El Capitán and Refugio State Beaches

El Capitán and Refugio State Beaches are two of the crown jewels of the Santa Barbara coast—sister parks separated by only a few miles of bluffs, creeks, tidepools, and a whole lot of beachcomber happiness. This is where Californians have been coming for decades to camp under the sycamores, splash in the surf, paddle the kelp forests, and take long shoreline walks. If you’re lucky, monarch butterflies will be fluttering overhead as you start down the El Capitán stairs, their orange-and-black wings flashing against the blue sky.

“El Capitán” himself was José Francisco de Ortega, a Spanish Army scout who guided the Portolá expedition up the California coast in the late 1700s. When he retired, he was granted this stretch of paradise as repayment for debts owed—but like so many figures in California history, he enjoyed it briefly before the land passed to others. His Nuestra Señora del Refugio ranch later gave its name to Refugio Beach, with its palms, calm lagoon, and postcard-perfect picnic grove.

History and beauty aside, let’s not forget: these are campgrounds first, beaches second. Weekends bring families in tents, surfers hauling boards, kids with buckets, and more than a few RVs parked a short stroll from the surf. There are even little camp stores at both El Capitán and Refugio—perfect for an ice cream bar or a cold soda after a long hike.

But I can’t talk about this stretch of coast without also sharing a personal rant. In 2015, I witnessed one of the darkest days in state park history: a ruptured pipeline covered Refugio Beach in tar and sent hundreds of thousands of gallons of crude oil out into the Pacific. I saw the seals and seabirds stuck in the goo. I listened to oil company spokesmen and politicians downplay the disaster—telling us it wasn’t as bad as the infamous 1969 spill and that cleanup methods had “improved.” Really? Improved? Tell that to the pelican whose wings were pinned to its side by sticky tar. The truth is, the spill scarred both the beach and our collective coastal consciousness. And now, in 2025, unbelievably, some would like to re-open that same pipeline. Hikers, surfers, birders, beach lovers—we can’t afford to forget that the price of paradise is eternal vigilance.