San Clemente Island is Where War Games and Wildlife Coexist

Loggerhead Shrike (Photo: US Fish and Wildlife Service)

A few months ago, I took a fishing trip out to the western side of San Clemente Island. I woke at two in the morning to the rattle of the anchor chain dropping and stepped out onto the deck, expecting darkness all around us. Instead the night was alive with a strange glow. Dozens of squid boats floated offshore, their powerful lights illuminating the water with a bluish, Avatar-like brightness. The lights draw squid toward the surface before the crews scoop them up in nets.

As I knew from earlier research, and from being a long-time California resident, squid are one of Californiaโ€™s top commercial fisheries, a multimillion-dollar industry built around what is known as market squid. They thrive in enormous numbers in the deep waters around the Channel Islands and up toward Santa Barbara, even though the average beachgoer rarely thinks about them. From the rail of the fishing boat I was I could see vast swarms just below the surface.

Squid boat off shore San Clemente Island (Photo: Erik Olsen)

When dawn broke, San Clemente Island emerged ahead of us, and I was struck by how stark and empty it looked. In both directions stretched the same raw, rugged coastline, with almost no sign of human presence (there were what appeared to be radio towers on the top of a peak, but no people).

It felt desolate and otherworldly. But the reality is more complicated.

The island is part of the Channel Islands, a chain that trends east to west rather than the usual northโ€“south pattern of most California ranges. The Channel Islands are often called North Americaโ€™s Galรกpagos because they support an extraordinary number of species found nowhere else, shaped by the deep isolation that defines island biogeography (we wrote about this earlier).

San Clemente Island (photo: U.S. Navy)

San Clemente is no exception. The island is abundant in wildlife, with its own collection of rare plants and animals. But what makes it stand apart from the other islands is the scale of the military activity just beyond the barren cliffs. The U.S. Navy conducts constant training here, including missile tests, amphibious landings, and live-fire exercises. The island is considered one of the most important training grounds for the United States military, operating around the clock even as endangered species cling to survival in the canyons and plateaus nearby.

San Clemente Island looks like a long volcanic ridge from offshore, but it has been one of the most important and least visible military landscapes in California for almost a century. It is the southernmost of the Channel Islands and has been owned entirely by the U.S. Navy since the late 1930s. Over time it became a central part of Naval Base Coronado, and today its main airfield supports helicopters, jets, drones, and special operations teams that rotate through the island throughout the year.

It all seemed really interesting. I desperately wanted to go ashore, but if Iโ€™d tried, I almost certainly would have been arrested.

Live fire training exercises with mortars on San Clemente Island Photo: (Spc. William Franco Espinosa / U.S. Army National Guard)

The island began shaping military history just before World War II. In 1939, naval engineers brought early versions of the Higgins boat to San Clemente Island to test how they handled surf, wind, and timing with naval gunfire. These flat-bottomed landing craft became essential to Allied victories in places like Normandy and Guadalcanal. The islandโ€™s rugged shoreline helped the US military refine the tactics behind the amphibious assaults that defined twentieth century warfare.

During the Cold War, San Clemente Island evolved into one of the Navyโ€™s busiest live fire training sites. The waters around Pyramid Cove hosted decommissioned ships used as targets. Carrier air wings practiced bombing runs across the southern plateau. Marine units rehearsed ship-to-shore landings on isolated beaches, while submarines conducted simulated missions under restricted airspace. We did a short video you can watch here.

Few places on the West Coast allowed sea, air, and land forces to operate together with real weapons, and the islandโ€™s remoteness made it ideal for rehearsing missions that couldn’t take place near populated coastlines. Yet all of this is happening just about 60 miles offshore from Los Angeles. (It took us about five hours to get back).

Higgins Boat (Photo: US Navy)

Civilian access has always been extremely limited, which is why the island only reaches the news when something unusual happens. One widely reported event occurred in 2023, when a private pilot illegally landed a small plane on the islandโ€™s runway and then stole a Navy truck before being detained. He tried again in 2025. This kind of thing underscores how isolated and tightly controlled the installation is. For the most part, the only people who ever set foot on the island are service members using it as a sophisticated, real world training environment.

Oh, and scientists, too.

That’s because the islandโ€™s natural history has been studied intensively. Decades ago, ranching introduced goats, sheep, and invasive plants that stripped vegetation from entire hillsides. Feral cats and rats preyed greedily on ground nesting birds, and live fire exercises fragmented habitat. By the 1970s and 1980s, San Clemente Island held one of the highest concentrations of endangered species in California, but everything was under threat.

San Clemente Island looks otherworldly and barren from a fishing boat (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Enter the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, which worked with the military to balance military readiness with the legal requirements of the Endangered Species Act. And it’s been, by many measures, a pretty major success.

No species became more symbolic of the struggle to protect the island than the San Clemente loggerhead shrike, a lovely, black masked songbird that lives nowhere else on Earth. By the late 1990s its wild population had fallen to as few as fourteen individuals. The Navy funded a comprehensive recovery effort that included captive breeding, predator removal, and habitat reconstruction, all with the expertise help of the San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance. By restoring vegetation and extensive breeding, scientists released shrikes which eventually began to hunt, build territories, and raise their young. The species is now considered one of the most successful island bird recoveries in North America.

The San Clemente Island fox, once threatened by habitat loss and predation, has rebounded significantly thanks to intensive conservation efforts that stabilized its population and restored its native ecosystem. (Photo: USFWS)

And that wasn’t the only success. Once goats and sheep were removed, native shrubs and herbs began returning to the island. Endemic plants such as the San Clemente Island lotus and San Clemente Island paintbrush, responded quickly once the pressure from grazing disappeared. In 2023, after decades of habitat recovery, the Fish and Wildlife Service announced that five island species were healthy enough to be removed from the endangered species list, a pretty cool milestone that suggested a major ecological turnaround for San Clemente and the Channel Islands as a whole.

San Clemente Island lotus (Photo: USFWS)

Today, San Clemente Island remains one of the most unusual places in California. It is a live fire training range where carrier groups, SEAL teams, and Marines rehearse some of the most complex operations in the Navy. It is also a refuge where rare birds and plants have recovered after hovering near extinction. Conservation biologists and military planners now coordinate schedules, field surveys, and habitat protections to keep both missions intact. There’s an excellent documentary on this recovery effort made by SoCal PBS.

California has become a national leader in restoring damaged ecosystems. And while the state has lost much of its original wildness over the centuries, it also offers some of the most compelling examples of species and habitats recovered from the brink. San Clemente Island is more ecologically stable today than at any point in the past century, and it continues to serve as one of the Navyโ€™s most valuable training grounds.

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Ten Essential Books About Californiaโ€™s Nature, Science, and Sense of Place

You can scroll endlessly through TikTok and Instagram for quick bursts of Californiaโ€™s beauty, but to truly sink into a subject, and to savor the craft of a great writer, you need a book. Iโ€™m an avid reader, and over the past decade Iโ€™ve dedicated a large section of my bookshelf to books about California: its wild side, its nature, and its scientific wonders.

There are surely many other books that could be included in this top ten list, but these are the finest Iโ€™ve come across in the years since returning to live in the state.They capture the extraordinary diversity of Californiaโ€™s landscapes and wildlife, found nowhere else on Earth, and many also explore issues and themes that hold deep importance for the state and its people. Although Iโ€™ve read some of these titles digitally, I love having many of them in print, because there are few things more satisfying than settling into a beach, a forest campsite, or a favorite chair at home with a beautifully made book in hand.


