San Miguel Island, part of California’s Channel Islands National Park, lies 50km off the coast of Santa Barbara. The waters surrounding this windswept island teem with marine life, particularly seals and sealions – in fact, Point Bennett, on the island’s western tip, hosts the largest congregation of these animals anywhere in the world.
- "The blow was unbelievably powerful, like being hit with a baseball bat. To make it worse, one of her talons pierced my neck, leaving it numb and bleeding."
- "I was filming in the Coral Sea when a huge shark rocketed up from the deep and came straight for me..."
On any given day, spotted harbour seals, California and Stellar sealions, Guadalupe and northern fur seals, and northern elephant seals haul out on gritty sandspit beaches and craggy outcrops, frolic through dense kelp forests and body-whomp in pounding surf.
- Researchers put six grey seals in a specially built tank to work out why they don’t drown – and discovered something unexpected
- Why do seals lie like bananas?
There are some 30,000 to 50,000 pinnipeds in these waters. Of course, where there are plenty of pinnipeds, there are also plenty of predators.
Great white sharks are known throughout this region – on some maps, the area is labelled as Shark Park.
I’ve been guiding kayak trips around the Channel Islands for 24 years. Though we don’t offer trips to San Miguel – due to its exposure to wind, swell, currents and fog, it simply isn’t safe – I occasionally paddle these waters, circumnavigating the island in a day when a good-weather window arrives.
In late September 2025, I decided to make the trip with my fellow guide Zack. Storm Mario was unleashing powerful surf rolling up the coast from Mexico, but there was no wind and visibility was good.
This is always an exciting time of year to photograph the pinniped scrum. California sealion and northern fur seal pups are born in June and July, and by late September they are fully mobile, spending their days frolicking from beach to ocean. These youngsters have likely never seen a kayaker before.
On my previous paddles, their enthusiasm has been relentless, and they’ve playfully splashed me with their long pectoral and tail flippers. However, on this particular day they were too busy bodysurfing the unruly waves to take much notice of a strange being in a strange vessel.
While Zack paddled beyond the breakers, I stayed closer to shore to photograph the surfing seals, my camera gear stashed in two drybags. I was keeping a safe distance from the oncoming breakers – or so I thought.
I had my back to Zack when I heard him holler “wave!” Whipping my kayak around, I found myself face to face with an enormous comber already cresting in front of me.
I attempted to paddle through it, but I didn’t have enough momentum. Before I knew it, I had taken the full brunt of its force and was swallowed up in frothy white water just above a shallow reef.
I resurfaced, having managed to hold on to my paddle and one of my drybags, only to be engulfed by another, smaller wave. Bobbing up again, I instinctively swam towards the shore, thinking that was where my kayak would wash in.
My hope was that it would miss the rocks. As the surf petered out, I spotted my second drybag. I was still clutching my first drybag and paddle, so all I could manage was a sort of side-breaststroke – but I found a rhythm, stroking with one arm and breathing in between, and eventually retrieved my gear.
Glancing over the water, I spotted my kayak resting in a channel about 45m away. It felt a long way to swim in waters known for great whites, but I was reassured by the presence of so many fur seals.
I took a deep breath and picked up my sidestroke. Then, something peculiar happened.
I’m sure it was mostly out of curiosity, but dozens of seals surfaced around me. They stayed close as I swam, like a protective escort, straining their necks to get a better look.
Safely back in the kayak, I managed to get a few shots of those fearless creatures before they were swallowed by the surf. Crisis avoided at Point Bennett.
