For example, I knew that there were some vestiges of Busch Gardens (founded by Adolphus and Lilly Busch, of the Anheuser-Busch brewing conglomerate) in Pasadena, and I even knew the general area that they were in.
Making up for lost time and missed opportunities, one adventure at a time.
November 21, 2017
Photo Essay: Tracing the Remains of the First Busch Gardens
There's magic to be found in LA, but even if you know where to look and what you're looking for, it helps to have someone guide you.
For example, I knew that there were some vestiges of Busch Gardens (founded by Adolphus and Lilly Busch, of the Anheuser-Busch brewing conglomerate) in Pasadena, and I even knew the general area that they were in.
For example, I knew that there were some vestiges of Busch Gardens (founded by Adolphus and Lilly Busch, of the Anheuser-Busch brewing conglomerate) in Pasadena, and I even knew the general area that they were in.
Photo Essay: Upon the Grand Reopening of LA's Cold War Museum
I don't think a museum like the Wende would be able to exist on such a large scale in the LA area if its lease didn't cost a mere $1 per year.
That may be the biggest fiscal advantage of relocating our local "Cold War Museum" to the former National Guard Armory in Culver City...
...but there's also the exciting prospect of reactivating an abandoned but historic building and providing a more suitable spatial context for its collection than the small business park it was in before.
Of course, the Wende has such a large collection of former Eastern Bloc artifacts that it can't put them all on display at any one time in the new space...
...but from a curatorial perspective, the museum can now show a lot more all at once and be more strategic about its themed exhibitions.
After all, it's not all bronze-cast busts of Lenin (although there are a lot of those).
It's not even all Stalin.
In fact, upon its grand opening, the Wende displayed an entire tribute to the Soviet-era space industry, including an acknowledgment of Laika, the hero canine space cadet who became the first animal to orbit the Earth (and perished as a result).
Some of the artifacts are a bit more fanciful...
...and yet terrifying nevertheless.
Whether of East German, Russian, Hungarian, or Latvian origins, every artifact carries a certain gravitas—even the childhood toys.
And while the Soviet regime generally suppressed the fine arts, there were always exceptions—especially for those items that might benefit the state, like diplomatic gifts and propagandized glassware.
I can only imagine the kind of state-sanctioned programming that Eastern Bloc citizens were allowed to listen to on their radios...
...and what kind of contraband recordings or pirate broadcasts might've made their way through these speakers...
...though, given the Soviets' penchant for surveillance, it's doubtful that any of it would have gone undetected.
Was not every phone wiretapped?
Could any radio wave be trusted?
Weren't home electronics of the Cold War Era just another version of Russian spy equipment? (And are they any different now?)
Of course, there's no shortage of actual, unapologetic spy equipment in the Wende's arsenal, whether it's for recording...
...relaying covert messages and other top-secret communiqués (a.k.a. Kommuniques, коммюнике)...
...or just listening.
And perhaps the best indication of how advanced the Eastern Bloc countries were in their efforts to control the activities and movements of its people is the early (albeit analog) method of facial recognition that they developed and used at Checkpoint Charlie, the most heavily utilized access point along the Berlin Wall between East and West Germany.
It was a culture where people were presumed guilty and perhaps never given the opportunity to prove their innocence. Any opinion or criticism could get you deemed an "enemy of the state."
The Cold War officially ended in 1991, but it's not like the geopolitical tension has gone away. Communism is still alive and well in Cuba, China, North Korea, and Russia—though its activities may have gone a bit more underground than anyone realizes.
And Russian President Vladimir Putin would like nothing better than for the Soviet Union to rebuild and for Russia to reclaim the lands it lost to independence, like Ukraine.
It makes you wonder how long a historical institution like The Wende Museum will be able to rely solely on the events of the past, especially if we find ourselves facing a new Cold War.
That is, if we haven't already.
Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Southern California's Repository of Eastern Bloc Artifacts, Under Construction
Elegy For Those Who Won't Stay Quiet
That may be the biggest fiscal advantage of relocating our local "Cold War Museum" to the former National Guard Armory in Culver City...
...but there's also the exciting prospect of reactivating an abandoned but historic building and providing a more suitable spatial context for its collection than the small business park it was in before.
Of course, the Wende has such a large collection of former Eastern Bloc artifacts that it can't put them all on display at any one time in the new space...
...but from a curatorial perspective, the museum can now show a lot more all at once and be more strategic about its themed exhibitions.
