80s

IMPERIAL BEACH, Calif. — Mike and Patricia McCoy answered the door of their cozy cottage in Imperial Beach, a short stroll from crashing waves and several blocks from the Tijuana River Estuary, where California meets Mexico and the hiking trails are named for them.

They offered me a seat in a living room filled with awards for their service and with books, some of them about the wonders of the natural world and the threat to its survival. The McCoys are the kind of people who look you in the eye and give you their full attention, and Patricia’s British accent carries an upbeat, birdsong tone.

A sign shows coastal conservationists Mike and Patricia McCoy as young adults “Making a Difference” at the estuary.

(Hayne Palmour IV / For The Times)

In the long history of conservation in California, few have worked as long or as hard as the McCoys.

Few have achieved as much.

And they’re still at it. Mike at 84, Patricia at 89.

The McCoys settled in Imperial Beach in the early 1970s — Mike was a veterinarian, Patricia a teacher — when the coastal protection movement was spreading across the state amid fears of overdevelopment and privatization. In 1972, voters approved Proposition 20, which essentially laid down a hallmark declaration:

The California coast is a public treasure, not a private playground.

Four years later, the Coastal Act became state law, regulating development in collaboration with local government agencies, guaranteeing public access and protecting marine and coastal habitats.

During that time, the McCoys were locked in a fight worth revisiting now, on the 50th anniversary of the Coastal Act. There had been talk for years about turning the underappreciated Tijuana River Estuary, part of which was used as a dumping ground, into something useful.

Mike McCoy knew the roughly 2,500-acre space was already something useful, and vitally important. It was one of the last major undeveloped wetlands in Southern California and a breeding and feeding site for 370 bird species, along with fish, reptiles, rabbits, foxes, coyotes and other animals.

In McCoy’s mind, it needed to be restored, not repurposed. And certainly not as a giant marina, which would have destroyed a habitat that was home to several endangered species. At a 1977 Imperial Beach meeting packed with marina supporters, Mike McCoy drew his line in the sand.

The Tijuana Estuary in Imperial Beach is seen on Friday.

(Hayne Palmour IV / For The Times)

“I went up there,” McCoy recalled, pausing to say he could still feel the heat of the moment, “and I said, ‘You people, and I don’t care who you are, you’re not going to put a marina in that estuary. That’s sacrosanct. You don’t mess with that. That’s a fantastic system, and it’s more complex than you’d ever believe.’”

The estuary won, but the McCoys weren’t done. As I began talking with them about the years of advocacy that followed, Patricia’s modesty blushed.

“We don’t want to be blowing our own trumpet,” she said.

They don’t have to. I’m doing it for them, with the help of admirers who were happy to join the symphony.

Patricia went on to become a member of the Imperial Beach City Council and served for two years on the Coastal Commission, which oversees implementation of the Coastal Act. She also helped Mike and others take the estuary restoration fight to Sacramento, to Washington, D.C., and to Mexico.

“This is what a real power couple looks like,” said Sarah Christie, legislative director of the Coastal Commission. “They wield the power of nature and the power of the people. You can’t overstate their contribution to coastal protection.”

The McCoys’ signature achievement has been twofold, said Jeff Crooks, a San Diego wetlands expert. They helped establish the estuary as a protected wildlife refuge, and they also helped build the framework for the estuary to serve as a research center to monitor, manage and preserve the habitat and collaborate with other managed estuaries in the U.S.

“It’s been a living laboratory for 40-some years,” said Crooks, research coordinator for the Tijuana River National Estuarine Research Reserve.

Sewage and debris flow from Tijuana are an ever-present threat and decades-long source of frustration and anger in Imperial Beach, where beaches have been closed and some residents have planted “Stop the Stink” yard signs. Crooks said there’s been some progress on infrastructure improvements, with a long way to go.

Coastal conservationist Mike McCoy looks at a new interpretive sign at the Tijuana Estuary in Imperial Beach on Friday.

(Hayne Palmour IV / For The Times)

But “even though we’re beating it up,” Crooks said of the pollution flowing into the estuary, it’s been amazingly resilient in part because of constant monitoring and management.

