Quick Escape: Avalon is Catalina Island’s ticket to paradise

You want to “get away from it all,” and in hard-pressed 2009 there is so much to get away from. Needing to travel light and smart and economical, why not try Catalina?

As a civilized getaway the island is hard to beat, and not just during “the season” from June through Labor Day. My family’s annual trip takes us 26 wet miles from Long Beach. In 1958, “26 Miles (Santa Catalina)” was a hit for the Four Preps.

For all its modern comforts, Catalina is a time trip. The little capital, Avalon (pop. 3,000-plus) even relished the Great Depression. Movies, songs and newsreels promoted it. Boat-keen stars like Humphrey Bogart and Errol Flynn often dropped anchor. Big band dances were broadcast from the domed Avalon Casino, built for $2 million in 1929 by chewing gum king and visionary William Wrigley Jr. (succeeded in 1932 by his equally savvy son Philip K.).

Despite our Great Recession, the Casino recently held its 80^th anniversary dance in the grand ballroom. Below its sound-proof flooring, modern films and an occasional silent are still shown at the gorgeous, 1184-seat Avalon Theater. The Casino, where gambling has not been allowed (were there side bets during marathon dances?), remains Avalon’s iconic emblem.

The round structure still broadcasts a steady hum of nostalgia. At the tour bus plaza facing the old-time barbershop and Pete’s Café (burgers, etc.), the hum expands into piped music that often includes Benny Goodman and other swingers.

“It’s so European!” chirped a visitor in enameled English tones as our ferry boat arrived, after just over an hour on the channel (dolphins and whales are sometimes spotted). Euro-dense buildings, few above two stories, crowd the town and slopes. Weather is often San Franciscan: cool nights as fog caps the hills, usually blowing off by noon.

Avalon maintains a Riviera tan, a certain sparkle of Cote d’Azur. Yet it was kept democratic by the wealthy Wrigleys, no doubt grateful to the gum-chewing masses. During their dominance, the gum titans not only built many of Avalon’s defining features but held off developers and brought in the Chicago Cubs for spring training. In 1972 they gave the land, outside Avalon, to the Catalina Island Conservancy, including a sizeable ranch 12 miles from town.

“My” Catalina is Avalon, fronting a narrow valley, facing a harbor of 362 boat slips (about a fourth bob with year-round local craft), though bus tours have lured me to where buffalo roam. Their

ancestors having been abandoned by a silent film crew, some are now cropped annually for new lives in distant Montana. Bald eagles endure, and native Catalina foxes rebounded, with human help, from an onslaught of distemper disease.

The island’s rugged Pacific shore gets fairly few visitors, and the lonesome “west end” is tied to the larger east by a slender waist of sand called Two Harbors. (If the sea level rises, will there will be a new, western island called Dogalina?) The ecology is protected but vulnerable. Abalone and tuna no longer thrive, and a 2007 mishap near the inland airport led to a huge fire. My family sat grimly gripped by TV images of flames burning close to Avalon, as most citizens fled across the channel. Deer and feral cats invaded the town, but charred hills are now greening again.

An Avalon beach of imported sand draws mostly kids while adults often favor Descanso beach beyond the Casino, with its open-air bar and stoney wading zone. Apart from enjoying the “submarine,” glass-bottom boat and flying fish tours (a dusk-to-dark thrill on the swift Blanche W.), I am no mariner. What follows is a dry, urban and personal tour that, since Avalon feels so feminine, I offer as a series of curves.

I: The Crescent

For many visitors Avalon is Crescent Avenue, facing the harbor’s Dufy-like, watercolor vista of boat masts, kayakers and wind-surfers. Much of Crescent is only for pedestrians because vehicles, including the golf carts that rule traffic, are banned from the central promenade. Hard-to-get auto permits are used mainly by people with official or inland business.

Crescent offers the “action”: bars, cafes, hotels and clothing or trinket shops (for kitsch made from shells, this is heaven). Day-trippers spill from big cruise ships a few times a week, yet many never go more than a block deep to find more shops and watering holes like the Marlin Club (splendid gull-wing bar), or quality restaurants such as the family-owned Mr. Ning’s, its excellent Chinese food served below a canopy of upturned paper umbrellas. Mi Casita offers maybe the town’s best Mexican meals (at least, outside the homes of Mexican residents who fill much of the town’s labor pool; Avalon is definitely bilingual).