After all, it's not all bronze-cast busts of Lenin (although there are a lot of those).
It's not even all Stalin.
In fact, upon its grand opening, the Wende displayed an entire tribute to the Soviet-era space industry, including an acknowledgment of Laika, the hero canine space cadet who became the first animal to orbit the Earth (and perished as a result).
Some of the artifacts are a bit more fanciful...
...and yet terrifying nevertheless.
Whether of East German, Russian, Hungarian, or Latvian origins, every artifact carries a certain gravitas—even the childhood toys.
And while the Soviet regime generally suppressed the fine arts, there were always exceptions—especially for those items that might benefit the state, like diplomatic gifts and propagandized glassware.
I can only imagine the kind of state-sanctioned programming that Eastern Bloc citizens were allowed to listen to on their radios...
...and what kind of contraband recordings or pirate broadcasts might've made their way through these speakers...
...though, given the Soviets' penchant for surveillance, it's doubtful that any of it would have gone undetected.
Was not every phone wiretapped?
Could any radio wave be trusted?
Weren't home electronics of the Cold War Era just another version of Russian spy equipment? (And are they any different now?)
Of course, there's no shortage of actual, unapologetic spy equipment in the Wende's arsenal, whether it's for recording...
...relaying covert messages and other top-secret communiqués (a.k.a. Kommuniques, коммюнике)...
...or just listening.
And perhaps the best indication of how advanced the Eastern Bloc countries were in their efforts to control the activities and movements of its people is the early (albeit analog) method of facial recognition that they developed and used at Checkpoint Charlie, the most heavily utilized access point along the Berlin Wall between East and West Germany.
It was a culture where people were presumed guilty and perhaps never given the opportunity to prove their innocence. Any opinion or criticism could get you deemed an "enemy of the state."
The Cold War officially ended in 1991, but it's not like the geopolitical tension has gone away. Communism is still alive and well in Cuba, China, North Korea, and Russia—though its activities may have gone a bit more underground than anyone realizes.
And Russian President Vladimir Putin would like nothing better than for the Soviet Union to rebuild and for Russia to reclaim the lands it lost to independence, like Ukraine.
It makes you wonder how long a historical institution like The Wende Museum will be able to rely solely on the events of the past, especially if we find ourselves facing a new Cold War.
That is, if we haven't already.
Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Southern California's Repository of Eastern Bloc Artifacts, Under Construction
Elegy For Those Who Won't Stay Quiet
November 19, 2017
True Colors
It can be heartbreaking when someone you like turns on you—but, when it comes down to it, it's a blessing.
Some people manage to get by wearing a mask of kindness or intelligence or charm—and even if their humor is occasionally blue, in general, they can seem innocuous.
But, as appearances aren't always what they seem, those well-liked and often respected people are actually the worst. Because underneath it all, they're red with rage, green with envy, yellow with fear, or black with hate.
Sometimes, they're a rainbow of all those things.
And when they finally show their true colors to you, well, it's better that you find out who they really are rather than be blindsided by it in a worse way later on.
No matter how much it may hurt.
There are certain times in life that bring out the worst in people. A death in the family, for example, is likely to tear even close siblings apart—especially when combined with yet another source of divisiveness, which is a fight over money.
And there's a reason why they say you should never discuss politics or religion. Both of those can really bring out the beast within.
Unfortunately, as I've discovered over the last few years, the same principle applies to the topic of sexual harassment and sexual assault.
As a general principle, I embrace spirited debate. I don't think everyone needs to agree with me, and I don't expect to agree with everyone else.
We are stronger in our diversity. And as long as the disagreement moves the conversation forward, it's OK.
It's better to talk about it than not talk about it. The secrecy and the silencing that surround these horrors just make the trauma worse and the problem more insidious.
So, I've braved the masses by speaking out about my own experiences in this arena, in hopes that I can give voice to those thoughts, feelings, and events that some others might not be able to so easily articulate. It's a dangerous path to follow, but it always seemed like the benefits to others outweighed the risks to myself.
Previously, it's aways been strangers or casual acquaintances who've belittled my experiences or blamed the victim—that is, blamed me for the abuse that's befallen me. And I've swiftly blocked them or removed them from my life. It hurts to hear things like "What did you think would happen?", but ultimately, you move past it and you make sure you never see that person again.
It's different when it comes from someone in your inner circle—maybe not a close friend per se, but a good friend of a good friend, someone who's around a lot and who might throw some cash your way if you were desperate.
