Mission Beach, looking north
- Bayside Walk listed 121 rentals spread out between 15 blocks, with 50 rentals on just two blocks. Mission Boulevard listed 81 rentals on 17 blocks. It then dropped to 31 rentals sandwiched onto two Island Court blocks.
- By Julie Stalmer, March 9, 2018
"What happens when an entire block has nobody living there?"
Save San Diego Neighborhoods
- Rudeness ruled at a Mission Beach Precise Planning Board meeting Tuesday night, September 15th, as the board rejected a plan to build 51 homes on land that had once been set aside for an elementary school.
- By Marty Graham, Sept. 16, 2015
- In Mission Beach, every foot of space counts. Five surf shops, four bars, a handful of restaurants, a resort hotel, a Turkish-style coffee lounge, and an amusement park all fit within its bounds, packed in and amongst the beachside homes. At North Jetty Road, the southwestern cap of Mission Beach, is a well-known locals-only surf spot; at the north end is the Catamaran Hotel, a ritzy vacation spot with suites costing up to $800 a night.
- By RF Jurjevics, July 12, 2007
- Mission Beach is one distinctive neighborhood. Of course there's the roller coaster, but I'm thinking of a completely different distinction. I mean that Mission Beach cuts quite the geographical figure. It is a true promontory, an actual peninsula, a mere spit, an almost isthmus, a gestural jut of land that, at its thinnest, could be transnavigated by the throw of a stone. Pretty distinguishing. Pretty cool.
- By Geoff Bouvier, Dec. 30, 2004
- Ventura Place is a tiny street populated by artists, poets, itinerant day laborers, musicians, tourists, merchants, big drinkers, sailors and Marines, tide watchers and people watchers, millionaires and trashpickers, aging winos in doorways underneath the “No Loitering" signs, narcotics agents and suspects, and policemen on bicycles — all claiming the same sunset, all magnetized by the mysterious ocean.
- By Sue Garson, Dec. 22, 1983
Harry Bushling has been everyone's pal, they say, for more than forty years.
- My favorite childhood ritual was this: the first barefoot summer walk across smoldering pavement. Scurry for shade. Walk on your heels, or on your toes. Up from the beach, across the asphalt alley — quickly! — down the sidewalk to Harry’s Market on Mission Boulevard, where a few scavenged empty pop bottles were miraculously transformed into a few cents.
- By Mimi Cornell, Aug. 12, 1982
Finally my father got a job at the Belmont Park Amusement Center, and we moved into a small bungalow on Strand Way.
- Old swimmers never die, they just wash ashore every summer at the La Jolla Rough Water Swim or chalk up interminable laps at the Mission Beach Plunge. Such might be the judgment of the casual observer who wanders into the cavernous building that houses the largest indoor swimming pool in Southern California.
- By Colleen O'Connor, Feb. 10, 1977
Inside the Plunge is a pool as lithe and graceful as it always was.
- They’ve taken the cars off the Ferris wheel and started re-painting them so that they’ll look good when the buyers from the International Association for Amusement Parks come around. They’ve locked up the arcade booths and junk food concessions. Broken glass, air compressors, and beached plastic whales from Kiddie Land now litter the “funway” between the Scrambler and the Himalayan Carousel.
- By David Helvarg, Feb. 10, 1977
- The mudflats sometimes stank at low tide; it wasn’t really a bad smell, but a grassy, muddy smell that could be pleasant if you associated it with the kinds of things you did on the mudflats. When tourists or even people who lived in other parts of San Diego saw them , they usually called them sand bars, but nobody in South Mission Beach ever said anything but mudflats.
- By Keith Robinson, July 11, 1974
In the later forties the dredges came, and all that had been sand dollars, crabs, seagulls, mud, and grass was moved, removed, built up, or otherwise altered into what we now call Gleason Point, Ventura Point. I loved watching the dark gray spume burst out of the end of the pipe a mile or so from the dredge, and the sound of billions of shells rattling through the pipes, sometimes all night long, was pleasant and romantic.