While I am always looking forward to the next exotic locale in which to dip my paddle, I am mindful of the fact that I live near a kayaker’s dream.

Southern California can count on about 330 days of sun each year and paddling cannot get any better than from my local put-in point of Marina Del Rey, just minutes from downtown Los Angeles.

This marina empties into the large bay of Santa Monica, where, on any given day, one can usually see pods of common dolphin body surfing right off shore. During the annual gray whale migration, I have seen as many as a dozen whales a day making their leisurely way south, hugging the coast, sometimes right in the surf zone.

For the past several summers, these waters have hosted humpback and blue whales coming in to feast on the abundant krill that fills the channel between the mainland and local islands. And biologists have been monitoring a pod of undersized orca trying to decide if they are residents or not.

This bay can experience large rolling seas, but a breakwater of large boulders at the harbor entrance makes for an easy transition from marina to open ocean for even novice paddlers.

From a mile offshore, the vista is unparalleled. To the north are the Santa Monica mountains. To the north are the hills of Hollywood, and on a clear day, you can see the Hollywood sign from the water. To the south is the beautiful peninsula of Palos Verdes. This sweeping panorama is crowned by majestic Mount Baldy, rising above the city with its summit snowcapped year round.

It is a rare day that I do not have an escort of porpoising sea lions frolicking around my boat, and if not, I can count on there being dozens hauling out on the numerous buoys off the coast used during the offloading of oil from tankers.

For the past five years, a megapod of common dolphin have frequented these waters, sometimes 2000 to 3000 strong. I have had them as paddling partners on many occasions, listening to their squeaks, clicks and groans echoing through the hull of my boat.

For the more adventurous, there is an open water crossing of 26 miles to Catalina Island. A local group of paddlers known as the “Rogues,” makes this crossing every month. On a clear day, this island and the tiny speck of Anacapa Island are both visible from shore.

Altogether, eight islands dot the waters off Southern California, and five of them—San Miguel, Santa Roas, Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara and Anacapa—comprise the Channel Islands National Park. This park receives the fewest number of visitors of any park in our national system, making it a kayaker’s paradise year round.

There is daily boat service to all these islands from both Oxnard and Santa Barbara harbors. Island Packers runs an efficient and professional service offering land tours for the day, guided kayaking trips, and will even rent you a boat and haul it over for you.

With all of this great paddling available, the best and my personal favorite spot remains a hidden jewel.

Directly next to the seawall of Marina Del Rey, Ballona Creek empties into the ocean. This river mouth is protected from swells by the offshore seawall, making it as calm as a bathtub. This is the natural entrance to the Ballona Wetlands.

Over thousands of years, the Los Angeles River carried silt, mud and clay through the basin from the local mountains, eventually creating this marshy and incredibly fertile area.

The indigenous Garbrielino people lived a good life here for countless years of prehistory until they were displaced in the 18th century by Spanish settlers. They lived in houses of marsh reeds, caught fish, and fashioned beautiful jewelry from local shells. Later, Mexico and then the United States took possession of the area until in 1822 a Spanish land owner named Jose Machado was granted the land as Rancho La Ballona.

The Rancho remained intact for half a century until Machado’s heirs broke it up, selling off portions that later became the city of Venice to the north.

Today it is only a fraction of its original size due to the incursion of the world’s largest man made marina, and the ever growing sprawl of Los Angeles surrounding it, but it is still a tiny natural paradise just minutes from local freeways and shopping malls.

Efforts to develop the area have recently been temporarily halted due to the discovery of Indian burial sites, ensuring the land will remain pristine at least for the next several years while corporate lawyers battle in court over domain rights.

Possums, skunks and coyotes prowl the marshes while 15 species of fish and at least 215 different species of birds fill the air.

Great blue herons nest here, and on any given day, I am likely to see sandpipers, snowy egrets, wimbrels, three species of gulls, and if I am early enough, I can watch night herons before they turn in after a night of hunting. On rarer occasions, I have witnessed osprey taking fish from its waters, and once watched a bald eagle soaring overhead before making the open water crossing to the Channel Islands where they now live.

Hundreds of brown pelicans line the seawall looking for their next meal, while cormorants bob along and haul out onto rocks to dry their wings in the sun, and red tailed hawks keep station in the trees on lookout for any tasty rodents that frequent the rock walls. Kingfishers are a common sight, and there are occasionally a few geese taking a break here during their migrations.

There is about three miles of river to paddle before it peters out in the marshy swamp. On a good day, I am the only one on the water. On a bad day, I can hear car horns from the freeway less than two miles away.

It is one giant open aviary, and gliding silently through here in a kayak, I must constantly remind myself that I am in the middle of a massive metropolitan area.

After a morning on the open ocean, there is no better way to wind down a paddle than in these protected and peaceful waters, full of nature’s wonders, reminding me that I live in a paddler’s paradise.