And that's exactly what happened to me this week.
It's taken me a couple of days to wrap my head around the circumstances, but thanks to giving it some careful thought, I've come up with two helpful conclusions.
First, this person is not important enough to me to make me cry the way I did.
And second, it has nothing to do with me. This is all on them.
The statement I felt compelled to respond to was this:
"Let's not listen to the women who actually worked with him... Let's listen to an Ex-hooters waitress, Playboy bunny who has flashed her T and A for a living.... I've spent too much time with the Male species to know that Frat boy behavior is indemic [sic] in our culture and the male species.....sorry women...but men are pigs...not excusing it..just calling it what it is.... She wasn't a lily in the night."This type of commentary sets a dangerous precedent and makes a slippery slope argument. Sure, there may be other reasons to discredit a woman who has claimed harassment or assault from a coworker. She may not be trustworthy at all.
But even sluts can be harassed and assaulted. And shaming them doesn't help.
So, while reading lots of comments and replies—some in agreement, others in vehement disagreement—I researched and verified the facts.
And after formulating my own opinion, I responded thus:
"Honestly I find your perspective on this appalling and disturbing and while I really am trying to understand where you're coming from, I think this is a very clear illustration of why this is still a problem and why it may always be.... There are untold numbers of people getting groped without their consent out there -- awake and asleep, male and female, gay and straight -- and it can very easily become a slippery slope argument....This was clearly "blue" humor but how many of these people would say "I was just joking"? Legally, the line is usually drawn at consent -- something that can't happen while you're asleep, high, drunk, or underage."And furthermore:
"'Senstivity training' in a professional environment would tell you to not go there, at all, ever. No jokes, no comments about appearance, no questions about dating or romance or sex or anything. I really don't think any industry is or should be exempt from that -- entertainment, hospitality, sports, none of it. Even in the porn industry, if someone penetrates you while the cameras are NOT rolling and WITHOUT your consent. That's rape. It doesn't make it not rape just because you're a porn actor or even just because you may have had sex with the person in the past. (And that's an argument that dates back at least to the late 1970s/early '80s when judges had to be convinced that it was possible for a husband to rape his wife.)"And finally:
"There's a lot to unpack here, and being a blowhard about it isn't helping. And I'm betting that I'm not the only female Facebook friend of yours that feels alienated and retraumatized by this thread."I am somewhat of an authority on this matter, unfortunately. I've attended mandatory, staff-wide sensitivity training. I've worked in multiple industries, including entertainment. And I have been victimized by coworkers, bosses, classmates, dates, and friends.
Yet the person who I dared call out on the carpet, in a classic show of narcissism and lack of empathy, made it all about him, accusing me of vilifying him with rage. He reached out to me privately and told me I shouldn't have commented at all. And he scoffed at the notion of retraumatizing me.
At first, I chalked it up to a misunderstanding, so I tried to explain myself. I hadn't been angry at him for what he said. I just thought he was horribly and dangerously wrong.
But the more I responded to him with compassion and clarity, the more vitriolic he became. And then, of course, he pegged the vitriol on me.
He was so accusatory, in fact, that I told him he was scaring me.
His response? In essence: Give me a frigging break.
As horrible as I thought what he posted was, I hadn't been angry at him for that. This is a self-professed "progressive" father and husband who has marched for women's rights, so I thought that his intentions might have been good but that he'd been misled or misguided somehow, that his sense of feminism had somehow been warped in the heat of the moment.
But instead of illustrating a bad thing that someone may have done, he got trapped in that old virgin/whore complex.
It's understandable, and I can't even really blame him for that. This is why we speak up. Silence reinforces the misinformation.
What I can blame him for, however, is his abhorrent behavior in the aftermath. I didn't deserve to be attacked or belittled. Not for what's happened to me, and not for talking about it.
But that's what showed me his true colors. And for that, I'm grateful—despite the tears and the trauma.
Because this is not a person I want in my life.
Related Posts:
Don't Blame It On Me
Open Letter to Our New President
November 12, 2017
At the Center of the World, History Is Dead. Long Live History. (Updated for 2018)
[Ed: New photos addd 2/17/18 9:29 AM PT]
If you were to visit a place that's touted as the "Center of the World," you might think you'd find it in Egypt, Israel, along the equator somewhere, or at the North or South Poles.
But then again, since Planet Earth is more or less a perfect sphere, pretty much anywhere you go on its surface can be construed as the "center."
Wherever you go, there you are. And so on.
