Words.Kew “You may not see them But they are watching you.” Mind repeated this sentence as I stuffed body and gear into a dank, cramped cave at the base of the bluff fronting the reef. Low drone of a military helicopter thumped closer, flying low, weapons drawn. I was breathing hard, sweating, scratched, nervous, wholly exhausted.

Broad, blue daylight. Not another soul around. Beef cattle and seabirds and seals, sure, but they were legal. Biking on train tracks and hitting the beach, I was not. Hunkered in the cave and hopefully undetectable, nerves rattled as the helicopter swooped loudly overhead and continued south along the shoreline for several miles. Then it turned and buzzed right back, directly over my hideout and onward to whence it came.

“If you go surfing in there, trust me, you’re popping up on somebody’s heat signature radar/ video camera instantly, and by the time you’ve caught your first wave, they’ve got your dental charts up on a screen and they’ve already notified the Internal Revenue Service that you need an audit the next goaround. On the other screen is a full map of your medical history, and the airman at the far end of the room has your fourth grade teacher on line one and she’s recounting how you cheated on your fi nal in Geography.”

By land or sea, exploring this coast is a genuine Wild West scenario, hiding with your surfboard from what is, in essence, the ultimate ally: our unequaled and noble United States military.

Raw swell and perpetual wind buffet pristine and vastly untouched solitary wonder, occasionally producing a few decent waves accessible to a very select coterie. Surfing here with any regularity first requires a shaved head and six landlocked weeks of rigorous basic training, preceded by a base assignment gamble which, with the best of luck, places you among the elitist ranks. Even then, you are only allowed to surf less than one of the base’s 42 miles of coast.

Must be an easier way, I thought, approaching the base’s media relations department with a formal yet bogus ploy detailing me as some famous sports photographer pursuing new and publicly unseen surfing imagery. In all likelihood, the department boss was privy: “Sir, I am not able to accommodate your request. I cannot help you advertise locations for surfing that are not open to the public.”

With a few emails five months after the events of September 11, I again attempted to gain legal beach access, this time as a journalist drafting an innocuous tale about surfers in the military. Alas, it was not to be—then, now, or ever.

My cover was blown when I actually rang the media relations department to ask some general questions about what happens to trespassers— surfers in particular, if there are any—along the base’s beaches.

“What is the purpose of your article, Mr. Kew?” demanded the media relations woman. “Are you trying to encourage people to trespass onto the base?”

“The best radar and snooping electronics money can buy, and they know when anybody farts in there, gets in the water illegally, or any of that shit. You can believe all radio and/ or cellular phone traffic is monitored and recorded. Expect that at the very least. Prepare to have any and all cameras permanently confiscated. Time in the brig and an expensive federal ticket are almost guaranteed. As a taxpayer, I’m downright expecting that they have their shit together enough to at least scan out Iraqi terrorists masquerading as Stubb Vector-riding surfies. If they can’t pick up one surfer dude hiking around in full view on a sunny, high-visibility day, I want to fire the base commander and get a guy who ain’t sleeping on the job while listening to his wind chimes.”

The base is a biosphere reserve—stark and lunar, spiked with ominous missile silos in some parts, swathed in velvety green grazing land to the south and north. Often covered with fog, offshore is cold, volatile, treacherous, and indifferent. Foam from broken waves smells richly of maritime spice, crisp with tiny crackling bubbles, ocean fragrance penetrating sinuses. All exquisite, all pristine, all removed and remote from developmental society pressures and the cultural surfing mainstream.

Stealth, slow-progress surf missions here provide an intimate cognizance of the base’s natural world. Unusual geological formations reflecting substratum contrasts of shale, soil and rock. Coastal sage scrub, dusty chaparral, annual grasslands and montaine riparian habitat. Sandy beaches, rocky shorelines, chalky marine terraces, coastal dunes and estuarine spreads. Tangled seaweed and bits of sea life on the beach. Rocks and gems like agate, chert, jade and traverstine. Plants like sand verbana, saltbush, sea rocket, sea fig, surf thistle, monardella, sand mesa manzanita, beach spectaclepod.

The coast traverses several complete watersheds, offering a migration corridor between inland, mountainous and coastal habitats. Several sensitive species of marine fauna live here: Tidewater goby, pond turtle, least tern, two-striped garter snake. Raptors, shorebirds and waterfowl. Deer, foxes, bobcats, mountain lions, black bears.

Wind-swept, this coast is lonely. A friendly and completely satisfying type of lonely. I once built a fire in a bare arroyo and slept under the full moon with ancient Native American vibes all around. Here exist some of the most significant archaeological sites on the continent, preserving some 10,000 years of pre-history. Since the base’s implementation banished all future development, archaeological sites retain their integrity of setting in relation to the natural environment. One prominent headland at the base’s south end boasts surreal mythological significance to the once-resident trib, who connected the headland with the departure of souls to the Land of the Dead.

The treeless base environment is prime for an operational missile testing installation, advantages being its isolated expanse, the mild climate, and the convenient disposal of a vast oceanic missile testing range. All of the United States’s intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) are flight-tested here, while personnel receive missile weapons system combat and maintenance training under strict operational conditions.

Security-wise, the base is aggressively and constantly patrolled by state-of-the-art surveillance technology, hidden sensors, trained search dogs, and squadrons of heavy-duty security police on foot, car, horseback, and all-terrain-vehicles. Considering the current war and the ultraalert reality of the United States, sneaking onto the base to surf a few waves is impossible.

“We have one of only six units in this entire military organization specifically trained for air base defense, so our security forces are of the highest caliber,” the media relations woman said. “Our forces are constantly training and preparing for the event of a base attack, so it is extremely difficult for anyone to trespass on the base without us knowing. There is a lot of technology on this base to alert us of trespassers.”

What kind of technology?

“I cannot go into specifics. It is not for public knowledge.” Nor are the waves.