California Against the Sea: Visions for Our Vanishing Coastline by Rosanna Xia

I first discovered Rosanna Xiaโ€™s work through her stunning exposรฉ on the thousands of DDT barrels found dumped on the seafloor near Catalina Island. It remains one of the most shocking, and yet not technically illegal, environmental scandals in Californiaโ€™s history.

Her recent book, California Against the Sea: Visions for Our Vanishing Coastline, is a beautifully written and deeply reported look at how Californiaโ€™s coastal communities are confronting the realities of climate change and rising seas. Xia travels the length of the state, from Imperial Beach to Pacifica, weaving together science, policy, and personal stories to show how erosion, flooding, and climate change are already reshaping lives. What makes the book stand out is its relative balance; itโ€™s not a screed, nor naรฏvely hopeful. It nicely captures the tension between human settlement — our love and need to be near the ocean — and the coastโ€™s natural (and unnatural, depending on how you look at it) cycles of change.

Xia is at her best when exploring adaptation and equity. She reminds us that even if emissions stopped today, the ocean will keep rising, and that not all communities have equal means to respond. The stories of engineers, Indigenous leaders, and ordinary residents highlight how resilience and adaptation must be rooted in local realities. I was especially drawn to Xiaโ€™s account of the California Coastal Commission, a wildly controversial agency that wields immense power over the future of the shoreline. Yet it was the commission and its early champions, such as Peter Douglas, who ensured that Californiaโ€™s coast remained open and accessible to all, a decision I consider one of the greatest legislative achievements in modern conservation history.

Thoughtful, accessible, and rooted in the coast we all care about, California Against the Sea challenges us to ask a pressing question: how can we live wisely, and with perspective, at the edge of a changing world?

The High Sierra: A Love Story by Kim Stanley Robinson

Kim Stanley Robinsonโ€™s The High Sierra: A Love Story is an expansive, heartfelt tribute to Californiaโ€™s most iconic mountain range. Because of the Sierraโ€™s vast internal basins, which are missing from many of the worldโ€™s other great mountain ranges, Robinson argues they are among the best mountains on Earth. His point is hard to refute. He makes a convincing case that the Sierra Nevada may be the greatest range in the world, formed from the planetโ€™s largest single block of exposed granite and lifted over millions of years into its dramatic present shape.

Blending memoir, geology (my favorite part of the book), and adventure writing, Robinson chronicles his own decades of exploration in the Sierra Nevada while tracing the forces — glacial, tectonic, and emotional, that shaped both the landscape and his own life.

Considered one of our greatest living science fiction writers (Iโ€™ve read Red Mars — long, but superb — and am currently reading The Ministry for the Future — the opening chapter is gripping and terrifying), Robinson might seem an unlikely guide to the granite heights of California. Yet reading The High Sierra: A Love Story reveals how naturally his fascination with imagined worlds extends into this very real one. The drama of the range, with its light, vastness, and sculpted peaks and basins, feels like raw material for his other universes.

The Dreamt Land by Mark Arax

The Dreamt Land is a portrait of Californiaโ€™s Central Valley, where the control of water has defined everything from landscape to power (power in the form of hydroelectric energy and human control over who gets to shape and profit from the valleyโ€™s vast resources). Blending investigative journalism, history, and memoir, Arax explores how the stateโ€™s rivers, dams, and aqueducts turned desert into farmland and how that transformation came at immense ecological and social cost.

Iโ€™ve read several Arax books, but this one is my favorite. Heโ€™s one of the finest writers California has produced. He writes with passion and clarity, grounding his ideas in decades of firsthand experience with Californiaโ€™s land and water. His focus on the fertile Central Valley, where he grew up as a reporter and farmerโ€™s son, gives the book both intimacy and authority, revealing how decisions about water shape not just the landscape but the people who depend on it. There are heroes and villains, plenty of the latter, and all of them unmistakably real. Yet Araxโ€™s prose is so fluid and eloquent that youโ€™ll keep reading not only for the story, but for the sheer pleasure of his writing.

Assembling California by John McPhee (1993)

If youโ€™re at all fascinated by Californiaโ€™s wild geology — and it truly is wild, just ask any geologist — this classic from one of the finest nonfiction writers alive is a must-read. McPhee takes readers on a geological road-trip through California, from the uplifted peaks of the Sierra Nevada to the fault-riven terrain of the San Andreas zone. He teams up with UC Davis geologist Eldridge Moores to explain how oceanic plates, island arcs, and continental blocks collided over millions of years to โ€œassembleโ€ the landmass we now call California. His prose is classic McPhee: clean, vivid, perhaps sometimes overly technical, as he turns terms like โ€œophioliteโ€ and โ€œbatholithโ€ into aspects of a landscape you can picture and feel.

What makes the book especially rewarding, especially for someone interested in earth systems, mapping, and the deep time, is how McPhee seamlessly links everyday places with deep-time events. Youโ€™ll read about gold-rush mining camps and vineyard soils, but all of it is rooted in tectonics, uplift, erosion, and transformation. Iโ€™ve gotten some of my favorite stories here on California Curated from the pages of this book. It can be ponderous at times, but youโ€™ll not regret giving it a try.

The California Lands Trilogy by Obi Kaufman

The Forests of California (2020)

The Coasts of California (2022)

The Deserts of California (2023)

Obi Kaufmanโ€™s California Lands Trilogy is one of the most visually stunning and ambitious projects in California natural history publishing. Beginning with The Forests of California, the first of three volumes that reimagine the state not through its highways or cities but through its living systems, Kaufman invites readers to see California as a vast and interconnected organism, a place defined by its natural rhythms rather than human boundaries. Each book is filled with delicate watercolor maps and diagrams by the author himself. The result is part art book and part ecological manifesto, a celebration of the interconnectedness of Californiaโ€™s natural world. Kaufmanโ€™s talents as an artist are breathtaking. If he ever offered his original watercolors for sale, Iโ€™d be among the first in line to buy them. Taken together, the series forms a panoramic vision of the stateโ€™s natural environments.

That said, Kaufmanโ€™s books can be dense, filled with data, maps, and cross-references that reward slow reading more than quick browsing. If Iโ€™m honest, I tend to dip in and out of them, picking them up when Iโ€™m bored or need a break from the latest political bombshell. Every page offers something to linger over, whether itโ€™s a river system painted like a circulatory map or a meditation on the idea of rewilding. For anyone fascinated by Californiaโ€™s natural systems, all Kaufmanโ€™s Field Atlases are invaluable companions endlessly worth revisiting.

The Enduring Wild: A Journey Into Californiaโ€™s Public Lands by Josh Jackson

My first job out of college was with the Department of the Interior in Washington, D.C., by far by the nation’s largest land management agency. A big part of that work involved traveling to sites managed by Interior across the country. I came to understand just how vast Americaโ€™s public lands are and how much of that expanse, measured in millions of acres, is under the care of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM).

Josh Jackson takes readers on a road trip across Californiaโ€™s often overlooked public wilderness, focusing on the lands managed by the BLM, an agency once jokingly referred to as the Bureau of Livestock and Mining. He shows how these so-called โ€œleftover landsโ€ hold stories of geology, Indigenous presence, extraction, and conservation.