If you were to ask anyone at the Imperial County office or the Institut Geographique National of the Government of France, however, by law they'd have to tell you that the Center of the World is in Felicity, California.
And for that—and all of the other attractions found in Felicity, the town he founded in 1986 and named after his wife Felicia—we have a French-born aeronaut named Jacques-Andre Istel to thank.
A pioneer in both sport and military free-fall parachuting, Istel is widely considered the "father of skydiving"...
...but he's also the author of a children's book called Coe: The Good Dragon at the Center of the World.
Using the tale as inspiration, Istel built an actual pyramid in the desert, just like there is in the book—only this one is in the southeastern corner of California just a few miles west of Yuma, Arizona and just east of the Imperial Sand Dunes.
Istel also more or less elected himself mayor of Felicity and has since operated the "Center of the World" as a roadside tourist attraction.
You need his set of keys to get inside the pyramid where the actual "center" is, and you need his signature to make your souvenir certificate official.
And you can only do that pretty much between Thanksgiving and Easter, when the weather isn't quite so brutally hot there.
However, the grounds are more or less open all year, so it's easy enough to occupy yourself with the Museum of History in Granite...
...a series of 21 monuments comprised of various engraved and etched granite panels covering the History of the United States of America, the History of California, the History of Arizona, and the History of Humanity.
With some granite panels still blank, this "museum" is a work-in-progress that's made Mayor Istel somewhat of a significant historian of his time—though, based on the geometry and geography of Felicity, some might be apt to think he's something of an occultist.
In actuality, he built The Church on the Hill at Felicity and dedicated it in 2008 with the blessing of both Monsignor Richard W. O'Keeffe (on behalf of the Catholic Church) and Reverend Arthur P.Stanley (on behalf of Her Britannic Majesty's Forces).
It sits atop on the manmade "Hill of Prayer," engineered in 1996 and created in 2002 out of 150,000 tons of dirt with the sole purpose of keeping the chapel as the highest building in town.
.With a design inspired by La Chapelle Notre-Dame d’Espérance in Brittany, France...
...it seems an appropriate landmark for a town whose name is derived from the ancient Roman term for divine happiness and blessedness—felicitas.
But there's also something unsettling about the town of Felicity, especially when it's not officially open.
The wind is brutal up there on that fake hill, not blocked by the chapel and, in fact, even perhaps worsened by it. The sand from the nearby dunes gives the entire compound a dusty pallor.
The monuments in the array stand there like triangular tombstones that memorialize events that have passed in short epitaphs, lest we forget.
Not surprisingly, they're the handiwork of master carver Ron Clamp of Memorial Design, a company that specializes in grave markers, headstones, mausolea, and other funerary monuments.
But, though they were built to last 4000 years, there's only so much room on those panels—so, by necessity, the histories etched in Missouri red granite are selective and incomplete. The "Rosetta Stone" is inscribed with only a tiny sliver of the languages that actually exist throughout humanity.
But it's impossible to always tell the whole story. There's always something you've got to leave out to avoid digression and oversaturation. And besides, the Museum of History in Granite is just a fraction of what there is to do and see in Felicity, too.
There's also the "railroad station," which looks like it's just for show but is located pretty close to the Southern Pacific Railway line that runs more or less parallel to the 8 Freeway from Yuma (and points beyond) to Sidewinder Road just east of Felicity. There, it bears northwest through the ghost town of Ogilby, where it once serviced the American Girl gold mine (on land now managed by the BLM).
And just as there's a station with no train, there's also a disembodied, rusted iron staircase—intriguingly once part of the Eiffel Tower in Mayor Istel's hometown of Paris, France.
One of 20 such sections from 1889 that were removed for safety reasons and sold at auction in 1983, this one—number 12 (Escalier élément no. 12 de la tour d'Eiffel)—weighs 6,600 pounds and stands 25 feet high in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.
It's missing its tower, and its tower is missing its original staircase. And, presented as an orphan sculpture, it serves no other purpose.
L'histoire est morte. Vive l'histoire.
Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Storybook Wedding Chapel of Forest Lawn Cemetery
Photo Essay: A Fake Cemetery (with Real Headstones)
My High Desert Hideaway
Photo Essay: (Frank) Lloyd Wright's Joshua Tree Retreat
Photo Essay: The Triforium, A Disco Spaceship Gone Dark
If you were to visit a place that's touted as the "Center of the World," you might think you'd find it in Egypt, Israel, along the equator somewhere, or at the North or South Poles.
