In Search of Sea Otter 841 in the 831
Board-stealing sea otters and coffee by the surf.
About this time, a week ago, while frustrated with a lack of parking in Alameda, California, I was giving up on having lunch with my friend Liliana in favor of getting on the road to Monterey, California. I had less than six days to squeeze in a lot, and I didn’t have time to kill.
Next time, Liliana. And there will be a next time. Soon. As soon as possible. T
But this time, I had an otter to meet.
I’ve been to Santa Cruz once, briefly, during my first trip to California in 2012. I went a bit out of my way just to see the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Charmed by the beach bungalows in colors rivaling my beloved New Orleans shotgun shacks, my gut told me within minutes that Santa Cruz could someday be home. I could see myself growing old in one of those bungalows, fat and sporting a collection of equally brilliantly-colored caftans, fitting right in with the artists and beach bums.
Then the ocean stole my shoes, leaving me to question my seaworthiness for the next 13.5 years. But we’ll get to that in a few posts.
Last time, I drove around Santa Cruz, following the first sign I found that pointed towards beach access. This time, I did some planning and found something that sounded almost too idyllic: a coffeehouse in a state park where you can look over the cliff to some of the best surf breakers in the world.
It’s also allegedly the home of The Notorious 8.4.1.
Okay, I made up that stupid name. Sea Otter 841 (not to be confused with 831, the area code in Santa Cruz) was in the area two years ago. Born at the Monterey Bay Aquarium in 2020, 841 is described as an aggressive female (I know, 8. Those words can sting.) because she likes to steal surfboards while they’re in use.
To which I say, good for her! I love it when wildlife fights back against encroaching humanity.
Last month, there was another otter attack on a surfer. They don’t know if it was 841, who used to have a tracking unit, but probably yanked it off in defiance of The Man. The attacked surfer was fine and is going to win a lot of pissing contests in bars for the rest of her life.
I didn’t spot any sea otters in the 90 minutes I spent drinking coffee and watching the surfers—hundreds of bobbing black spots amid the white foam of crashing waves. But that’s fine. I pet a lot of dogs, though, and took a photo for a woman and her friends who were bringing her two-month-old baby to the shore for the first time, while watching the waves batter the rocky shoreline.
These waves will be how the world cleaves and shakes us off like so many pesky bugs.
With thundering power and presence, it’s difficult to imagine how California so often burns when this behemoth of energy and movement could swallow the land.
But it doesn’t. The waves roll and smash into land, then roll away again, the two worlds embracing in a passionate clash before going to separate corners.
In this place between earth and water, the surfers are their own species, different from landlubbers. They’re lean and elongated, noodly folks, head to toe black Latex skin that squeaks when they walk barefoot across the street, possibly able to breathe the brine.
Our country and the world might grow more homogenized with each new invention, but some places defy conformity. Santa Cruz is one of them. A working-class sea otter hero, a species of supreme beings who aren’t conquering the waves but look for moments to merge with them, and a landlocked Missouri girl who might find a place here, where whatever is happening outside of Santa Cruz doesn’t seem as important as converging these worlds. Goosebumps covered my skin in the sun, despite the 70-degree and sunny perfection of the day. This worlds contain multitudes.
I hit the road before sunset, hoping to catch some fried artichoke hearts in Castroville (I didn’t. Construction.), and not wanting to leave my hosts waiting too late for me. When I arrived, Chuck and Mary greeted me with hugs and homemade curry and katsu for dinner. I followed with 12 hours of sleep after being awake for 20. Sleeping deep enough to be unaware of any waterborne superhumans in my dreams.
For all the photos and videos from this trip, visit me on Instagram.
You’re welcome to buy me a coffee for my next sea otter neighborhood watch.
Sea otters are an endangered species. Here’s how humans can best share these worlds with them.
That’s my dear friend Fran’s café you went to! Best food in SC. I’m so happy you had a great day at the lane.
I arrived in Santa Cruz Late August of 1884, honeymooning. I had such wedding jitters I was unable to keep food down for over a week.
There on the beach was a bar shack serving freshly made stuffed artichokes. It was the first thing I ate that stayed down!
We spent hours every day there on the beach, eating stuffed artichokes and prawn cocktails, talking to everyone who walked past. It is one of my all time favorite memories and I can still taste those stuffed artichokes!