HANNEL ISLANDS NATIONAL PARK — Only my footprints marked the wet sand along Water Canyon Beach.

Only my ears heard the wail of seagulls resonating off the sandstone cliffs above.

Only my eyes saw a bright orange starfish rising and falling with the tide as the sea battered its rocky ledge.

I found solitude, adventure and an unspoiled, world-class beach only 26 miles from Los Angeles.

The cacophony of screaming horns, circling helicopters, bleating phones. None of those could follow me here. I was off the grid.

My nirvana was an isolated beach on Santa Rosa Island, part of Channel Islands National Park. The five rocky outcroppings off Southern California are so wild and isolated that they're often called America's Galapagos.

The park, accessible only by boat or plane, draws so few people that it ranks as one of the least-visited in the country; although it is within 60 miles of 18 million people, only about 80,000 visit each year. Seclusion is not only possible but also probable along its 175 miles of coastline.

In actuality, two of the islands are easy to reach by ferry. And those who make the trip find a place that is worlds apart from the mainland. An unspoiled land with an incredible array of plants and animals found nowhere else. An adventure in the making where unparalleled kayaking and diving await. A place where hikers, sailors, fishermen and campers find first-rate wilderness activities.

I discovered the Channel Islands more than a decade ago. Since then, I've collected the islands the way some people collect fine art.

SOME OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS ARE HARD TO GET TO, BUT WELL WORTH THE EFFORT

There are eight in the chain, but only five comprise the park (Catalina is a Channel Island, but is not part of the park.) The two inner islands, Anacapa and Santa Cruz, are closest to the mainland and easy to reach on scheduled boat trips; the three outer islands — Santa Rosa, Santa Barbara and San Miguel — can be difficult.

Boat service is infrequent and subject to mercurial weather and sea conditions. Even if you reach Santa Barbara and San Miguel, landings can be wet and wild rides through the surf because there are no docks.

I finally bagged my fifth park island, Santa Barbara, this spring after several years of failed attempts.

But my collection has more tangible rewards than just adding another island to my life list. The channel that separates the islands from the coast is a water world of wondrous sights: pods of whales gliding through moonlit seas, boisterous schools of dolphins wave-hopping in search of prey, squadrons of brown pelicans patrolling rocky shores.

The islands rose from the ocean floor millions of years ago, born of volcanic activity and plate tectonics; they lie in a region between the mainland and the ocean depths called the continental shelf. Four of the park islands are strung out in a line; at one time, they were a single large island. The fifth, tiny Santa Barbara, is 60 miles south.

The easiest way to visit is by boat with Island Packers (www.islandpackers.com), a family-owned service that's staffed by avid ocean lovers. Volunteer naturalists accompany each trip, leading hikes and explaining marine and island life.

The other ways to reach the islands can be mini-adventures in themselves, as I found when I visited Santa Rosa in May.

The fog had just lifted when our twin-engine plane powered along the runway at tiny Camarillo Airport and rose noisily over fields full of ripening strawberries. The 10-seater headed out to sea.

A DAY OF FISHING

I had joined a group of Los Angeles-area buddies headed to Santa Rosa for a day of surf fishing. They arranged the trip with Channel Island Aviation (www.flycia.com), which provides air transportation to the island. The roundtrip flight, about 25 minutes each way, cost $159 and gave me a bird's-eye view of Santa Barbara Channel and Anacapa, Santa Cruz and Santa Rosa islands.

We bounced around in the sky, buffeted by morning currents, buzzed over a pod of whales headed north and then bumped down on a graded dirt runway.

While the fishing buddies practiced casting, I had nearly six hours to wander.

Santa Rosa, the second largest of the islands, is in the outer waters, which means the weather can be devilish. High winds are the main problem, but damp, chilly conditions can be another deterrent.

The day was overcast but pleasant. I hiked into Cherry Canyon along a 3 1/2-mile trail that's popular with day-trippers. Clusters of flaming Indian paintbrush lined the switchbacks as I climbed up a steep canyon, passing small groves of live oaks and manzanita.

At the top of a ridge, miles of golden grasses stretched to the sea, waving slightly in the breeze. There was no sign of life, other than the white hull and silvery mast of a sailboat at anchor far below.

Eventually, the trail took me to Santa Rosa's campground, where each site has an ocean view. (Camping is permitted on all the islands with reservations (877-444-6777 or www.recreation.gov.)

The campground had improved dramatically since my last visit four years ago. Flush toilets and a solar shower had been added, along with sturdy windbreak shelters at each site, making it the cushiest campground in the park. But no campers were there to enjoy the plush digs.