His prose and photography (he has a wonderful eye for landscapes) together invite the reader to slow down, look closely at the subtleties of desert mesas, sagebrush plains, and coastal bluffs, and reckon with what it means to protect places many people have never heard of. His use of the environmental psychology concept of โ€œplace attachmentโ€ struck a chord with me. The theory suggests that people form deep emotional and psychological bonds with natural places, connections that shape identity, memory, and a sense of belonging. As a frequent visitor to the Eastern Sierra, especially around Mammoth Lakes and Mono Lake, I was particularly drawn to Jacksonโ€™s chapter on that region. His account of the lingering impacts of the Mining Act of 1872, and how its provisions still allow for questionable practices today, driven by high gold prices, was eye-opening. I came away with new insights, which is always something I value in a book.

I should mention that I got my copy of the book directly from Josh, who lives not far from me in Southern California. We spent a few hours at a cafe in Highland Park talking about the value and beauty of public lands, and as I sat there flipping through the book, I couldnโ€™t help but acknowledge how striking it is. Part of that comes from Heyday Booksโ€™ exceptional attention to design and production. Heyday also publishes Obi Kaufmanโ€™s work and they remain one of Californiaโ€™s great independent publishers. But much my appreciation for the book also comes from from Jackson himself, whose photographs are simply outstanding.

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What makes this book especially compelling is its blend of adventure and stewardship. Jackson doesnโ€™t simply celebrate wildness; he also lays out the human and institutional connections that shape (and threaten) these public lands, from grazing rights to mining to climate-change impacts. Some readers may find the breadth of landscapes and stories a little ambitious for a first book, yet the richness of the journey and the accessibility of the writing make it a strong addition for anyone interested in Californiaโ€™s endless conflict over land use: what should be used for extraction and what should be preserved? While I donโ€™t fully agree with Jackson on the extent to which certain lands should be preserved, I still found the book a wonderful exploration of that question.

The Backyard Bird Chronicles by Amy Tan

Amy Tanโ€™s The Backyard Bird Chronicles is a charming and unexpectedly personal journal of bird-watching, set in the yard of Tanโ€™s Bay Area home. Tan is an excellent writer, as one would expect from a wildly successful novelist (The Joy Luck Club, among others). But she also brings a curiosity and wonder to the simple act of looking across oneโ€™s backyard. I loved it. Who among us in California doesnโ€™t marvel at the sheer diversity of birds we see every day? And who hasnโ€™t wondered about the secret lives they lead? A skilled illustrator as well as a writer, she studies the birds she observes by sketching them, using art as a way to closely connect with the natural world around her.

What begins as a peaceful retreat during the Covid catastrophe becomes an immersive odyssey of observation and drawing. Tan captures the comings and goings of more than sixty bird species, sketches their lively antics, as she reflects on how these small winged neighbors helped calm her inner world when the larger world felt unsteady.

My only quibble is that I was hoping for more scientific depth; the book is more of a meditation than a field study. Still, for anyone who loves birds, sketching, or the quiet beauty of everyday nature, it feels like a gentle invitation to slow down and truly look.

โ€œTrees in Paradiseโ€ by Jared Farmer

California is the most botanically diverse state in the U.S. (by a long shot), home to more than 6,500 native plant species, about a third of which exist nowhere else on Earth. Jared Farmerโ€™s Trees in Paradise: A California History follows four key tree species in California: the redwood, eucalyptus, orange, and palm. Through these examples, Farmer reveals how Californians have reshaped the stateโ€™s landscape and its identity. Itโ€™s rich in scientific and historical detail. I have discovered several story ideas in the book for California Curated and learned a great deal about the four trees that we still see everywhere in the California landscape.

In telling the story of these four trees (remember, both the eucalyptus and the palm were largely brought here from other places), Farmer avoids easy sentimentality or harsh judgment, instead exploring how the creation of a โ€œparadiseโ€ in California came with ecological costs and profoundly shaped the stateโ€™s identity. While the book concentrates on those four tree categories, its detailed research and insight make it a compelling read for anyone interested in the stateโ€™s environment, history, and the ways people shape and are shaped by land.

The Story of Southern California Sand from Mountains to Surf

Beautiful day at a Southern California beach (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Southern Californiaโ€™s beaches are a miracle. More than just landscapes, theyโ€™re cultural treasures. In movies, ads, and music, the coastline often feels like its own character. To many of us who live here, the coastline is not just a place to swim or sunbathe but a symbol of freedom, fun, and the stateโ€™s enduring connection to the Pacific Ocean. 

And let’s face it, the beach would not be the beach without sand. 

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I didnโ€™t realize how essential sand is until I read Vince Beiserโ€™s The World in a Grain. It quickly became one of my favorite nonfiction books in recent years … and I read a lot of nonfiction. Think about it: without sand, there would be no roads, no skyscrapers, no glass. That means no windows, no windshields, no microscopes or telescopes. No fiber-optic cables. No computer chips, since silicon, the foundation of modern technology, is essentially refined sand. The list is endless. I get that it’s not all beach sand per se, but that’s a quibble.

However, that’s not what I want to focus on here. What struck me, as I was walking along the beach the other day, was a simpler question: where does all the sand on Southern Californiaโ€™s beaches actually come from?

San Gabriel Mountains (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Well, put yourself for a moment on the beach in Southern California. No shoes. It turns out most of the grains between your toes actually began their journey high in the mountains above LA, on craggy slopes far from the shore. Mostly, we are talking about the San Gabriel Mountains and other peaks in the Transverse Ranges that run east-west across Southern California. The rugged, crumbling peaks are made of granite and other crystalline rocks rich in quartz, feldspar, and mica. Through the relentless process of erosion, wind and rain loosen these minerals, which tumble into streams and rivers, such as the San Gabriel and Santa Ana and are carried out to sea. During storms, torrents of sediment rush downhill toward the coast, and that’s where ocean currents take over.

This region where wave action dominates is called the littoral zone (no, not the literal zone), and it is where sand gets pushed around through a process known as longshore drift. Waves arriving at an angle push sediment along the shore, creating a conveyor belt that can carry grains for miles.

Lifeguard tower in Southern California (Photo: Erik Olsen)

In Southern California, this natural process has been reshaping the shoreline for thousands of years, constantly adding sand to some beaches while stripping it away from others. A lot has changed recently though (I mean “recent” in geologic terms). Humans, as we often do, have f*cked things up a bit, changing the nature of our beaches since the late 1800s. The piece I wrote recently about the Wedge in Newport is a good example. Breakwaters and other “shoreline armoring” built along our coast have altered the movement of sand, sending much of it into deep water where it is lost.

Dams have also cut off a huge portion of sediment that would once have reached the coast, reducing Southern Californiaโ€™s natural sand supply by nearly half. To make up the difference, beach managers spend millions each year dredging sand from offshore deposits or harbor entrances and pumping it onto the shore. We’ve been doing this for nearly a century. Between 1930 and 1993, more than 130 million cubic yards of sand were placed on Southern California beaches, creating wide stretches like Santa Monica and the Silver Strand that are much larger today than they would have been naturally. And if you think this is a temporary thing, forget it. With climate change driving stronger storms and rising seas, the need to keep replenishing sand is only going to grow.