Exiting a sleek ferry boat docked at the Cabrillo Mole, you fall into a postcard vision of escapism, and below you are Avalon’s mascots: orange Garibaldi fish, glistening among shallow rocks.

Nerves cast off cares as you drift down Pebbly Beach Road under a high cliff (topped by the stately Wrigley mansion, now the posh Inn on Mt. Ada). At the end is Stanley Rosin’s bulbous statue of Old Ben, a harbor seal that for decades would, says the plaque, “affably pose on the pleasure pier and accept a raw fish snack.” Moved recently from the end of the mole, Ben has a crowd again.

Above on the left is turreted Lookout Cottage, and below it another wooden wonder of early days, the Catherine Hotel. A little park has palms, a playground, the island’s radio station and a German machine gun from WWI.

Crescent has enough T-shirts to dress any Kaiser’s army, plus knick-knacks, ice cream, the Pancake Cottage (ace for breakfast, if a touch pricey since a 2008 move), C.C. Gallagher’s (upscale wines, gifts and gourmet pastries) and the rakish Pavilion Lodge, sort of a Florida consulate with a central court of grass that cries out for a pool (shortage of local water saved Avalon from growth mania).

You can fall into a drift trance as you stride along, taking in the parade of visitors, the water glowing to your right, flecked with gulls and giddy beach kids (tubes and snorkels can be rented cheap).

Joe’s Place and Sally’s Waffle Shop are steeped in ’50s ambience, and nearby Antonio’s Pizza is a fun nook with old celebrity photos (jeez, even Arthur Godfrey), jukebox tunes and free peanuts, their shells littering the floor.

At Catalina Avenue the pier beckons, its green, wooden yardage including Ernie’s, a major snack place since 1929 — also tackle shops, a visitors’ info booth, the submarine and glass-bottom boat docks. And there is Rosie’s, a magnet for lovers of cheap eats (do try the clams and fries), set to re-open this month after spring repairs.

They also sell bait, and visitors can buy fish pellets from a dispenser put in by a local lad to fatten his college fund. Twilight on the pier always seems picture-perfect, with some kids still pulling on their lines, yet for deep harmony simply feed the opaleyes, calico bass and topsmelt that swarm from the cool deep (Garibaldis are not freeloaders).

Moving on west past the drugstore brings Lloyd’s of Avalon, a splendid candy store that also churns salt water taffy. The model train that once circled above customers is now static, with cheerful owner Jamie Fidler hoping “we can get someone from the mainland to come fix it.”

El Galleon is a pub hub with comically corny décor (yet facing the restrooms are four very striking paintings of bullfighters), and the boozed muse of karaoke often calls out to the moon (expect no American Idols).

Take a tangent on Sumner to the Atwater Arcade, with its Norman Rockwell-ish post office, five classic phone booths (three actually work), hardware store and wee resale shop.

The end of Crescent has mostly food choices, including Armstrong’s (seafood), big Antonio’s (Italian etc.), the Villa Portafino (continental fare).

Past the traffic circle is a rather sleepy, Spanish Revival complex called The Landing, with a charming café and, on the entry arch’s ceiling, Jack Dedrick’s Deco-mod mural of Old California. Nearby is what you might call the Sistine Chapel of alcoholism: Clayton Parker’s murals of giddy drinkers and a mermaid, every bottle lovingly detailed. A rather silly overture to…..

II: The Crown

Crescent funnels into Casino Way, leading to Avalon’s crowning glory. Go at twilight and, as “downtown” hubbub fades and soft lights glow below palms, you can imagine the siren echo of Jo Stafford or the Ray Noble Orchestra.

Along the way is the Tuna Club on its pillars, a Victorian (since 1898) fixture from whose side door Jack Nicholson emerged briskly in “Chinatown” (the Wrigley ranch was used as the domain of his rich nemesis, played by John Huston).