Chris Peregrin, who manages the Tijuana Estuary for the state park system, said the nonprofit Tijuana Estuary Foundation has been a good partner, and the president of the foundation board is guess who:

Mike McCoy.

The foundation ”fills gaps that the state cannot,” Peregrin said. “As one example, they run the research program at the reserve.”

For all their continued passion about the mission in their own backyard, the McCoys fret about the bigger picture — the alarming increase in greenhouse gases and the biodiversity decline. Through the estuary window, they see a planet in peril.

“They both think big like that,” Crooks said. “Mike especially comes from the mindset that this is a ‘think globally and act locally’ kind of thing.”

“Restoration is the name of the game, not intrusion,” Mike told me, and he wasn’t talking just about the estuary.

On the very week I visited the McCoys, the Trump administration delivered a crushing blow to the environmental movement, repealing a government finding that greenhouse gas pollution is a threat to the planet and public health. He called those claims, backed by overwhelming scientific consensus, “a giant scam.”

It’s easy to throw up your hands at such knuckle-dragging indifference, and Mike told me he has to keep reaching for more stamina.

But Serge Dedina, a former Imperial Beach mayor who was inspired by the McCoys’ activism as a youngster, sees new generations bringing fresh energy to the fight. Many of them work with him at Wildcoast, the international coastal conservation nonprofit he founded, with Patricia McCoy among his earliest collaborators.

“I wouldn’t be a conservationist and coastal activist without having worked with Patricia and Mike and being infused with their passion,” said Dedina. ”I think sometimes they underestimate their legacy. They’ve had a huge impact on a whole generation of scientists and conservationists and people who are doing work all along the coast.”

We can’t underestimate the legacy of the citizen uprising of 1972, along with the creation of an agency dedicated to coastal conservation. But it’s only fair to note, on the 50th anniversary of the Coastal Act, that not everyone will be reaching for a party hat.

The Coastal Act has been aggressively enforced, at times to a fault in the opinion of developers, homeowners, commercial interests and some politicians. Former Gov. Jerry Brown, who signed the act into law, once referred to Coastal Commission agency staffers as “bureaucratic thugs” for tight restrictions on development.

There’s been constant friction, thanks in part to political pressure and the clout of developers, and one of the many future threats to the core mission is the need for more housing throughout the state. The balance between new construction and continued conservation is sure to spark years of skirmishes.

Coastal conservationists Mike and Patricia McCoy on a trail named after them at the Tijuana Estuary Visitor Center in Imperial Beach.

(Hayne Palmour IV / For The Times)

But as the Coastal Commission website puts it in marking the anniversary, the major achievements of the past 50 years include the “wetlands not filled, the sensitive habitats not destroyed, the access trails not blocked, the farms and ranches not converted to urban uses, the freeways and gated communities and industrial facilities not built.”

In the words of the late Peter Douglas, who co-authored Proposition 20 and later served as executive director of the Coastal Commission, the coast is never saved, it’s always being saved.

Saved by the likes of Mike and Patricia McCoy.

I had the pleasure of walking through the estuary with Mike, past the plaque dedicated to him and his wife and “all who cherish wildlife and the Tijuana Estuary.” We also came upon one of the new interpretive signs that were to be dedicated Friday, including one with a photo of Mike and Patricia as young adults “Making a Difference.”

Mike pointed a finger here and there, explaining all the conservation projects through the year. We saw an egret and a rabbit, and when I heard a clacking sound, Mike brightened.

“That’s a clapper rail,” Mike said, an endangered bird that makes its home in the estuary.

The blowing of the trumpet isn’t just for the McCoys.

It’s a rallying call to those who might follow in their footsteps.

steve.lopez@latimes.com

The Mirror’s Milo Boyd went to check out a chicken and chips restaurant owned by a 80s hit maker

It seems like the celebrity world and his dog are getting in on the restaurant and pub game at the moment.

There is, of course, Ian McKellen’s The Grapes, James Blunt’s Fox and Pheasant, rugby legend Gavin Henson’s The Fox and even Bertie Blossoms, which is owned by Ed Sheeran.