Big Tujunga Dam in Southern California (Photo: Erik Olsen)

For decades, geologists believed that rivers supplied as much as 90 percent of Californiaโ€™s beach sand. That view has shifted. Research from Scripps Institution of Oceanography shows that coastal cliffs also play a huge role on some beaches. Along the stretch from Dana Point to La Jolla, cliff erosion has been shown to contribute about half of the beach-sized sediment, and in some places up to 68 percent. This is especially true in dry years, when rivers deliver less. Still, on a statewide scale, rivers remain the main suppliers of sand. Studies from the California Coastal Sediment Management Workgroup show that, under present conditions, rivers account for about 90 percent of sand reaching Southern California beaches, with bluff erosion contributing roughly 10 percent.

Littoral cells in Southern California (Source: California Coastal Commission)

The sandโ€™s story does not end at the shoreline. Californiaโ€™s coast is divided into littoral cells, essentially self-contained systems with their own sand sources, transport pathways, and sinks. Most sand in Southern California moves north to south, carried by waves arriving from the northwest. Eventually, much of it is lost into submarine canyons like Mugu, Newport, and Redondo, where it drops into deep water and exits the system.

Beach sand can also come from more subtle sources. Shell fragments from marine life, volcanic ash from distant eruptions, and even windblown desert dust can mix into the sediment. Perhaps not surprisingly, in recent decades, scientists have discovered another ingredient in our sand: plastic. Studies at Point Reyes and Golden Gate National Parks found an average of about 140 microplastic particles per kilogram of beach sand, which works out to roughly 50 pieces in a single measuring cup. Even beaches farther south, like Cabrillo, average nearly 40 pieces per kilogram.

Staff collect sand samples at Cabrillo National Monument. Testing revealed that Cabrillo sand had the lowest average concentration of microplastics of all of the West Coast parks studied. Point Reyes and Golden Gate had the highest. (Photo: National Park Service)

Offshore sediment cores show that microplastic deposition has doubled every 15 years since the 1940s, with most fragments being synthetic fibers shed from clothing. These findings show that Californiaโ€™s sand is no longer entirely natural; it now carries the pernicious imprint of modern consumer life, with fragments of plastic woven into its mix of minerals and shells. Interestingly, the concentration of microplastics off the coast of California, where researchers carried out their studies, appears to be lower than in many other parts of the world. โ€œIf they were doing the same thing in the Yellow Sea in China, right outside some of the big rivers like the Yangtze and Yellow River, the concentrations would probably be huge and cause adverse effects,โ€ University of Michigan eco-toxicologist Allen Burton told Wired Magazine.

But look, the chance to walk or run on the beach is one of the real gifts of living in California. The sand that sticks to your towel, finds its way into your shoes, or gets stuck into your hair has traveled a long, remarkable journey to reach the shore. Itโ€™s true that some of it now includes plastic, which is unfortunate, but that doesnโ€™t diminish the joy of being at the beach. In a world where so much feels fast, fleeting, and digital, thereโ€™s something really cool and satisfying about putting your toes in the sand, a remarkable substance that is totally crucial to modern civilization, yet which is also timeless and ancient and part of the natural world around us.

What David Attenborough Reminded Me About the Sea

(Photo: Alamy)

Iโ€™m going to keep this weekโ€™s article shorter than usual. I want to talk about the ocean. I know I do this a lot; many articles on California Curated are ocean-related (please explore, I think you’ll enjoy them). But thatโ€™s because I honestly believe itโ€™s the most important feature on the planet. Protecting the ocean is the most important thing we can do. Let me explain.

The ocean covers more than 70 percent of Earthโ€™s surface. So why do we even call this place Earth? We should call it Planet Ocean. Or Thalassa, from the Greek word for sea.

But itโ€™s not just the size that matters, itโ€™s the oceanโ€™s vast, mysterious depth and the essential role it plays in sustaining life on Earth. The ocean is vital to all living things. Tiny organisms called phytoplankton absorb more carbon dioxide from the atmosphere than any other biological force on the planet. Through photosynthesis, they transform sunlight and carbon into organic matter, forming the base of the marine food web. Despite making up just a fraction of Earth’s plant biomass, phytoplankton are responsible for nearly half of all global carbon fixation. Zooplankton are tiny animals that eat phytoplankton. Zooplankton feed small fish, which feed bigger fish, which feed us. Thatโ€™s the food chain. It’s literally a scaffolding for all life on earth. And a huge percentage of humanity depends on it to survive. If one link breaks, the whole thing risks collapse.

Phytoplankton (Photo: NOAA)

Which brings me to why Iโ€™m writing this. I recently watched the new National Geographic documentary Oceans, narrated by David Attenborough. I love Attenborough. His calm, British-inflected voice has been the backdrop to so much of my science education over the years. He feels like a wise grandfather. Kind, brilliant, and usually right.

In this film, he is absolutely right.

The documentary takes us to places no human has ever seen. In one scene, the team attaches cameras to a deep-sea trawling net. The footage is devastating. These massive nets kill everything in their path. Octopuses, fish, coral, entire ecosystems. Most of the species caught never even make it to market. They are bycatch, considered waste and tossed back into the sea. Itโ€™s wasteful, brutal, and legal. These trawlers are still out there, operating at scale, stripping the sea of life.

Bottom Trawling scene from Oceans with David Attenborough (National Geographic)

The film also shows how industrial fishing has hammered fish populations around the world. We are seeing species crash and food chains fracture. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization, nearly 35 percent of the world’s fish stocks are being overfished, a figure that has more than tripled since the 1970s. This kind of collapse has never happened before at this scale. And it is not getting better. We are talking about extinctions. We are talking about systems breaking down.

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Friends often tell me the biggest threats to our planet are climate change, pollution, and microplastics. Theyโ€™re not wrong. All this stuff is connected in a way. But if you ask me what really threatens human survival, itโ€™s the breakdown of ocean ecosystems. If we lose one part of that chain for good, it wonโ€™t just be bad. It could be the beginning of the end. And I mean for humans, for organized society, not for all life on earth.

And yet, there is hope.

Kelp bed and bass in a marine protected area (MPA) in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Like any great documentary, Oceans ends with a sliver of optimism. It brings us back to California. Specifically, to the Channel Islands, one of my favorite places on Earth. Iโ€™ve been out there many times, several times recently reporting on ghost lobster traps and exploring. Itโ€™s stunning. And there is something very special going on.

Park rangers patrol the waters off the Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Much of the Channel Islands are protected as a Marine Protected Area, or MPA. You canโ€™t fish. You canโ€™t extract. And, most importantly, the rules are enforced. There are rangers out there at most all times patrolling. That part is key. Iโ€™ve done stories in places like Belize, Kiribati and Indonesia where the protections exist on paper but donโ€™t work in practice. Kiribati, for instance, established the Phoenix Islands Protected Area, one of the largest MPAs on the planet. But it’s so vast and remote that enforcing its protections is nearly impossible. It’s a good idea on paper, but a cautionary tale in execution. But here in California, the rangers take it seriously. Because of that, the ecosystem is bouncing back. Twenty years after protection began, the kelp, the fish, the invertebrates, theyโ€™re thriving. These islands are alive.