A bit further is the equally crisp, less venerable Catalina Island Yacht Club, used for Merchant Marine training when, during World War II, the isle was militarized and Japanese subs prowled the channel. The walkway includes handsome designs of inlaid tiles, prelude to Catalina’s best art: tall, liquidly sexy paintings of streamlined mermaids on the Casino façade by John Gabriel Beckman (who also enhanced Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood). You can tour the Casino, and the circling ramp to the famous ballroom is a true high.

For movieholic me the joy is below, in the Avalon Theater. Grand but not pompous, it has swank, rose-pink Art Deco murals topped by Botticelli’s Venus, a huge screen, walnut-paneled lobby, plush sofas, art-tiled bathrooms, a snug vending counter and freedom from multiplex hullabaloo. In May the theater was not overawed even by the effects storm “Star Trek” (tickets run $6 to $8).

Operated commercially, yet obviously not for major profit, the glorious Avalon is another gift of Wrigley largesse (if there is gum under your seat, salute it, but don’t scatter your popcorn). And just nautical yards from the Casino, into which is tucked the fascinating Catalina museum (moving to new, more spacious quarters by 2011), floats my favorite of Avalon’s yachts: the suavely noirish Black Dahlia.

III: The Circle

Getting around town is easy by foot. But all kids and most adults want the golf cart experience. Not cheap at $40 an hour, but worth it (bikes come cheaper). A rental cart hour will take you all over Avalon, even back to the golf course, Botanical Gardens and weighty Wrigley Memorial (no, not made of petrified gum).

Definitely cart west up Stage Coach Road to see some wild slopes, then round the hill for tremendous ocean views and gaze down upon the Casino, before passing the lofty hotel that was writer Zane Grey’s home. Sadly, the fine route on the opposite side of town, past scuba/snorkel areas, utility docks and a funky old nabe of Quonset huts, and then up Mt. Ada to its elegant Inn, is off-limits due to some rock falls (say, isn’t gravity just part of nature?).

To see innermost Avalon, employ your legs to trace what I call “the circle.” Leaving Crescent on Whittley Avenue., walk up past the radiantly white Hotel Catalina, an austere masterpiece of wood rebuilt after a fire in 1916. Turn left at East Whittley, ascending beyond a fort-like edifice that until recently was the Christian Science church. The street attains San Francisco steepness, and can be a bit harum-scarum by descending cart.

Avalon spreads below like a charmed Monopoly board. At 251 E. Whittley, turn onto a little-known public parkway. Seven hairpin twists lead down past palms and a striking, Mission Moderne home where, one night, I saw an antlered deer nibbling leaves. Zig (or zag) down to Beacon Street. The massively pink St. Laurens Hotel sits across from Avalon Community Church, 120 years old, its folksy meditation room including the ’60s vibe of guitar and bongos.

Advance on Beacon, where little Sunny Lane leads to my family’s favorite hotel, the La Paloma/Las Flores, graciously managed by Antonio and Esther Gomez. There are fairly spacious quarters with views and, on the other side of 46 tiled steps rising below a trellis of wisteria vines, eight cottages from the Woodrow Wilson era.

Back on Beacon, pass the the Wilcox Nursery to enter a mini-town of charmed streets, a Liliput of homes almost like row houses. Some are rentals, many have been in the same family for decades (none are now cheap). Down Eucalyptus, blocked to all vehicles but bikes and trikes, is a woodsy compound of tile-speckled houses where the Chicago Cubs once stayed.

Beacon leads to the lovely St. Catharine of Alexandria Catholic Church and its endearing statue of the Virgin. Turn left on a road that winds above a runoff canal, beneath homes grandly stacked on pylons. Steeply on the right, near the end, is a vintage modernist four-level with a Deco porthole window. As the bay view widens, you head left down the little park with its old German gun, and circle onto Crescent.

IV: Down Curve?

By now you’ve absorbed the holiday nectar of Avalon’s spell, seemingly as timeless as the Arthurian legend that gave the name. But paradise could be facing a down curve. The recession freeze hit many shops and hotels and the real estate market sags. More deflating, for me, is that Golf Gardens is being redone by the Santa Catalina Island Company.

