Harbor Life
Nearing its centennial, the Santa Barbara harbor endures
WORDS Ninette Paloma
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For over three decades, Miguel has been in the business of transporting California gold.
On the weathered docks of the Santa Barbara Harbor, he loads the area’s prized sea urchin into oversized crates and chauffeurs them down to a distribution plant in Long Beach, where they are looked over and groomed before making their way into the arms of chefs from San Diego to Napa Valley.
Stewardship is quiet work, nothing but the seagulls and pelicans to keep Miguel company while he waits for the divers to return with the day’s yield. When the green nets filled with pulsating Uni finally pull into the harbor, his workday begins.
Life along the breakwater has been humming along at a gentle pace for almost a century now, Miguel one of the many familiar faces that breeze in and out of one of the country’s few and precious working harbors. Fish are caught and kayaks rented, the flag in front of the Santa Barbara Maritime Museum hoisted and lowered to the sun’s command. With clear and open views of the Santa Ynez range and shimmering Pacific, it is no wonder the Chumash built the Mispu settlement here over 8,000 years ago.
Earlier in the day, a gang of animated sparrows paraded around the Dart Coffee terrace, searching for crumbs from the pastry case while batting their delicate wings as the caffeine-fueled strolled past. Voices, softened by the saltwater air, hung low and wistful as the boats in the harbor rocked gently in the sunlight. Two young men in heavy boots propped their elbows against a company truck and waited for their shift to begin. Harbor life, in its enduring and modest way, was stretching its legs good morning.
On the weathered docks of the Santa Barbara Harbor, he loads the area’s prized sea urchin into oversized crates and chauffeurs them down to a distribution plant in Long Beach, where they are looked over and groomed before making their way into the arms of chefs from San Diego to Napa Valley.
Stewardship is quiet work, nothing but the seagulls and pelicans to keep Miguel company while he waits for the divers to return with the day’s yield. When the green nets filled with pulsating Uni finally pull into the harbor, his workday begins.
Life along the breakwater has been humming along at a gentle pace for almost a century now, Miguel one of the many familiar faces that breeze in and out of one of the country’s few and precious working harbors. Fish are caught and kayaks rented, the flag in front of the Santa Barbara Maritime Museum hoisted and lowered to the sun’s command. With clear and open views of the Santa Ynez range and shimmering Pacific, it is no wonder the Chumash built the Mispu settlement here over 8,000 years ago.
Earlier in the day, a gang of animated sparrows paraded around the Dart Coffee terrace, searching for crumbs from the pastry case while batting their delicate wings as the caffeine-fueled strolled past. Voices, softened by the saltwater air, hung low and wistful as the boats in the harbor rocked gently in the sunlight. Two young men in heavy boots propped their elbows against a company truck and waited for their shift to begin. Harbor life, in its enduring and modest way, was stretching its legs good morning.
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