Crossing to Catalina: The VX Voyage

Exploring Santa Catalina Island Aboard Rental PWC

Text and photography by Jeremy Burfoot

Commercial airline flights from Australia nearly always fly over the top of Santa Catalina Island on the way into Los Angeles. I must have flown over the island from the southwest at least 200 times, and each time, weather permitting, I’ve looked down at the towering cliffs on the southwest side and have been impressed by their sheer size and by the ruggedness of the whole island.

I’m not averse to the odd personal watercraft ride every now and then, so when my friend Alex, who lives in Los Angeles, California, suggested we hire some PWCs and go for a ride, I immediately suggested riding around the island, located about 22 miles southwest of LA. Alex was keen to the idea, so we set a date and started planning. Alex rented a couple of PWCs, and took care of all the detail and logistics. For my part I provided enthusiasm and turned up. Here’s how it went:

The alarm wakes me at 5:30am and I stumble around getting ready and making a cup of coffee. Alex turns up on time and we head down to the launch ramp at Newport Dunes Resort in Back Bay of Newport Beach.

It’s a magnificent day and we hurry to get organized and onto the water. We hit the water at 7am and head on down the river to Newport Harbor. The speed limit in the Harbor is 5 mph, and we have to travel three miles at this pace, which is as tedious as watching grass grow. But it’s a beautiful morning and the large motor yachts moored outside the houses are impressive, so there’s plenty to keep the mind occupied as we motor slowly towards the open sea. At one point we see a bunch of seals on one of the pontoons and a few more in the water. They are obviously very comfortable with their noisy surroundings.

We finally reach the open sea and I look at my Yamaha VX110 Sport with suspicion and say, “Okay let’s see what you can do!” Bear in mind here that my own PWC in New Zealand is a 215hp muscle craft and the Yamaha only boasts a meek 110hp. I stand and lean forward as I normally do to absorb the acceleration and I nearly fall over the front of the machine. I don’t mean to be too harsh here, but the VX110 Sport is not a great performer. If PWCs had names, the VX would be called Graham or Rodney – whereas my own machine would be Troy or Stirling or something like that. If the VX had hair, it would be straight shoulder length with a receding hairline, whereas my machine would be a skinhead or have major spikes and enough wax to burn for a week. One wonders how the “standard” version, that is presumably used for non-sport applications such as pizza delivery and courier, would go. This is not to say that all you people who privately own VXs should be ashamed or anything, because you didn’t know any better; but it’s definitely time for the three of you to upgrade to a new machine that can pull the skin off a rice pudding. I mean really – you could put a velcro strap on the throttle to hold it wide open, go and get a coffee, then come back in time to step elegantly onto the VX just as it started to head away from the beach.

Owners of the VX will rightly and correctly state that this machine was voted Watercraft of the Year by some mob in 2005. Some would say that this is an indication of just how good this machine is, blah blah blah. Others would say that this is a sad piece of machinery and the award is an example of what bribery money can buy and, in any case, one year is a long time in watercraft development – and this machine is 3 years old. Still, others would be more critical.

Now, I’m starting to sense some indignation from VX owners, so it’s time to talk about the good bits. Well, it rides ok once you get going, even if it does bounce a little too much, but the fuel economy is legendary and would make muscle craft owners cry. (I filled up my personal machine a couple of weeks ago and I still spontaneously cry every time I think about it.) The experts will tell you that horsepower means fuel consumption, and based on that, it should only be necessary to refuel the VX at every service. “Full fifty hour service, please. Thanks Bill, and filler up!”

But hey, I’m still having a great time riding the VX as we head into the murk and mist that hides Santa Catalina, so on with the story.

Alex has the GPS so I follow him, and he’s having a ball – as this is only his third ride ever – so he zooms ahead impatiently. The sea is almost like glass, but the area is unstable due to the westerly swell hitting the coast and bouncing back into itself, along with the large number of boats in the area. This causes an underlying chop that, coupled with the glassy conditions, is quite hard to read.

At the moment, my thing with PWCs is endurance riding. It’s not racing and it’s not screaming around in the surf riding waves. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy doing these things, but most of the time I train with maximum endurance in mind. This is a new (and mostly useless) paradigm for most PWC riders. What you are trying to achieve is maximum distance for minimum fuel and minimum damage to your body. This involves using the most economical speed for the sea conditions, keeping the momentum going and keeping the throttle position as consistent as possible. From my experience the best speed seems to be around 27 mph, but this does vary with the sea conditions. Being able to read the sea and work with it, rather than against it, is a skill that gets better with time. An example of this is when you have quite a strong following sea and wind. The way to ride this is just slightly faster than the speed of the waves, and with a zigzag to avoid the steepest waves. Another example is how best to ride into a huge fast-moving sea with monster head winds. The best way to approach this is from behind a beer in the bar at the nearest yacht club, where you look out to sea from time to time, burp, and remark casually how ugly it looks out there. On a long distance event over many days, sometimes it is prudent to wait out a day rather than get completely beaten up and only cover 60 miles. Chances are that the next day will be fine and you could cover those 60 miles in the first 90 minutes. There are times when you need to take a bit of a beating as a compromise and an example of that would be into a head wind with a two foot chop. The only way to ride this is hard out across the tops, and this can rattle your bones, but at least you cover some distance. One of the most important things with body preservation is the ability to ride standing up for long periods, allowing your legs to absorb the shocks and protecting your spine. If you are fit enough to do this, your body will thank you for it in the long run. If you don’t do this and you sit for long distances, get ready to discover what it feels like to be the ‘new boy’ in a prison, as wear and tear on your backside is as inevitable as is your future mother in-law not liking you very much.

