Pier Pressure
In my time of need, the Ocean Beach Pier restored me. Will we now restore the pier?
BY MONA GABLE • ILLUSTRATION BY ALEXIA LOZANO
A couple of years ago, the city of San Diego permanently closed the Ocean Beach Municipal Pier. A study deemed the battered landmark "beyond its useful life." With sea levels rising, the city judged it too impractical to spend millions of dollars to repair the structure. The final blow came in December 2023 when a storm knocked out a support pile, which promptly sank. My heart sank, too. If it were any other pier, I might not have cared so much. But this was my pier.
Christened in 1966, the 1,971-foot pier was—and for the moment, remains—the longest concrete pier on the West Coast. At its end, the pier split into a T, making it seem to reach forever. I was 13 the year it opened. Already a die-hard...
bodysurfer, I longed to join my brothers as they surfed next to the pier. But back then, girls were not particularly welcome in the male-dominated surfing world.
So the top of the pier became my refuge. I could walk out to where the waves were cresting—past the fishermen waiting for their lines to tug, past the tourists snapping photos—to watch the guys ride to shore. I could lean over the rail, gaze down into the water, follow the tides and ripples, and sometimes spot dolphins. Often stood at the pier’s end, blissfully alone, reflecting. Amid the tang of salty air and the burnt-orange sunsets, I often felt as though I were in a painting. My family was broken; the rancor between my parents was incessant. But the pier restored me.
For a few months in my late teens, I lived with two friends in Ocean Beach. We were all attending San Diego State University and were too busy studying and working to fritter away hours at the beach. But I still made time to walk the pier with Freddie, my former nanny. Our strolls were sacred events. Arm in arm we’d go, reminiscing, laughing, and talking about fashion, my erratic mother, and getting older.
I moved to Berkeley at age 19 and eventually settled in L.A. To my delight, whenever I returned to visit San Diego the pier remained immutable, a source of solace in my ever-changing life. That’s why news of the closure felt so crushing.
Not long ago, I visited the pier again. The tide was in, seagulls and surfers were out, and the sky was awash in blues. After climbing the stairs at the base, I peered through the locked metal gate at the entrance. Devoid of people, the pier was eerie; only some concrete benches, a rusty list of fishing regulations, and a KEEP OUT sign.
Now, an effort is underway to build a new pier. The approved design would use the current footprint but the structure would have more space, with a fishing terrace and a shaded surfers’ lounge. Construction is expected to cost $170 million to $190 million, contingent on fundraising. If the pier does get reborn, and I hope it does, the resulting structure wouldn’t be my pier. But for a new generation of girls, it just might be theirs.
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MONA GABLE is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles.
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