Dogpatch Beach Culture

The scene is familiar… tanned lifeguards with their whistles swinging on salt-soaked lanyards, flip flops, wide-brimmed hats and blonde highlights. Kids playing in the sand, skipping stones, wading in the cool waters, while boarders skim across the glistening, uh, um San Francisco Bay - wait, what?

This image evokes my childhood, in the little beach town of Margate, New Jersey, just outside of Atlantic City. I lived just blocks from the beach for most of my life and would spend nearly every day of summer soaking in the East Coast rays, body surfing, boogie boarding, and occasionally surfing the consistently small , but well-shaped, waves. A child of the 80’s I lived in my OP, Baggies, Birdwell Beach Britches, paired with neon tank tops, and wayfarers with croakies. Can you just see the deadhead sticker on the Cadillac?

Lucy The Elephant, A Landmark Beach Site form Margate, NJ

More recently, I look to Santa Cruz for the West Coast beach vibes. For many summers, since I moved to California in 1997, I’ve frequented Seabright Beach, where my friends have a magical home right on the beach. The boardwalk scene with funnel cakes and tilt-a-whirl, surf punks and skate rats, wide sandy beaches, and endless summer magic is the epitome of NorCal beach culture. It almost always smells like surfboard wax and coconut sunscreen in Santa Cruz.

I first learned of the Dogpatch when I found cheap office space in the AIC in 1998 for my adventure travel business. It was supposed to be a neighborhood on the upswing with the dot com boom filling up offices with young tech hopefuls. Kelly’s Mission Rock would hop at happy hour with amazing views, solid margaritas, and crispy calamari. The Ramp was the Ramp. But the boom was short-lived and soon the Dogpatch slipped into oblivion as the promise of the next-great-neighborhood seemed an empty promise. Kelly’s became “Decks” and fell into decay. The Ramp was the Ramp.

When I moved into the Dogpatch in 2010, after a decade in Potrero Hill, it felt the furthest thing from my image of beach life. Sure the Bay dominated my view, but the industrial funk evoked more skid row than boardwalk. In the early days, the streets were mostly empty. Walking down third street you were met with abandoned warehouses and storefronts. A tumbleweed could roll the entire length of Terry Francois and not hit a thing. First came AT&T Park which sent a stream of traffic down towards Mariposa and onto the 280. There was always talk of development: The hospitals at Mission Bay, The Warriors Arena, Pier 70 Development - could the Dogpatch actually deliver on the promises?

I look out on what is now Crane Cove Park from my 4th Floor vantage. Until last year, the area was a breeding ground for feral cats who would fight the marauder raccoon gangs that kept wharf rats as foot soldiers on the front lines of a turf war. Once ABS seafood left, all activity became sinister behind the tattered fences along Illinois Street. Building 49 never stood out because it was pinned in by nondescript industrial cacophony. You have to hand it to the Port’s planners for having the vision to see recreation in the midst of such blight.

Crane Cove Vantage Before & After

The hospitals came as promised. Third street started to take life. Pier 70 finally underwent development and the cranes started rolling on a home for the Warriors. My balcony became the sort of beach that wasn’t welcomed. I lived with a thick layer of construction dust and soot for nearly a decade. As soon as one project ended, another began, and with it came another layer of dust. There were times when I thought of giving up on the Dogpatch, as I was suspect of the impact of the Chase Center. I was tired of the dust. The payoff seemed distant, even as progress was made.

On the day I signed my lease, my landlord told me that “a park was being built across the street”. It helped seal the deal for me. Little did I know it would be over ten years before Crane Cove Park would become a reality. There had been some rough construction happening for a while. Lot’s of layering and grading the water line. Rocks on rocks on rocks, seemingly to cover up the 150 years of industrial waste that lined the sea floor. In 2019 we started to see signs that CCP would progress. Surprisingly, despite the pandemic, construction rolled on in 2020 and we heard ramblings of an actual opening day.

I want to trust the vision of the planners, but I cannot imagine that anyone expected the park to be so well-received. Obviously we have to consider the times. People treasure their outdoor spaces after over a year of sheltering. But who knew we’d sign up 900 (mostly local) members to our club? Who knew that paddle boarding would become the dominant activity (with kayaking a close second) in the Dogpatch? Who could have predicted the throngs of people setting up tents and picnicking all day in our “Dolores Park East”? And who could have predicted that Dogpatch Paddle Shop would become a thing?

The Dogpatch has decidedly become a beach culture. I don’t care if anyone else sees this, because it’s the reality I’m choosing. I opened a paddle shop that could exist in Laguna, Margate, Bali, or Santa Cruz. We wash our boards on the sidewalk (sorry neighbors) and are planning to add soft-serve to our offerings very soon. Most people that visit the shop are so stoked to see us – I hear thank you 100 times a day for just doing something I love. Thank you for supporting it!

Today I stood on the Pier looking down on the summer camp activity in the afternoon. 25 kids on assorted-sized boards, paddling in and out and around the cove, splashing, wading, singing, skipping stones – all watched by tanned lifeguard counselors with their flip flops strapped to their decks, lanyards around their necks, board shorts and sun-kissed highlights. I felt awash in Margate and Santa Cruz. I looked down at the flip flop outline on my salty, sun-burnt feet. I caught the faint tinge of coconut from my sunscreen and the fried treats wafting from Mission Rock Resort (still the best views and tasty treats on the waterfront). The Ramp is still the Ramp. So I grabbed my salty lanyard, tossed it around my neck so I could grab my board and join the fun.

Crane Cove Park During Summer Camps