Californiaโ€™s MPAs are a model for the world. They prove that if we give the ocean space and time, it will heal. But they remain the exception. They donโ€™t have to be.

Marine Protected Area (MPA) sign in Corona del Mar, CA (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Thereโ€™s a global movement right now to protect 30 percent of the worldโ€™s oceans by 2030. Itโ€™s called 30 by 30. Just recently, at the 2025 UN Ocean Conference in Nice, France, more than 70 countries reaffirmed their commitment to the 30 by 30 goal, calling for urgent action to protect ocean biodiversity and create well-managed, effectively enforced MPAs around the world. Iโ€™m not naive. I donโ€™t think weโ€™ll hit that goal perfectly. But we are finally moving in the right direction. And we donโ€™t have another option. The ocean is too important.

So Iโ€™ll step off the soapbox now and let you enjoy your day. But before you click away, please take a moment to think about the ocean. Think about what it gives us. Think about how it restores us. As a diver, I can tell you thereโ€™s nothing like the world beneath the waves. Itโ€™s as strange, beautiful, and alien as any other planet weโ€™ve imagined. The creatures there rival anything youโ€™d find in Mos Eisley on Tatooine.

The author filming cuttlefish in Indonesia. Such strange creatures. (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Watch the documentary. Let it educate and inspire you. It might fill you with dread too. But in the end, its message is hopeful. And that message lands right here off the coast of California, the greatest state in the country. Or at least, thatโ€™s the opinion of one well-traveled guy with a newsletter about the state he loves.

Californiaโ€™s Wild Laboratory and The Evolutionary Wonders of the Channel Islands

Anacapa Island in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

I recently took two scuba diving trips out to the Channel Islands to investigate and help remove ghost lobster traps: abandoned or lost gear that poses a serious threat to marine life. While out there, I also had a chance to explore the marine protected areas surrounding Anacapa and Santa Cruz Islands, getting a firsthand look at how these underwater reserves are helping to restore ocean health and marine life (another story on that coming). Diving in the Channel Islands is a great way for certified divers to experience the incredible biodiversity of Californiaโ€™s coastal waters, even if the water is cold as hell.

The Channel Islands are actually relatively close to the California mainland, just 12 miles from Ventura in the case of Anacapa. But the wild and windswept chain feels like a world apart. On a clear day, you can see them from Ventura or Santa Barbara, but oddly, few people actually visit. Compared to other national parks, they remain relatively unknown, which only adds to their quiet allure. Sometimes called the โ€œGalรกpagos of North America,โ€ these eight islands are a refuge for wildlife and a place where evolution unfolds before your eyes.

U.S. Park Service rangers patrol the marine protected area off of Anacapa Island in Californiaโ€™s Channel Islands
(Photo: Erik Olsen)

(Hereโ€™s a cool bit of history: there are eight Channel Islands today, but 20,000 years ago, during the last ice age when sea levels were much lower, four of themโ€”San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, and Anacapaโ€”were connected as a single landmass called Santarosae.)

For scientists and nature lovers, the Channel Islands are more than just scenic, theyโ€™re a natural laboratory. Each island has its own shape, size, and ecological personality, shaped by millions of years of isolation. That makes them an ideal setting for the study of island biogeography, the branch of biology that looks at how species evolve and interact in isolated environments. What happens here offers insight into how life changes and adapts not just on islands, but across the planet.

Sea lions on the Channel Islands (NPS)

Island biogeography is anchored in the theory proposed by E.O. Wilson and Robert MacArthur in the 1960s. Their theory, focusing on the balance between immigration and extinction of species on islands, is brilliantly exemplified in the Channel Islands.

The Channel Islands’ rich mosaic of habitats, from windswept cliffs and rocky shores to chaparral-covered hillsides and dense offshore kelp forests, provides an ideal setting for studying how species adapt to varied and changing conditions. Each island functions like a separate ecological experiment, shaped by isolation, resource limits, and time. Evolution has had free rein here, tweaking species in subtle ways and, occasionally, producing striking changes.

One of the most significant studies conducted in the Channel Islands focused on the island fox (Urocyon littoralis), a species found nowhere else on Earth. Research led by the late evolutionary biologist Robert Wayne at UCLA and others showed that the fox populations on each of the six islands they inhabit have evolved in isolation, with distinct genetic lineages and physical traits. This makes them a remarkable example of rapid evolution and adaptive divergence, core processes in island biogeography.

Genetic analyses revealed that each islandโ€™s fox population carries unique genetic markers, shaped by long-term separation and adaptation to local environments. These differences arenโ€™t just genetic, theyโ€™re physical and behavioral too. Foxes on smaller islands, for instance, tend to be smaller in body size, likely an evolutionary response to limited resources, a phenomenon known as insular dwarfism. Variations in diet, foraging behavior, and even coat coloration have been documented, offering scientists an unparalleled opportunity to study evolutionary processes in a real-world, relatively contained setting.

Excavation of pygmy mammoth bones on the Channel Islands (Photo: National Park Service)

This phenomenon of insular dwarfism isn’t unique to the island fox. One of the most striking examples from the Channel Islands is the pygmy mammoth (Mammuthus exilis), whose fossilized remains were discovered on Santa Rosa Island. Evolving from the much larger Columbian mammoth, these ancient giants shrank to about half their original size after becoming isolated on the islands during the last Ice Age. Limited food, reduced predation, and restricted space drove their dramatic transformation, a powerful illustration of how isolation and environmental pressures can reshape even the largest of species.

Furthermore, the Channel Islands have been instrumental in studying plant species’ colonization and adaptation. Due to their isolation, the islands host a variety of endemic plant species. Research by Kaius Helenurm, including genetic studies on species such as the Santa Cruz Island buckwheat (Eriogonum arborescens) and island mallow (Malva assurgentiflora), has shown how these plants have adapted to the islands’ unique environmental pressures and limited gene flow.

Island mallow (Malva assurgentiflora), a vibrant flowering plant found only on the Channel Islands, thrives in the harsh coastal environmentโ€”its striking blooms a testament to the power of isolation and adaptation. (Photo: Curtis Clark)

The islands have been a scientific boon to researchers over the decades because they are not only home to many diverse and endemic species, but their proximity to the urban centers and the universities of California make them amazingly accessible. It’s been suggested that if Darwin had landed on the Channel Islands, he arguably could have come up with the theory of natural selection off of California, rather than happening upon the Galapagos. A 2019 book about the islands, titled North Americaโ€™s Galapagos: The Historic Channel Islands Biological Survey recounts the story of a group of researchers, naturalists, adventurers, cooks, and scientifically curious teenagers who came together on the islands in the late 1930s to embark upon a series of ambitious scientific expeditions never before attempted. 

The Channel Islands are renowned for their high levels of endemism โ€” species that are found nowhere else in the world. This is a hallmark of island biogeography, as isolated landmasses often lead to the development of unique species. Darwin’s On the Origin of Species was one of the first extensive efforts to describe this phenomenon. For example, as mentioned above, the Channel Islands are home to the island fox (Urocyon littoralis), a small carnivore found only here. Each island has its own subspecies of the fox, differing slightly in size and genetics, a striking example of adaptive radiation, where a single species gives rise to multiple different forms in response to isolation and environmental pressures. That said, the foxes are also incredibly cute, but can be rather annoying if you are camping on the islands because they will ransack your food stores if you do not keep them tightly closed.

