Central Coast Spring

It's all about the light on the land...

My favorite time of the year in coastal California is spring.  Contrary to popular belief, spring starts in November; the calendar may say it is the beginning of winter, but it’s really the beginning of spring on the Central Coast.  

It starts with the first rains, the summer dust is washed away and the ground drinks up the water like a sponge.  With each successive storm, the chaparral plants slowly rouse out of their summer slumber sprouting new growth and standing a little prouder, a little firmer.  The California sage regains its fresh piney smell as the water dilutes the oils in its leaves.  The ceanothus begins to bud and peonies consider pushing up from the sandy hollows.  I love how the hills slowly gain a hint of green and the air stays fresh and cool.  The skies are filled with a variety of clouds, and the land is illuminated by that rich golden November light casting long shadows on the cool north slopes.

On days like these one feels like they can walk forever, not getting too sweaty and feeling the land slowly coming back to life around you.

One fine November day, the kind of day that you just want to put away to remember, I was lucky enough to take a group of boys partway up Valencia Peak in MDO St. Park.  It’s not that hard of a hike, a 3-mile round trip, and around a 900 ft. elevation gain. There are some steep parts and the view looking over the ocean and Estero Bay is worth every mile, but to these kids from the flatlands of Bakersfield it’s a MOUNTAIN.  They had heard about how hard it was all week from other kids and now it was their turn.

As any teaching naturalist knows, when you get your group you are instantly sizing them up.  Who’s in shape and who isn’t, which kid is the alpha and who’s the brain, who’s gonna have the toughest time, and are my adult chaperones going to be a help or a hindrance to a successful walk?

Today I had a great mix of kids, a true representation of our country; black kids, white, Mexican, Asian, and several kids of ethnically ambiguous origins. Soccer players, nerds, a couple of goofballs, and a student named Josh who I identified as being a bit out of shape but as the walk went along turned out to be a bright kid with a fabulous attitude.  My 2 counselors were a dad who worked in the oil fields of Kern Co. and a grandfather older than me, but I could tell by the way he carried himself he’d be fine.

After the introductions and a discussion about the scientific method, I explained to the students that our job today as we climb the mountain is to collect data and clues that can help us come up with a scientific explanation as to how this mountain got here.  After that off we go.

I always make it a point, early on in the walk to just go, to walk, set a fast pace, and then wait a ways up the trail. Usually, I’ll have 1 or 2 kids up with me and the rest are scrambling and running to catch up.  Invariably I’ll have a kid say “You have long legs, you walk too fast”. To which I always reply “No, I think y’all have short legs and you walk too slow.” It’s just a matter of perspective.

Then I tell them “I don’t care if you walk as fast as me, the only thing I care about is that you are trying your hardest.  As long as you’re trying your hardest you’ll get no grief from me; and after 33 years of doing this, believe me, I can tell when a kid is trying their hardest.”

As we climbed higher the views over the ocean grew and the breezes became fresher.  The long afternoon shadows stretched across the greening hills and we began to get high enough to be looking down on vultures and hawks soaring below us.

After a short stop in a little meadow to summarize our results and resolve our hypotheses using maps, peanut M&M’s, drawings, aerial photos, and Oreos we pressed on.

The last few switchbacks before the top the boys were puffing and Josh was bringing up the rear shepherded by the grandfather. I told him he was doing great and to take his time, you’ll make it and we’ll wait for you at the top.  By the last switchback, he was in tears but he doggedly pushed himself up the trail.  When he arrived at the top he threw up his arms and let out a yell while the rest of the boys spontaneously cheered for him and patted him on the back.

It was such a nice November spring afternoon sitting up there on that mountain with the boys, gazing over the ocean; the hills and dunes were turned golden by the southern sun descending into the sea.  The only sound was the breeze through the grasses and the distant waves rumbling to the shore.  We all just sat for several minutes listening to the world and marveling at the view. 

Afterward, we riddled our way down the mountain, and when finally down and walking to the bus to take us back to camp I had a boy named Gustavo, one of the talkative ones, the one always asking questions, any kind of questions, say to me, “I’ve done more walking this week than I ever have.  After climbing this mountain I should be tired, but I feel so alive.”

I turned and looked at him, nodding my head, we exchanged knowing smiles.  Here’s someone from the next generation who gets it, hopefully, he holds on to it.  Lord knows after all these years I should be tired but after days like this, I’m glad Gustavo reminded me why I’m still doing it, it keeps me alive.