access ways are crammed between tightly packed houses, and the only beach at high tide is under the pylons supporting the houses.  Most of these easements are a matter of principle rather than comfort or convenience, and none have restrooms or lifeguards.

I'm not sure why anyone would want to spend the day under a bunch of creosote-soaked pylons, but the beach easements at Malibu Road and the Malibu Colony offer interesting starting points for low tide walks, while Carbon Beach showcases some unusual architecture.

I would much rather watch the sunset at Westward Beach, or prowl the tidepools and rock formations at El Matador Beach and Leo Carrillo State Park—three of the most beautiful beaches anywhere. 

El Matador Beach, with its impressive rock formations, sea caves, and plenty of space is an inviting place to spend the day.

There are a dozen roadside beach options, too: Corral Beach requires a scramble down a small slope, but it's a good beach for swimming and has a lifeguard tower. 

Westward, Zuma, El Matador, El Pescador, La Piedra, Nicholas, and Leo Carrillo beaches  all have pay lots with restroom facilities, but they also offer free parking on PCH. Just don't leave valuables in your car—these are popular locations for smash and grab burglars. These western beaches feature plenty of sand, rugged rock outcroppings and many continuous stretches of uninterrupted public beach that are ideal for long walks. And one can park along PCH almost anywhere north of County Line and south of Point Mugu and find secluded coves and views of open ocean and empty sky.

Leo Carrillo's North Beach, above, and southern section, called Seccos by the surfers, below, have doubled for everything from tropical islands to the coast of England in numerous movies and TV shows. It's easy to see why. 

My favorite beach walk includes the Point Dume Nature Preserve. There's a handful of parking spaces on Cliffside Drive, but the best place to park is at Westward Beach. It's a short walk from the roadside parking to the trailhead at the base of the Dume headlands. The trail leads up the bluff and around the headlands. Sea lions like to sun themselves on the rocks below. In winter, whales pass so close you sometimes hear them breathing before you see them. 

The access stairs to Pirate's Cove would be right at home on a ghost ship—it's rusty and precarious, but well worth the effort to climb down.

On the east side of the point, where the ancient Chumash kept a shine site, a rusty, rickety iron stairs leads from the top of the bluffs down to Pirates’ Cove. There are tidepools to explore here. But it's just as pleasant to sit on the sand and watch the waves roll in. The Point faces due south. It's open sea all the way to Antarctica.  

A surfer heads into the water at Little Dume Cove, east of Point Dume State Beach. High tides can isolate all of the Dume coves. Walkers need to check a reliable tide table before setting off on a long walk on this stretch of coast, or risk getting stranded until the tide turns.

When the tide is low, it’s an easy walk from here all the way to Escondido Beach, but don't go too far and watch the time. Each cove along the shore may be transformed into a desert island when the tide is high.

The coast from the west end of Paradise Cove to Zuma Creek at the far west end of Westward Beach is a designated Marine Protected Area and an area of special biological significance that is home to an astonishing array of bird species and marine and intertidal organisms that range from sea cucumbers and tunicates to dolphins and whales.

No two visits to any beach are ever the same, but it’s always a worthwhile journey. We are fortunate to live in a place where that journey is open to all who feel the elemental call of the running tide.

Suzanne Guldimann

16 August 2014

An August monsoon transmutes sky and sand into fire opal during sunset at Westward Beach.