Island Fox on Santa Cruz Island (photo: Erik Olsen)

Bird life on the Channel Islands also reveals remarkable diversity and endemism. Much like the finches of the Galรกpagos, these islands are home to distinct avian species shaped by isolation and adaptation. The Santa Cruz Island Scrub Jay, for instance, is noticeably larger and more vividly colored than its mainland relatives, a reflection of its unique island habitat. Also, jays in pine forests tend to have longer, shallower bills, while those in oak woodlands have shorter, deeper bills. Evolutionary adaptations right out of the Darwinian playbook. Likewise, the San Clemente House Finch has evolved traits suited to its specific environment, illustrating how even common species can diverge dramatically when given time and separation.

The Island Scrub-Jay (Aphelocoma insularis), found only on Santa Cruz Island, is larger and more vividly colored than its mainland cousinโ€”an unmistakable symbol of how isolation shapes evolution. (Photo: National Park Service)

The impacts of invasive species on island ecosystems, another critical aspect of island biogeography, are also evident in the Channel Islands. The islands have been an superb laboratory for the practice of conservation and human-driven species recovery. For example, efforts to remove invasive species, like pigs and rats, and the subsequent recovery of native species, like the island fox, provide real-time insights into ecological restoration and the resilience of island ecosystems.

These efforts at conservation and species recovery extend beyond the island fox. In 1997, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service identified that 13 plant species native to the northern Channel Islands in California were in dire need of protection under the Endangered Species Act. This need arose due to several decades of habitat degradation, primarily attributed to extensive sheep grazing. These conservation efforts have yielded good news. For instance, the island bedstraw (Galium buxifolium) expanded from 19 known sites with approximately 500โ€“600 individuals in 1997 to 42 sites with over 15,700 individuals. Similarly, the Santa Cruz Island dudleya (Dudleya nesiotica) population stabilized at around 120,000 plants. As a result of these recoveries, both species were removed from the federal endangered species list in 2023, coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the Endangered Species Act.

Santa Cruz Island Dudleya (Photo: National Park Service)

Conservation efforts at the Channel Islands extend beneath the waves, where marine protected areas (MPAs) have played a crucial role in restoring the rich biodiversity of the underwater world. Iโ€™ve seen the rich abundance of sea life firsthand on several dives at the Channel Islands, where the biodiversity feels noticeably greater than at many mainland dive sites in Southern California.

The Channel Islands Marine Protected Areas (MPAs), established in 2003, were among the first of their kind in California. The MPAs around Anacapa, Santa Cruz, and other islands act as refuges where fishing and other extractive activities are limited or prohibited, allowing marine ecosystems to recover and thrive. Over the past two decades, scientists have documented increases in the size and abundance of key species such as kelp bass, lobsters, and sheephead, alongside the resurgence of lush kelp forests that anchor a vibrant web of marine life. These protections have not only benefited wildlife but have also created living laboratories for researchers to study ecological resilience, predator-prey dynamics, and the long-term impacts of marine conservation, all taking place in the context of island biogeography.

Kelp bass in the kelp forest at the Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

What makes all of this possible is the remarkable decision to keep these islands protected and undeveloped. Unlike much of the California coast, the Channel Islands were set aside, managed by the National Park Service and NOAA as both a national park and a marine sanctuary. These protections have preserved not just the landscapes, but the evolutionary stories still unfolding in real time. Itโ€™s a rare and precious thing to have a living laboratory of biodiversity right in our backyard, and a powerful reminder of why preserving wild places matters.

The Scourge of Ghost Lobster Traps and the Battle to Save Marine Life in California

Ghost lobster trap off Santa Cruz Island in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Lobster is delicious. Letโ€™s just get that out of the way. Yes, Iโ€™m sure there are some who either donโ€™t enjoy the taste of this prolific crustacean, or who are allergic, but for my part, lobster (with a small vial of melted butter) is ambrosia from the sea.

But beyond its place on the plate, the California spiny lobster plays a vital ecological role: hunting sea urchins, hiding in rocky reefs, and helping to keep kelp forests in balance. Its value extends far beyond what it fetches at market. But beneath the surface, particularly around the Channel Islands lurks a growing problem that doesnโ€™t just threaten lobsters. It threatens the entire marine ecosystem: ghost traps.

Dive ship Spectre off of Anacapa Island in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

In Southern California, lobster fishing is both a cultural tradition and a thriving industry, worth an estimated $44 million annually to Californiaโ€™s economy from commercial landings as well as recreational fishing, tourism, and seafood markets.

In late April, I traveled to the Channel Islands with my colleague Tod Mesirow to see the problem of ghost lobster traps firsthand. We were aboard the Spectre dive ship and pulled out of Ventura Harbor on an overcast morning, the sky a uniform gray that blurred the line between sea and cloud. The swell was gentle, but the air carried a sense of anticipati on. We were invited by the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory, which is conducting research and outreach in the area. Our visit took us to Anacapa and Santa Cruz Islands, where I would be diving to observe the traps littering the sea floor. Tod, meanwhile, remained topside, capturing footage and speaking with marine scientists. Even before entering the water, we could see the toll: frayed lines tangled in kelp, buoys adrift, and entire areas where dive teams had marked clusters of lost gear.

California spiny lobsters alive when the ghost trap was recovered (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Ghost traps are lobster pots that have been lost or abandoned at sea. Made of durable metal mesh and often outfitted with bait containers and strong ropes, these traps are built to last. And they do. For years. Sometimes decades. The problem is, even when their human operators are long gone, these traps keep fishing.

“It’s not uncommon to find multiple animals dead inside a single trap,” said Douglas McCauley, a marine science professor at UC Santa Barbara and director of the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory who was onboard with us and leading the project. “Itโ€™s heartbreaking. These traps are still doing exactly what they were built to do, just without anyone coming back to check them.”

Douglas McCauley, director of the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory at the University of California Santa Barbara holding a lobster caught in a ghost trap off the coast of the Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Around the Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary, where fishing pressure is high and waters can be rough, thousands of traps are lost every season. Currents, storms, or boat propellers can sever buoys from their lines, leaving the traps invisible and unrecoverable. Yet they keep doing what they were designed to do: lure lobsters and other sea creatures inside, where they die and become bait for the next unfortunate animal. It’s a vicious cycle known as “ghost fishing.”

“They call them ghost traps because, like a ghost sailing ship, they keep doing their thing. They keep fishing.” said McCauley.

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Statewide, the numbers are staggering. Approximately 6,500 traps are reported lost off the California coast each fishing season, according to The California Department of Fish and Wildlife. The folks at the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory said as many as 6,000 may lie off the coast of the Channel Islands alone. Ocean Divers removing marine debris have found traps stacked three and four high in underwater ravinesโ€”rusting, tangled, but still deadly. These ghost traps donโ€™t just catch lobsters; they also trap protected species like sheephead, cabezon, octopuses, and even the occasional sea turtle or diving seabird.

Diver and Project Scientist Chase Brewster of the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory collecting data on ghost lobster traps near California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Nowhere is this more evident than around the Channel Islands. These rugged islands are home to some of Californiaโ€™s richest kelp forests and underwater canyons. The islands and their surrounding waters are home to over 2,000 plant and animal species, with 145 of them being unique to the islands and found nowhere else on Earth. In fact, the Channel Islands are often referred to as North America’s Galapagos for the immense diversity of species here.

