The excess at the Lost Isle resort is really just one part of the Delta community

THE DELTA â€" Just off the Stockton deep water channel, between buoys 22 and 24, lies the Delta's rum-soaked, Bacchanalian hideaway called Lost Isle.

This infamous spot is known for its Mai Tais and a libidinous atmosphere where "legends are made." It's just a few miles from the Port of Stockton, but sitting beneath the roof of the open bar that overlooks the boat dock it feels as if you're sipping rum on a shady cove in Jamaica.

However, this is the Delta. And on a recent Friday afternoon when it was slow, the bouncer packs his tackle box and rod down to the dock and spends most of the afternoon reeling in striped bass. Self-proclaimed "river rats" occupy a corner of the bar smoking cigars, drinking Bud Light and complaining about the "boat rookies" who don't observe the 5 mph "no wake" zones.

"You should have been here in '74 for the wet T-shirt contest," says Keith Looney, a stout man with a bushy white bead, who then points to a small meadow surrounded by palm trees across from the boat dock.

"And you should have seen the obscene things that went on out there," he says.

While the resort's history of partying is legendary, there's no shortage of events at the island these days. Festivities include a "Football Pros and Cheerleaders" weekend and a Jagermeister weekend. The island is owned by Lost Isle Partners.

Looney lives on the Delta and says he has eight boats, "one for every day of the week and one more if one breaks down."

He's hanging out with pals Greg Simpson and Terry Wicker. The three say they don't mind people calling them river rats.

"You're proud to be a river rat," Simpson says. "Everyone wants to be one, but not everyone can."

The resort, situated on the tip of Acker Island, is located at the confluence of Turner Cut and the deep water channel. The view from the levees surrounding the area is an expanse of brown, wind-swept fields. Dust devils spin in the distance; Mount Diablo looms through the haze.

Lost Isle, about 35 minutes southwest of Lodi, is only accessible by boat. As one crosses the murky waters approaching the island, a gentle breeze sways palm trees back and forth above a derelict back hoe painted with the stars and stripes left rusty just outside the resort. The tiki roofs of the island's various buildings peek through the vegetation. Carried on the breeze come the rythmic, thumping beats that at a distance almost sound like the drums from a village in the Delta of the Congo River.

But as one gets closer, those drum beats crystalize into Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf."

As the afternoon wears on, a trickle of boaters line their boats up at the dock and line themselves up at the bar. There's some obligatory body shots in which one young lady takes a shot of liquor off another's bare stomach and other shenanigans, but the mood on the whole stays mellow.

"Saturday is when it's really crowded," says Jason Valentine, 32, who has been tending bar at the resort for 10 years. The Tokay High graduate now lives in the Delta, working at Lost Isle with his nephew David Valentine, 23, who works as a bouncer when he's not pursuing a degree at ITT Tech.

When it's crowded, Jason Valentine says he can serve 45 to 50 Mai Tais in an hour.

"You got to work really fast out here," he said. "It's pretty insane."

The 24-ounce Mai Tai is the signature drink of Lost Isle. The staff mix up huge batches of the cocktail and serve them out of 5-gallon kegs through a tap.

It's not always good times at Lost Isle, though. In early August, a man stabbed two other men at the resort. Jason Valentine said the fight had started at nearby Ski Beach and had crossed over to Lost Isle. He said a doctor who spends his weekends at the resort quickly came to the aid of the victims, but one of the men died. The suspect, a Tracy man, is still at large.

Jason Valentine said violence at the resort is rare. In his time serving drinks at the resort, the recent stabbing was the worst fight he'd ever seen.

He also said he is quick to cut off revelers who have had too much to drink.

"I'm really good at cutting people off," he says. "I will actually get out and get someone a bottle of water. I'll take care of people better than the people who brought them here."

The island has a main bar plus a smaller one inside a building that was built in 1946 when the resort was built. Inside, can be found the resort's kitchen. There are tables and chairs scattered across the resort's sandy grass as well as horse shoe pits and a large sand volleyball court. There's also a few beaches for people to wade into the Delta's brown, warm water. Acker Island is 144 acres but the resort is limited to just a few of those.

Larry Mitchell has been coming out to Lost Isle for more than 20 years. The Lodi resident raced read end dragsters for 10 years. He was at Lost Isle with his friends David Smith, of Stockton, and John Dixon, of Oklahoma.



The three had ridden out from Stockton on 215 horsepower "super charged" personal watercraft.

Mitchell and Smith had hoped to show Dixon a true Lost Isle experience, but the two admitted it was pretty quiet.

When asked what was the craziest thing they'd seen at Lost Isle, the raised eyebrows, sly grins and lack of answers indicated it must have been pretty crazy.

"Tell them that story you were just telling me," Dixon said with a laugh. And while Smith didn't oblige, one can assume the story probably wasn't appropriate for a family newspaper anyway.

Eventually the three decided the best way to describe Lost Isle was a fun, friendly adult environment.

"Don't bring the kids," Smith quipped.

For the locals, though, Lost Isle is just another part of the small town they know as the Delta. While the legendary excess that usually marks Lost Isle was absent on a recent weekday, the slow, friendly and open way of life that makes the Delta such an appealing home for those who life there was present.

Jana Hembree lives on a spacious, modern housebout at the Tiki Lagun Resort and Marina, a marina just a quick boat ride away from Lost Isle. After hanging out with Looney and her friends she reflected on why she loved the Delta so much.

"It's a culture," she says. "People out here may or not be understood, but it's a family. Just a family."

Contact City Editor Andrew Adams at andrewa@lodinews.com.

Editor's note: In this occasional series, the News-Sentinel profiles people and places that make the Delta the mysterious and fascinating place it is.