Anyway, I digress. So…back to the ride.

So I’m treating this as a training ride and Alex is ripping into it, probably wondering what is taking me so long and thinking, “I thought this guy was supposed to be some sort of PWC guru”.  At one point we come across a large pod of dolphins. My experience with New Zealand dolphins is that if you slow down they will always come and play. But that doesn’t happen here. These dolphins are obviously on a mission (or just plain rude) and are not at all distracted by our presence.  The conversation between the dolphins would no doubt be along the lines of…”What’s that noise? Should we go and investigate?” “No. We’re on a mission and even though I’m intrigued to find out what two coffee grinders are doing out here we don’t have time.”

We head on past the dolphins and now I can see Catalina Island coming into view, and the water is much clearer. The island looks great, and I can’t wait to get there. The sea conditions have improved, and the riding gets easier the further we go. Finally, about an hour after leaving Newport Harbor, we ride slowly into Avalon Harbor and tie up at the dingy pier. The dingy pier is where all the tenders for the large boats tie up when the owners go ashore, and it’s about as organized as my sock drawer. We nudge our way into nonexistent gaps and marvel at how there always seems to be room for one more on this pier. We then head up the road for breakfast and to drop our excess gear at our hotel for the night.

Having taken on food and water and lightened our load, we head over to the fuel barge to refuel. We are shocked to find that fuel is $5.42 a gallon for 87 octane, but we refuel anyway, because I have a rule that I must refuel whenever possible. This is a personal thing brought on by experiencing too many fuel emergencies in the past. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be miles from anywhere and running out of gas, and I avoid it like jury duty.

With refueling complete, we head up the northeast coast of the island in near perfect conditions. The island itself is twenty-two miles long and eight miles wide at its widest point. It’s an impressive piece of dirt covering some 75 square miles. Today there is a light north-westerly swell with just enough ripple on it to be able to read the waves perfectly. The air temperature is very warm and the sea is deep blue and clear. The island is bathed in sunlight. We pass bay after bay as we follow the coastline, and the whole scene is idyllic beyond belief. I read somewhere that there are 400 native species of plant on the island and a further 180 non-native. From what I can see, there is only one of each of the 580 species on the island as greenery is as scarce as hen’s teeth.

We continue on up the coast, enjoying the conditions and the scenery and having an awesome ride. At one point, Alex gets ahead of me for a bit and when I finally catch him he is soaking wet and looking sheepish. “What happened?” I ask. “I fell off,” says Alex. “How?” “I don’t know. It just happened.” I point out to him that I rode all the way around New Zealand in some of the crappiest weather known to man and only fell off once. He admits to being a ‘wretched failure’ and we head on.

Just to the south of Fourth of July Cove, we come across a large white rock and head in for a closer look, wondering why it is white. As we draw closer I start to smell a foul odor and I look around for someone to blame, but there is nobody. I realize that it is the island that smells and that the white is bird droppings. The rock is covered in it, and also has many flocks of pelicans and cormorants on it. These are obviously unusual birds with doubtful standards, serious dietary problems and a weird habit of standing around in each other’s movements. (But then I guess if you’ve never done it, how do you know it isn’t fun?)

After taking some photos of ‘Bird Shit Island’ we head farther north, and an hour and thirty after leaving Avalon we reach the northern point of the island. From here we head south down the exposed side of the island and the scenery becomes much more rugged, with steep crumbling cliffs and rocky beaches. We can’t help but be impressed, because in spite of its almost desert-like appearance, it has a certain power and beauty to it all the same, and I like it a lot.

The sea conditions are even better on this side of the island and we ride a following one meter swell and are having a great time. We make good time heading down the coast and I start to wonder why PWCs race from Long Beach to Catalina and back when they could race around the island instead. The ride out to the island could be a good warm up ride and after the race the riders could stay overnight and enjoy the local hospitality. Logistically it might be more difficult, but it would be a more fun way to do it I’m sure.

Twenty minutes later we find ourselves further to the southeast and I start to get bored, so noticing that the whole place is deserted, I ride in towards the beach and zoom along the coast at about 50 feet from the shore. This is quite exciting as every couple of hundred yards a rocky point juts out and there are many rocks dotted along the shallows near the beaches. With numerous kelp beds added into the mix it’s quite a ride. I notice Alex following closely but with a worried look on his face.

At one point we stop to observe a large seal colony with at least a couple of hundred seals lying on the beach. Some of the more inquisitive ones swim out to us and watch from a close but safe distance.