The most charming of West Coast miniature golf courses always appeared, from a hilltop vantage, as a pocket Central Park, a core of cool green wrapped around 18 very distinct holes, vernal and dated but delightful. Bob Barlow, an aviator who “flew the Hump” (India to China) in WWII, seemed to like being grounded at the office, with his dog dozing on a ledge. He must have finally tired of watching customers wrestle with the Big Decision: What color of ball to choose?

SCIC took possession in May, tore out old plantings and some trees. It is repairing paths, installing new lights and more “native” flora before the putting resumes this month. But some Avalonians fear that this is only a feint and development will follow. Insular anxiety often simmers in a town swayed by one outfit.

A man who works across from the company’s blandly corporate office told me, “They’re taking back everything they once had, because they want to upgrade the tourist trade.”

Glen Gustafson, a tall, elegant and deeply committed retiree and resident, wrote to an island paper lamenting the loss of “the aquarium, the El Encanto teen center, the bird park, the horse stables, the Casino gym and the gun range …(history is) being broadly eradicated to make room for other facilities that will make more money.”

The Wrigleys mixed a superb cocktail of classes and tastes. And here, even the carriage trade is the cart trade. Losing the ’20s-to-’50s ambience would be ruinous. If theme-parked, Avalon is no longer itself. Condo-fied, it will only be Little Ibiza, including fast food chains (KFC tried, but left).

A true blow was losing the packed cottage bookstore of R. Franklin Pyke, who first came to the isle as a ’60s runaway. After over two decades he closed shop this spring, a victim of the recession. True to form, Ron Pyke went out with a “death of capitalism” sale, and now works at a hotel.

Also recently gone, and missed, are the rustic stables near the golf course (now set to expand). Horses, not golf, first set the pace of what my son calls “island time.” Westerns were filmed here. The Wrigleys devoutly raised prize Arabians. And who needs more golf grass on an island short of water, in a town whose kids still don’t have a promised public pool?

I could keep on griping, yet the breeze is so sweet. I think I’ll walk over to the country club’s elegant bar for a drink, then head down by the Casino to see if “Betty” Bacall is sunning on Bogie’s boat. In my island time, she’ll always have Avalon.

IF YOU GO

GETTING THERE: Catalina Express has fast ferries from its Long Beach, San Pedro and Dana Point berths (the first offers fine views of the Queen Mary, a great place to visit or stay overnight in the ship’s hotel, pre-Avalon or after). Round-trip tickets range from $51 to $67, and there are some cushier “lounge” tickets.

There is also the Catalina Flyer, boating from Marina del Rey to Avalon and Two Harbors; tickets are $60 to $79 round-trip.

Catalina’s small airport can be reached by private and tourist planes, and there is helicopter service.

STAYING THERE: Fine hotels and rentable homes are plentiful, and rates tumble off-season. This writer favors the La Paloma/Las Flores on a slope inside Avalon, full of oasis-like charm; in season, for $80 to $250.

On Crescent, the Villa Portofino, with its classy restaurant, has fairly cozy but very comfy rooms. Through June 30, the hotel is offering a package that includes accommodationsm, roundtrip boat transportation from Dana Point, round-trip taxi transfers between the ferry landing and the hotel, plus continental breakfast. Rates start at $132 per person, based on double occupancy. Details: www.HotelVillaPortofino.com .

For something more posh, try the nearby Hotel Metropole, the Avalon or the queenly Inn on Mt. Ada, once the Wrigley mansion.

TOURS: Crescent Avenue and the dock are the spots to purchase town and outlying tours, the Casino, flying-fish, glass-bottom and “submarine” etc., from Catalina Adventure Tours, ranging $10 to $39. For more rugged options try Catalina Inland Tours.

ALSO: For a gorgeous, intimate visit, find the wonderful 2003 book “Enchanted Isle: A History of Plein Air Painting in Santa Catalina Island.” This beauty crammed with vistas is on sale in Avalon, or can be ordered on line (price varies).

MORE INFO: The best source on line is the island’s visitors bureau. Another source is  www.catalina.com.

David Elliott is the SDNN movie critic. Reach him at david.elliott (at) sdnn.com.

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