Journal · The Tides

The case for June Gloom

June Gloom isn't summer running late. It's summer the way the coast does it. Issue No. 1 of The Tides: why the marine layer is a gift, the most underrated stretch of water in the county, and one honest number.

June 7, 2026 · 5 min read

From the Notebook

A quick note before we get into it. This is something new. Once a month I am going to send you a letter. Not a market update, not a flyer with my face on it. Just the stuff a born-and-raised Huntington Beach guy actually pays attention to: the places worth your time, the people who make this town what it is, and the small things that make living on this coast feel like living on this coast.

I am calling it The Tides. The tide is the most honest clock we have out here. It doesn't care about your calendar or your inbox. It comes in, it goes out, twice a day, the same way it did for my grandmother and the same way it will long after all of us. A letter that shows up once a month, in rhythm, felt right.

June is a fitting place to start. The marine layer is parked over the coast most mornings right now, what everybody calls June Gloom, and every year some transplant swears summer is broken. It's not. It always burns off by noon. Locals just keep a sweatshirt in the car and don't panic.

This month also has Father's Day in it, which lands close to home. I am a third-generation Realtor®. My grandmother Maurine sold homes in California, my dad Craig started in 1977 and is still my business partner today, and I came up watching both of them treat this work like it was about people first. Three generations along one stretch of coast. I don't take that for granted.

So that's the letter. Read it on a Saturday with coffee. Hit reply if something resonates. I read every one. Let's get into June.

The Spot: Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve

If you have only ever driven past it on PCH, the Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve is that flat, glassy stretch of water across from the state beach, and it's one of the most underrated places in the county.

It's the largest saltwater marsh on the California coast between Monterey Bay and the Tijuana River Estuary, roughly 1,300 acres of wetland with about five miles of trails. Close to 200 species of birds move through over the course of a year, using it as a rest stop on the Pacific Flyway. In early summer you can catch the California least terns nesting, a species that came back from the brink.

The move: park in the free lot on PCH across from the main state beach entrance, walk the loop over the wooden footbridge, and go early before the marine layer lifts. It's quiet, flat, stroller and grandparent friendly, and it costs nothing. I lived near the wetlands for a stretch growing up and I still end up out there when I need to think. Bring binoculars if you have them. You won't be the only one.

Local Knowledge: The Case for June Gloom

Every spring the same thing happens. The calendar says summer is coming, the coast turns gray and cool, and somebody, usually someone who moved here in the last year or two, declares that the weather is ruined.

Here is what's actually going on. As inland California heats up, it pulls cool ocean air toward the land. That air rides over the cold Pacific, hits the dew point, and condenses into a low blanket of cloud that sits right on the coast. May Gray, June Gloom, and the lesser-known No-Sky July are all the same thing. The stronger the inland heat, the harder the ocean pushes back with fog. The gray is the coast doing its job.

And it does a lot of jobs. The marine layer is the reason a summer afternoon two miles inland can run ten or fifteen degrees hotter than your block. It's the reason so many of the older homes here were built without air conditioning and never really needed it. Open the windows on a gloomy morning, let the cool air settle in, close them up by early afternoon, and the house holds. People pay a premium to live near the ocean without always realizing that the gray mornings are part of what they're paying for.

There's a rhythm to it once you stop fighting it. Mornings are for the slow stuff: coffee, a walk, the wetlands before the crowds. The clouds usually thin between eleven and one. By the time you would want to be on the sand anyway, the sky has opened up. Locals plan around it without thinking. Beach trips start at noon, not nine. You keep that sweatshirt in the car year-round. You stop checking the forecast and start reading the morning.

If you're newer to the coast, my advice is to lean in. The gloom is temporary, the cool is a gift in August, and the light when it breaks through around lunchtime is the best light this town gets. The people who love it here most are usually the ones who quit waiting for the gray to leave and started using it.

That's local knowledge. The marine layer isn't summer running late. It's summer the way the coast does it.

Worth Knowing

Cool the house for free. On gray mornings, open the windows and let the marine air in, then close them by early afternoon to trap the cool. It's how the older homes here stayed comfortable for decades without AC.

Salt air is hard on hardware. June is a good month to give exterior hinges, locks, light fixtures, and railings a quick freshwater rinse. Salt and marine moisture corrode faster near the coast, and a rinse a few times a year noticeably extends their life.

Water deep, not often. Coastal yards lose less to evaporation in gloom season. A deep soak early in the morning two or three times a week beats a daily sprinkle, and natives and succulents prefer it anyway.

Beat the summer crush. Once school lets out, the city beach lots fill early on weekends. The bike path is the fastest way in and out, and going before eleven or after four is the locals' trick.

On the Calendar: June

Sunday, June 21. Father's Day, and the summer solstice both land on the same day this year. Two good reasons to be outside: call your dad, then take the longest evening walk of the year, with sunset near 8 pm.

Every Tuesday evening. Surf City Nights. Main Street downtown closes to cars for a street fair and farmers market. The most reliable weekly thing we have got.

Looking ahead. The Lexus US Open of Surfing returns to the pier July 25 through August 2. If you have never seen it, next month is the month.

The Last Track

When I am not selling houses I play music around town, mostly barefoot beach reggae with my band Cali Conscious, and June is when the patio gigs start back up. My track of the month is anything by Sublime, because there's no more Southern California summer sound, and because it still hits on a gray morning with the windows down. Put it on, let the gloom burn off, and have a good June.

Talk next month,
Justin

One Number: 55

That's the number of years of real estate my dad Craig and I have logged on this coast, combined. I lead with it not to brag but because it's the whole reason this letter exists. We have been paying attention here for a long time. Going forward, I will use this spot each month to share one honest number about the local market, explained in plain English, no spin.

If you ever want to talk through anything home related, no pressure and no pitch, you know where to find me. Otherwise, just enjoy the letter. This letter is for general information and enjoyment only. Nothing in it's tax, legal, or financial advice; we're Realtors®, not tax professionals or attorneys. Please confirm event dates and details before you go.