The islands are also the site of the stateโ€™s most productive spiny lobster fisheries. Every fall, hundreds of commercial and recreational fishers flood the area, setting thousands of traps in a race to catch California spiny lobsters (Panulirus interruptus). But rough swells and heavy gear mean traps go missing. Boats sometimes cut the lines of traps, making them near impossible to retrieve from the surface. And because this region is a patchwork of state waters, federal waters, and marine protected areas (MPAs), cleanup and regulation are anything but straightforward.

California Spiny Lobster off Anacapa Island (Photo: Erik Olsen)

The traps are often difficult to locate, partly because of their remote placement and the notoriously rough waters around the Channel Islands. But the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory has a powerful asset: side scan sonar. From the ship, they can scan and map the seafloor, where the ghost traps often appear as dark, rectangular shapes against the sand. Once spotted, the team uses GPS to log their exact location.

“It’s creates a picture made of sound on the seafloor and you see these large lego blocks staring at you in bright yellow on the screen and those are your lobster traps,” sayd McCauley. “There’s nothing else except a ghost trap that looks like that.”

Plunging into the frigid waters off Santa Cruz Island was a jolt to the system. Visibility was limited, just 10 to 15 feet, but I followed two scientists from the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory down to a depth of 45 feet. Their task: to attach a rope to the trap so it could be hauled up by the boatโ€™s winch.

Dive ship Spectre off the coast of Santa Cruz Island in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

The water was thick with suspended particles, the light dimming quickly as we dropped lower. My 7mm wetsuit was just barely enough to stave off the cold. On the seafloor, the ghost trap emerged, a large rectangular cage resting dark and ominous in the sand. And it was teeming with life. Fish darted around its edges, lobsters clambered along the frame, and inside, several animals moved about, trapped and slowly dying. It was easy to see how a single trap could wreak quiet havoc for years.

California law technically requires all lobster traps to include biodegradable “escape panels” with zinc hinges that degrade over time, eventually allowing trapped animals to escape. But enforcement is tricky, and the panels donโ€™t always work as intended. In practice, many traps, especially older or illegally modified ones, keep fishing long after they should have stopped. That’s what we were out here to find.

A baby octopus caught in a ghost trap in the waters off California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Complicating matters is the fact that once a trap goes missing, thereโ€™s no easy way to retrieve it. Fishers are not legally allowed to touch traps that arenโ€™t theirs, even if theyโ€™re obviously abandoned. And while a few small nonprofits and volunteer dive teams conduct periodic ghost gear removal missions, they canโ€™t keep pace with the scale of the problem.

“At this fishery, we can’t get them all,” says McCauley. “But by going through and getting some species out and getting them back in the water, we’re making a difference. But in the process, we’re coming up with new ideas, new technologies, new research methods, which we think could play a role in and actually stopping this problem in the first instance.”

Once abundant along Californiaโ€™s coast, this large abalone spotted off Santa Cruz Island is a rare sight todayโ€”a quiet reminder of how overfishing, disease, and environmental change have decimated their populations. (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Back topside, the recovery team aboard the Spectre used a powerful hydraulic winch to haul the trap onto the deck. After climbing out of the cold water, still shivering, I joined the others to get a closer look. The trap was heavy and foul-smelling, but what stood out most was what was inside: lobsters, maybe ten or more. Some had perished, but many were alive and thrashed their tails when lifted by the scientists. Females could be identified by their broader, flatter tail finsโ€”adapted to hold eggs. The team carefully measured each one before tossing them back into the sea, the lobsters flipping backward through the air and disappearing into the depths.

There were other animals, too. Large, rounded crabs known as Sheep crabs, common to these waters, scuttled at the bottom of the trap. Sea snails were clustered along the mesh, and in one cage, there were dozens of them, clinging and crawling with slow purpose. Even baby octopuses made appearances, slithering out onto the deck like confused aliens. I picked one up gently, marveling at its strange, intelligent eyes and soft, shifting forms, before tossing it back into the sea in hopes it would have another chance at life.

Ghost lobster trap lies on the seafloor off of Santa Cruz Island in California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

By then, the day had brightened and the sun had come out, easing the chill that lingered after the dive. The traps would be taken back to Ventura, where theyโ€™d likely be documented and disposed of. But this day wasnโ€™t just about saving individual animals or pulling traps off the seafloorโ€”it was about data. The Benioff team wants to understand just how big of a problem ghost traps really are. Itโ€™s not just about the number of traps lost each season, but the broader ecological toll: how many animals get caught, how many die, and how these traps alter the underwater food web. Every recovered trap adds a piece to the puzzle. This trip was about science as much as rescue.

State agencies, including the California Department of Fish and Wildlife (CDFW), have started pilot programs aimed at tackling ghost gear. In 2023, CDFW launched a limited recovery permit program that allows fishers to collect derelict traps at the end of the season, provided they notify the state. But participation is voluntary and poorly funded.

Elsewhere, states like Maine and Florida have created large-scale, state-funded programs to identify and remove ghost traps, often employing fishers in the off-season. California, despite having the nationโ€™s fourth-largest lobster fishery, has yet to make a similar investment.

Ghost lobster traps recovered from the seafloor off the coast of California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Some solutions are already within reach. Mandating GPS-equipped buoys for commercial traps could help track and retrieve gear before itโ€™s lost. More robust escape hatch designs, made from materials that dissolve in weeks rather than months, would shorten the lifespan of a lost trap. And expanding retrieval programs with funding from fishing license fees or federal grants could make a big dent in ghost gear accumulation.

But even more powerful than regulation may be public awareness. Ghost traps are out of sight, but their damage is far from invisible. Every trap left behind in the Channel Islands’ waters becomes another threat to biodiversity, another source of plastic and metal waste, and another reminder that marine stewardship doesnโ€™t stop when the fishing season ends.

Key to the whole effort is data:

“Every one of the animals that we put back in the water today, we’ll be taking a measure,” says McCauley. “After a little bit of crunching in the lab, we’ll be able to say, oh, actually, you know, every single trap undercuts the fishery by x percent for every single year that we don’t solve the problem.”

Doug McCauley with a lobster trap retrieved from the seafloor off the coast of California’s Channel Islands (Photo: Erik Olsen)

As we headed back toward Ventura, Tod and I talked with Douglas McCauley and Project Scientist Neil Nathan from the Benioff Ocean Science Laboratory. The team had collected a total of 13 traps that day alone, and 34 over the several days they’d been out. There was a sense of satisfaction on board, quiet but real. Each trap removed was a small win for the ecosystem, a little less pressure on an already strained marine environment.

“I would call today an incredible success, ” said Neil Nathan. “Feeling great about the number of traps we collected.”

California has long been a leader in ocean conservation. If it wants to stay that way, it needs to take ghost fishing seriously, not just around the Channel Islands, but up and down the coast. After all, we owe it to the lobsters, yes, but also to the underwater forests, reef communities, and countless species whose lives are tangled in the nets we leave behind.