The reason why stars are investing in the world of food and drink isn’t completely clear, as least from the outside. The restaurant industry is notoriously difficult to make money in, and celebrity-owned restaurants have a chequered history. Planet Hollywood launched in 1991 to great fanfare, thanks to its famous investors, including Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Sylvester Stallone. However, it filed for bankruptcy just a few years later. It was followed shortly after by Fashion Cafe, an international restaurant chain fronted by Naomi Campbell and Claudia Schiffer.

READ MORE: ‘I got 72% off a £1,729 5* all-inclusive – but there were some big drawbacks’READ MORE: I paid £106 for lunch at British music legend’s pub — I can sum it up in two words

Gemma Krysko, co-director of Manchester-based PR agency We Are Indigo, argues that celebrities who don’t attach their names or faces to hospitality ventures have the best chance of success. Which might sound counterintuitive, given their personal brands are what they trade off.

“People like the authenticity of a restaurant being owned by a family or an independent, or someone who’s working really hard to do well in life and have some success. Sometimes, when people already have a successful background or are quite well off do something, it might feel like it’s a bit tacky,” she told Vice.

Mikkeller is a bar brand with more than 250 branches across 37 countries, so it’s far from an independent joint. However, two of its London venues are the quiet work of 80s musical icon, Rick Astley. You would be forgiven for not knowing that the ‘Never going to give you up’ hitmaker was involved if you just walked past Mikkeller Bar London in Shoreditch or its sister brewpub in Exmouth Market.

The latter looks right at home on the trendy street, with its striped yellow awning, rust-effect signage and space for beer drinkers to spill out front when the sun is shining. It was not like that when I visited in January, to shelter from the rain and to try out the 40 million record-selling artist’s fare.

The two-floor venue contains a bar and restaurant, as well as a brewery that can produce 7.5 hectoliters of beer at a time. The in-house brewery supplies the bar with completely fresh beer, as well as infusing the space with the comforting aroma of malt and hops. I appreciated dining beneath the large, chrome-brushed beer silos and the slightly dramatic towers of stacked potato sacks, which lent the place a feeling, even if the concept of an exposed, Pompidou Centre-style pub feels a little 2010s at this point.

Sadly, the menu doesn’t include any Astley-based Easter eggs (or at least not any I could find), but it does feature a wide range of delicious beers. A pint of Freshly Squeezed IPA for me, and Lucky Saint on draft for my Dry January friend, knocked us back £14.30 in total. Which is pretty much standard in this part of London.

Those with better knowledge of the Lancashire crooner’s back catalogue may be able to glean some hint of Astley in the current drinks list, which includes: Grand, Market Best, Never Enough, Jerry the Berry, Grandma’s Fridge Cake, DDH PCP, Market Weiss, Wonky Chi, Mic Drop, Common Ground, Black Pearl, Beech Life and The Golden Rule. What was conspicuously absent was the singer’s own brew, ginger-infused lager Astley’s Northern Hop.

There is not a huge amount in Astley’s working life beyond music – which includes providing a voice for The LEGO Batman Movie, as a fundraiser for cancer charity Maggie’s Centers and driving for his dad’s market-gardening business – to suggest he’d gone into the chicken and chips business. Or that he’d do it so well.

But both happen to be true. Mikkeller’s food is delicious and good value.

Three of us ate for £55 and left feeling stuffed and satisfied. This is more than I can say for my trip to James Blunt’s pub early in January, when the eye-watering prices meant I chose my bank balance over satiation. For that price in Astley’s place, we got two portions of crinkle cut fries, crispy plant nuggets, a vegan fried chick’n sandwich, and two meaty chicken sandos.

Both types of sandwich were made on a bed of brioche ‘Texas toast’ and stuffed alongside ‘Comeback Sauce’, pickles and vinegar slaw. Clearly, Mikkeller has embraced the latest advances in fake meat production technology as the chick’n had all the crisp, bounce, and tenderness you can hope for from something that has spent no time in a coop. The chicken version was similarly “excellent”, my companions informed me. Other menu options include chicken parm, Caesar salad, and fried chicken strips.

Mikkeller is unlikely to win any awards for restaurant innovation anytime soon. It’s a place that, stylistically, has more in common with Five Guys and Brew Dog than one of the cosy celebrity-owned pubs mentioned above. But what it is, is a spacious, fairly central London brewpub with a great, reasonably priced menu that’s perfect for a spot of Saturday afternoon indulgence.