I continued my trek, making my way to Water Canyon Beach. I had saved this, the best, for last. I knew from my earlier visit that it was a stunner. Ranger Mark Senning, who has made his home on Santa Rosa for 10 years, calls it "world class," and I agree.

A lazy line of white surf curled along a beautifully shaped bay. Dunes soared 40 feet, the surface unmarked except for tiny waves etched by the wind. Sandpipers scurried along the beach, sea gulls surfed air currents, a curious seal poked its head out of the water offshore.

A BEACH ... AND ALL MINE

I knew the surf fishermen were out there somewhere, but with five miles of coastline, I didn't care. For a few moments, the beach belonged to me.

I made several trips to the islands for this story; most were aboard Island Packers' boats. But the most exhilarating was on a 53-foot J160, a high-performance sloop named La Sirena.

I had joined a tour group put together by Wilderness Inquiry, and the ride was part of a three-day sail and kayak package to Santa Cruz, the largest of the islands.

The sailing was grand, but at one point, we weren't so sure about the kayaking.

The day had dawned gloomy. The 13 novice kayakers stood at attention, paddles held at their sides like rifles, while a guide carefully explained what should and shouldn't happen during the next couple of hours. It was raining lightly, and the wind was starting to kick up.

"We usually paddle into the wind first," the guide said, "but it keeps shifting today. We'll have to assess things as we go."

Wilderness Inquiry, a nonprofit, offers outdoor adventure trips "for people of all ages, backgrounds, and abilities" (www.wildernessinquiry.com). What that means is that some of its campers are disabled. Nondisabled campers pitch in to help.

Other groups sponsor trips to the Channel Islands too, including the Sierra Club, Elderhostel, the Santa Barbara Botanical Garden and the Los Angeles Audubon Society.

The drawing card for the Wilderness Inquiry group was exploring Santa Cruz, known for its sea caves and exciting kayaking conditions. Of course, everyone expected to be hitting the water on a warm, sunny day, not in a slow drizzle with wind waves kicking up whitecaps.

The trip through the caves was bracing but fun. And everyone made it back to shore in one piece.

Scorpion Ranch, on the eastern end of Santa Barbara Island, is the most popular stop for those who visit the Channel Islands; it sometimes receives as many as 150 visitors on a summer day. I didn't find solitude, but there were plenty of trails to hike, places to picnic and campsites to try in a canyon wooded with eucalyptus. And I'll never forget the sea caves.

IFFY WEATHER

Caves are also a draw on tiny Santa Barbara, and a beautiful beach is a hallmark of San Miguel, but both are so far out that you really have to work to get there, which is why they're the least-visited in the park.

Island Packers schedules a few trips to each annually, mainly in the summer. But sea and weather conditions often cause these to be canceled. I finally reached Santa Barbara on a beautiful day in April, when conditions were ideal.

The island is only a mile square, so hiking it is a breeze. And the ocean view is spectacular. Rocky coves are filled with barking sea lions and clear blue water that's reminiscent of the sea color in the Caribbean or the South Pacific. A tiny campground sits on an unprotected bluff.

Sea conditions were not as ideal in late May, when I joined a group of campers headed for San Miguel, 64 miles west of the mainland. Twelve-foot seas made the four-hour journey uncomfortable for many of those aboard.

Luckily, the weather was better on San Miguel. It offers good hiking and, of course, lots of solitude.

Sixteen miles west of Ventura, Calif., Anacapa's three volcanic islets rise steeply from the sea, seeming to float on the horizon like a distant mirage. The name, in fact, is derived from a Chumash word for "mirage."

The rocky, treeless shores here have been eroded by wind and waves, creating towering sea cliffs, caves and natural bridges, including 40-foot-high Arch Rock.

Sea birds are everywhere, especially from April to July, when countless chicks hatch.

We boarded the boat for the trip back to Ventura in the late afternoon, and I took my usual seat on the top deck, watching for marine life. In the distance, I spotted a whale breaching. I didn't think much of it; whales usually breach only a few times. By the time you reach them, they're long gone. But this big boy hadn't seen that script.

He kept on breaching, propelling his 45-ton body out of the water again and again. I counted as our boat neared. The whale, a humpback, kept flying out of the water, then slapping back down in backward somersaults.

Our captain stopped so we could watch. Twenty times, 25 times. Other people on deck started to count with me. No one, including captain, crew or naturalist, had seen anything like it, they said. Once in awhile, our new friend would take a mini-break, rolling over on his back to expose his white underbelly. I kept counting. When the whale reached 40 jumps, the captain headed for home. I could see the acrobatic whale for a while, though, and before he faded from sight, I counted 49 breaches.

I know this sounds like a whale of a tale. But it's not. It's a true Channel Islands tale.