Camp Pendleton’s Wild Landscape as a Natural Refuge

The Unlikely Intersection of Military Training and Coastal Preservation

An endangered species sign is posted along the coastline on Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California,
March 29, 2022. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Nataly Espitia)

Driving along the Pacific Coast Highway, much of the Southern California coastline is a continuous stretch of developmentโ€”expensive homes, commercial malls, and highways and railways built right up against the ocean. Then, unexpectedly, you reach Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, a vast, largely undeveloped expanse that starkly contrasts with the urban sprawl. This uninterrupted stretch of coastline offers a rare glimpse into what the region once looked like, a reminder of Californiaโ€™s natural beauty before widespread development.

Weโ€™re not suggesting that coastal development is inherently bad, but having stretches of coastline that preserve the coastโ€™s natural state offers a valuable reminder of what it once looked like. One drawback of the base is that, as an active military installation, public access is highly restricted. However, this limited access has helped preserve the coastline in ways that might not have been possible otherwise. (Another well-known and much more accessible area with restricted development lies just to the north at Crystal Cove State Park in Orange County, a protected stretch of land established in 1979 that remains open to the public. It features some of the finest beaches in Southern California – IMHO.)

California least terns (Ernesto Gomez, Public Domain)

Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton spans approximately 125,000 acres, including more than 17 miles of coastline in northwestern San Diego County. With less than 20% of the land developed, the base serves as a critical ecological buffer between the densely urbanized regions to its north and south. The base has served as a critical training ground for the U.S. Marine Corps since 1942. However, its restricted access and limited development have inadvertently preserved some of Southern Californiaโ€™s last remaining wild coastal terrain. As a result, the base has become an unlikely sanctuary for a rich array of plant and animal species, many of which are endangered or rare.

The base’s diverse ecosystems offer a window into California’s historical and biological landscapes prior to extensive development. Camp Pendleton’s coastal dunes, estuaries, chaparral, riparian woodlands, and sage scrub provide a range of habitats that are now scarce elsewhere. The base is home to 19 federally listed species, including the California least tern, a seabird that relies on the baseโ€™s protected beaches for nesting. The Santa Margarita River, one of the last free-flowing rivers in Southern California, cuts through the base, providing essential water resources for both wildlife and plant communities.

โ€œCamp Pendleton is a biodiversity hotspot,” Melissa Vogt, a conservation law enforcement officer with Environmental Security said in a statement. “If it weren’t for Camp Pendleton existing, all this coastline would be condos and hotels.โ€

Camp Pendleton

Because of its ecological significance, Camp Pendleton has become a prime location for scientific study. Botanists have discovered species like the Pendleton button-celery (Eryngium pendletonense), a plant found only within the base. The relatively undisturbed nature of the land allows researchers to examine Southern Californiaโ€™s native ecosystems as they once were, offering insights into habitat conservation and restoration efforts beyond the baseโ€™s borders. There are few places left like it along the Southern California coast. Among other species benefiting from these efforts is the coast horned lizard (Phrynosoma blainvillii), a reptile that relies on sandy soils and native chaparral for shelter and food. The baseโ€™s protected status has helped sustain this lizardโ€™s population, which has declined in many other parts of its range due to habitat loss.

Arroyo toad – Anaxyrus californicus (US Fish and Wildlife Service)

The baseโ€™s management practices have contributed to the survival of species once thought to be on the brink of extinction. One of the most notable examples is the Pacific pocket mouse, a tiny rodent that was believed extinct until a population was rediscovered within Camp Pendleton in the 1990s. Conservationists, including the San Diego Zoo Wildlife Alliance, have since reintroduced captive-bred individuals to increase their numbers in protected areas on the base.

Similarly, the baseโ€™s wetlands and riparian zones serve as critical habitat for the southwestern willow flycatcher, an endangered songbird, as well as the arroyo toad, which depends on unspoiled riverbanks for breeding. Without the baseโ€™s restrictions on urban development, many of these species might have disappeared entirely from Southern California.

Lake O’Neill, located on Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California, is a popular destination for fishing and camping and is a home to a wide variety of wildlife. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Nataly Espitia)

Recognizing the baseโ€™s ecological value, Camp Pendleton has taken significant steps toward wildlife preservation through proactive environmental management. The Environmental Security Department has worked closely with researchers to document biodiversity, implement habitat restoration efforts, and ensure compliance with the Endangered Species Act. A key part of these efforts includes protecting breeding grounds and restoring sensitive habitats, such as the coastal dune systems that support the California least tern and the western snowy plover. Entomologists from the San Diego Natural History Museum have conducted extensive surveys on the base, cataloging insect and spider species across six distinct vegetation zones. These studies not only provide valuable data on the health of Southern Californiaโ€™s ecosystems but also help track how climate change is affecting biodiversity in the region.

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โ€œFor any wildlife biologist thatโ€™s working with a threatened or endangered species, the ultimate goal is getting the animal off the list and making sure the species is doing well,โ€ Nate Redetzke, Environmental Security wildlife biologist, said on the official US Marines Website.

The base has also implemented a long-term natural resource management plan that balances military training with conservation efforts. It may seem unlikely for troop transport vehicles to operate alongside protected coastal wilderness, but the balance between military use and conservation has largely been seen as a success.

Western snowy plover (Wikipedia)

The efforts include extensive land management practices such as erosion control, invasive species removal, and water quality monitoring to sustain Camp Pendletonโ€™s ecosystems. In recent years, conservation teams have also focused on restoring the estuary habitats along the Santa Margarita River to enhance biodiversity and ensure the resilience of species that depend on these wetlands. This includes seasonal restrictions in certain areas to protect breeding wildlife, habitat restoration projects, and collaborations with state and federal agencies to support species recovery programs. Again, it’s complicated, but it seems to be working. These efforts were recognized when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service awarded Camp Pendleton the Military Conservation Partner Award in 2022 for its leadership in environmental stewardship.

Remarkably, the base is also home to a small herd of American bison, which have roamed Camp Pendleton for decades. Originally introduced in the 1970s as part of a now-defunct recreational program, these bison have since adapted to the landscape, living largely undisturbed within the baseโ€™s remote areas. While not native to the region, their presence adds another layer of ecological interest to this protected land, demonstrating how species can persist in unexpected places.

An American bison herd roams the hills on Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California.
(Marine Corps Photo by Lance Cpl. Andrew Cortez)

Camp Pendletonโ€™s example demonstrates that large-scale conservation can happen in unexpected places. While military training remains its primary function, the base has unintentionally preserved one of the last remaining stretches of undeveloped Southern California coastline. In doing so, it has provided scientists with a unique opportunity to study and protect a wide range of species that might have otherwise been lost.

Of course, Camp Pendleton isnโ€™t the only place where government protection for reasons other than conservation has preserved a remarkably untouched stretch of Californiaโ€™s coastline. Vandenberg Space Force Base, further north, restricts public access due to its role in military space launches, but in doing so, it has safeguarded miles of rugged shoreline and sensitive habitats. Similarly, Point Reyes National Seashore, though managed primarily for recreation and historical preservation, remains a rare example of undeveloped coastal wilderness in the Bay Area. Off the coast, some of the Channel Islands, particularly those further out but within Channel Islands National Park, have remained largely untouched due to federal protection, while others have suffered from past military activity and invasive species. Like Camp Pendleton, these areas demonstrate how federal oversight, whether for military, scientific, or historical purposes, has unintentionally maintained some of Californiaโ€™s last truly wild coastal spaces.