Finally
we reach Anacapa, gliding along the island edges from West to
East Anacapa. Our captain provides an excellent commentary, pointing
out landmarks and adding interesting information about the brown
pelicans, a hermit named Frenchy, who lived here for more than
twenty years, as well as details about the lighthouse, which
we finally spot.
The landing seems perilous-a small inlet
with surging tides-which the 
captain
must come into backwards. There is no docking here, just a docking
areas with a metal ladder leading up onto an open concrete area.
The captain nudges the boat back and forth until the end of the
boat is lined up with the ladder, then he puts on full power
to keep the boat pressed up against the ladder. We scurry one-by-one
up the ladder as our interpreter, Victor, points to us. Within
five minutes we are all safely onshore and climbing a series
of metal steps up a hundred and fifty feet to the island proper.
Before
the hike up, Victor has told us about the seagulls, which are
now nesting. He asks us not to disturb them and notes the nesting
birds will signal their displeasure by squawking at anyone who
gets too close to the nest. Until you actually see them nesting,
it is hard to understand what he means.
East Anacapa is relatively flat on top,
though not very wide or long, somewhat of an undulating mesa
top. Once up the stairs we come out on the mesa's edge and our
first views of the island itself. Immediately around us are the
nests, each with a seagull firmly 
perched
atop it. I can see they are nervous and the squawking begins,
letting us know not to get too close. We try not to the best
we can. Still, we scare off a few birds, and they leave the nests
unattended for a few moments as we pass by. This makes me nervious
since I know so many others walk by the same next too. How much
of a difference do we make? I hope not too much.