California’s mobile homeless find beachside refuge

BDANA POINT, Calif. rian Blackburn and Amir Yaghoubi share a soothing, perhaps enviable, ritual of daily renewal: meeting over coffee at picturesque Doheny State Beach in Dana Point.

Mostly it’s before sunrise, just after the park opens for the day and they’ve passed through the ranger station. Sometimes it’s near sunset, the case on a recent evening just before Christmas when they met at a picnic table at the south end of the sand. The spot is unofficially dubbed Blacky’s Camp, in honor of Blackburn, 57, whose nearby camper truck is a fixture here.

Blackburn tuned his portable radio to an easy listening station. Doolie, a scruffy white terrier mix, cuddled on Blackburn’s lap as he scooted his wheelchair in place. Yaghoubi, 51, arrived with cups of his specialty brew.

“I sit and stare at the ocean for hours,” Yaghoubi said, glancing across the darkening water. “This is where I get my sanity, with all the chaos.”

The friends — who initially bonded over their love of the guitar — are among about 40 regulars who sustain an enduring and growing homeless beachfront encampment on wheels: a scattering of well-traveled RVs and cars spread throughout several parking lots. They spend their days and evenings immersed in panoramic views, steps from the surfline.

Their $195 annual day-use passes are essentially the rent, providing access from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. every day.

At night, they head out in search of a place to park until morning. Some go back to neighborhoods where they used to live. Others search out dark streets in nearby beach towns or find spots in warehouse and business districts.

Yaghoubi has a newish beige 30-foot motor home he and his wife once used for road trips. Now, he’s an Uber driver by day, he said, and spends mornings and evenings at the beach and nights in the RV, often parking near Blackburn in a San Juan Capistrano industrial area.

Blackburn said he lost everything when he broke his back and couldn’t work. He lives off a monthly Social Security check. His possessions are packed tightly into a work truck he has converted into a camper.

It’s far from an idyllic lifestyle, he said, but a sense of community comes with the waterfront vistas. “We’re all just trying to survive. We look out for each other.”

Red Whisner, supervising ranger at Doheny, has watched an increasing number of mobile homeless gravitate to Doheny since 1998, when he started as a seasonal lifeguard.

Back then there were two — Harry Musante, a surfer who grew up in Laguna Beach, and a man known as the “Commander,” because he drove a Commander motor home. He walked his cat on a leash every day. He eventually moved on, leaving Musante as the beach’s longest resident.

Typically, more than three dozen RVs, cars and trucks are parked in their regular spots, amid more than 1,200 parking spaces.

Rangers attribute the community’s growth to the unstable economy and the unusually warm weather in recent years that has made year-round beach living comfortable.

Add to that word of mouth among campers and laws passed in surrounding cities such as Dana Point, Laguna Beach, San Clemente and San Juan Capistrano that restrict neighborhood camping in vehicles.

“If you’re in that stage of life, trying to get back on your feet, there’s worse places to spend the day,” said Rich Haydon, state parks superintendent.

Doheny draws 1 million visitors annually. It’s the most popular state beach with the rolling homeless because of its flat topography, beachfront access and amenities such as bathrooms, food stands and a campground. Overnight stays there are limited to 12 consecutive days and no more than 30 stays a year. Other state beaches, including San Clemente, San Onofre, Huntington State and Bolsa Chica, have smaller numbers of mobile homeless regulars, Haydon said.

The day-use pass is meant to provide recreational access to state beaches and parks. If the mobile homeless regulars abide by the rules, “there is no problem and there is nothing we can do,” Haydon said.

Over the years, Whisner has gotten to know the homeless regulars’ stories.

There’s Reuben, who always arrives at least 30 minutes before Doheny opens at 6 a.m. There’s John, a day trader. And there’s the venerable survivor, Musante.

“Harry’s a good dude,” Whisner said. “He doesn’t want to take advantage of anyone. He just wants to do his own thing.”

Musante, a Laguna Beach High School graduate, was friends with Philip Nealon, a member of the community who died of acute bronchial pneumonia four months ago in the south parking lot.

Doheny is an oasis, Musante said.

“What’s not to like?” he said. “We live in a gated community with milliondollar views.”

Years back, Musante rented surf and bodyboards to vacationers at Sleepy Hollow Beach in Laguna. When multimillion-dollar mansions were being built in town, he shifted to construction work in the winter. But he said that took a toll on his body, and he opted for day camping at the beach as a lifestyle.

Now, he lives alone in his RV with his 18-year-old dog, Lucky.

Many of the homeless beach dwellers live on Social Security or disability, Whisner said. Some have military benefits.

Doheny offers “a gated community with their own police service, bathrooms, sun, surf, and year-round lifeguards and medical personnel,” Whisner said.

ANA VENEGAS/ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER Brian Blackburn, 57, and his dog Doolie spend days at Doheny State Beach in and around their camper. Blackburn is disabled and goes through the daily ritual of spending days at the beach followed by searching for street parking at night. Doheny State...