As we continue around the island and get closer to Avalon, I stop to clean my sunglasses and Alex screams up and crashes into me. This mistake wouldn’t be so bad except that it’s about the fifth time it’s happened, and it gets me thinking about PWC riding protocol. There are a basic set of rules that experienced riders apply when riding with others. But how do new riders discover what these rules are? No one really tells them in advance so I guess they learn from being patiently (sometimes not) told over time or by getting annoyed at the behavior of others. Perhaps someone should write some rules down and put them on a website for all to see…

I don’t want to sound too rude or grumpy here, and neither do I want to remind you of your old school master but if you’re riding with me….Don’t bump into my ski – even if it’s a VX Yamaha that someone else owns. Rental skis have feelings too. If I’m riding in a confined space, such as among rocks, don’t block my escape route or you won’t get a Christmas card this year. If you are in front of me, don’t alter heading without notice and cut in front of me or I might hit you, and even though you will be surprised and have a hurt look on your face it will be your fault (yes I’m referring to you Terry).  Be predictable, keep away from me but not so far that you can’t help me if I get into trouble – as I often do. Over time, playing “chicken” inevitably leads to disaster, and I dislike it more than getting my teeth drilled. Operated irresponsibly, PWCs are a weapon. Don’t annoy non-PWC riders (other boats, people on beaches, local communities) with inconsiderate behavior, because this leads to complaints and possible future restrictions. Soon we might be restricted to operating in private swimming pools (yours John). And finally, it’s ok for me to get you wet, but not ok in reverse. I recommend you wear a rain coat and a breathing apparatus.

And now…..back to the ride.

We continue on around the southern point of the island and all too soon we see the entrance to Avalon Harbor. I’ve had so much fun I want to go around again and I seriously contemplate it. That ride was a prize winner. We figure we covered around 80miles in under 3 hours with quite a few stops included, and had the time of our lives.

We decide to head in for an afternoon nap before sampling the entertainment spots in Avalon. We retire to our room.  Our room is small –  so small that we have to sit out in the corridor if we want to watch television. The room comes with an air conditioner. This is an older style of machine consisting of a fan and a speaker. The fan sucks air from its surroundings. It conditions that air by adding a lot of noise and a little bit of heat to it then it recirculates it through the room. Left on long enough with the window closed, the air in the room becomes hot enough that any paper or wood in the room becomes spontaneously combustible. In this environment it’s a struggle to sleep, but we still manage a couple of hours.

Later we head down to the town for a few drinks and a feed. After dinner we wander along to the El Galleon Bar where, joy upon joy, its karaoke night and it’s just getting started. I order a margarita and Alex orders a large beer and we settle down to watch. I have seen and done a bit of karaoke over the years, mainly in Japan, and the trend of the night is similar here. When I first start a karaoke night I am John McCain singing in the shower. Two margaritas later and I am Cliff Richard, but I look older and can’t sing quite as well. After 4 margaritas, I am Neil Diamond, but in the same way that Americans make better Mexican food than the Mexicans, I do Neil Diamond better than Neil does. After 6 margaritas, I am a rock star not unlike Mick Jagger, only cooler and better. At this point I am bloody good and if you want a second opinion just ask me (if you can stop me singing long enough).

But sadly the karaoke night seems to be stuck in John McCain, so without even a song to our name, we call it a night and head back for some sleep.

The next morning after breakfast we get ready to leave. Alex convinces me against my better judgment that we don’t need to refuel, and at $5.42 a gallon, I agree to break my rule. We head off towards Newport Harbor in good but misty conditions. I don’t have the GPS, so I resort to my old methods of navigation, such as identifying points on the horizon and heading for them, hitting the swells at the same angle and keeping the sun in the same place. To confirm my direction every now and then I check to see that Alex is close by.

All seems to be going well until we reach the halfway point and, with nothing in sight except ocean and sky, my VX decides that a service is imminent and the fuel gauge suddenly drops from ½ to ¼. I am severely underwhelmed by this and my stress levels rise as we continue on and on, seemingly forever, and still can’t see the coast. After what seems like an eternity, the coast finally comes into view while I expect to see 1/8 on the fuel gauge at any moment. Reaching the harbor entrance takes another 15 minutes, and with great relief we zoom inside.

Being good citizens, we slow to 5 mph, but as PWCs do we’re still putting out a combined wake like the fifth fleet. Surfers are eyeing up our wake and wondering if they can get a tow into it so they can ride it up the harbor. 5 mph is very boring, so about half way up the harbor I am asleep at the wheel and in autopilot when I’m woken by the feeling that all is not normal, and indeed it isn’t. Just to the left of me is the water police, who seem to have appeared from nowhere, as if they’ve been dropped in by helicopter. I know I haven’t done anything wrong so I ride over to discuss.

“Watch your speed in here, you are putting out quite a wake.”

“I know sir (all law enforcement officers have Sir as a first name) but you know what? If I went at 50 mph I’d put out less wake”

“I don’t know about that”

“I know you don’t know,” I thought.

“Just take it easy”

“Ok, thanks orrificer”

And with that, he disappears and we ride, wake and all, into the boat ramp with, believe it or not, the bloody fuel gauge still showing ¼.