But then again, since Planet Earth is more or less a perfect sphere, pretty much anywhere you go on its surface can be construed as the "center."
Wherever you go, there you are. And so on.
If you were to ask anyone at the Imperial County office or the Institut Geographique National of the Government of France, however, by law they'd have to tell you that the Center of the World is in Felicity, California.
And for that—and all of the other attractions found in Felicity, the town he founded in 1986 and named after his wife Felicia—we have a French-born aeronaut named Jacques-Andre Istel to thank.
circa 2018
...but he's also the author of a children's book called Coe: The Good Dragon at the Center of the World.
Using the tale as inspiration, Istel built an actual pyramid in the desert, just like there is in the book—only this one is in the southeastern corner of California just a few miles west of Yuma, Arizona and just east of the Imperial Sand Dunes.
circa 2018
circa 2018
circa 2018
circa 2018
...a series of 21 monuments comprised of various engraved and etched granite panels covering the History of the United States of America, the History of California, the History of Arizona, and the History of Humanity.
With some granite panels still blank, this "museum" is a work-in-progress that's made Mayor Istel somewhat of a significant historian of his time—though, based on the geometry and geography of Felicity, some might be apt to think he's something of an occultist.
In actuality, he built The Church on the Hill at Felicity and dedicated it in 2008 with the blessing of both Monsignor Richard W. O'Keeffe (on behalf of the Catholic Church) and Reverend Arthur P.Stanley (on behalf of Her Britannic Majesty's Forces).
It sits atop on the manmade "Hill of Prayer," engineered in 1996 and created in 2002 out of 150,000 tons of dirt with the sole purpose of keeping the chapel as the highest building in town.
circa 2018
circa 2018
But there's also something unsettling about the town of Felicity, especially when it's not officially open.
The wind is brutal up there on that fake hill, not blocked by the chapel and, in fact, even perhaps worsened by it. The sand from the nearby dunes gives the entire compound a dusty pallor.
The monuments in the array stand there like triangular tombstones that memorialize events that have passed in short epitaphs, lest we forget.
Not surprisingly, they're the handiwork of master carver Ron Clamp of Memorial Design, a company that specializes in grave markers, headstones, mausolea, and other funerary monuments.
But, though they were built to last 4000 years, there's only so much room on those panels—so, by necessity, the histories etched in Missouri red granite are selective and incomplete. The "Rosetta Stone" is inscribed with only a tiny sliver of the languages that actually exist throughout humanity.
But it's impossible to always tell the whole story. There's always something you've got to leave out to avoid digression and oversaturation. And besides, the Museum of History in Granite is just a fraction of what there is to do and see in Felicity, too.
There's also the "railroad station," which looks like it's just for show but is located pretty close to the Southern Pacific Railway line that runs more or less parallel to the 8 Freeway from Yuma (and points beyond) to Sidewinder Road just east of Felicity. There, it bears northwest through the ghost town of Ogilby, where it once serviced the American Girl gold mine (on land now managed by the BLM).
And just as there's a station with no train, there's also a disembodied, rusted iron staircase—intriguingly once part of the Eiffel Tower in Mayor Istel's hometown of Paris, France.
One of 20 such sections from 1889 that were removed for safety reasons and sold at auction in 1983, this one—number 12 (Escalier élément no. 12 de la tour d'Eiffel)—weighs 6,600 pounds and stands 25 feet high in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.
It's missing its tower, and its tower is missing its original staircase. And, presented as an orphan sculpture, it serves no other purpose.
L'histoire est morte. Vive l'histoire.
Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Storybook Wedding Chapel of Forest Lawn Cemetery
Photo Essay: A Fake Cemetery (with Real Headstones)
My High Desert Hideaway
Photo Essay: (Frank) Lloyd Wright's Joshua Tree Retreat
Photo Essay: The Triforium, A Disco Spaceship Gone Dark
November 11, 2017
Photo Essay: The Shrinking Southern Tip of the Salton Sea
We call the Salton Sea a ghost town, but that's a misnomer—not only because the sea is so huge that its surrounding area is comprised of many towns, but also because it's still considered a significant recreation area by the State of California and wildlife habitat by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
At the southern tip of the Salton Sea, there's the Sonny Bono National Wildlife Refuge—perhaps an obvious choice of places to visit while you're visiting the salty sea, but it took me nearly 10 years to get there.
I guess I expected it to be nice there, which would be contrary to the narrative that had been unfolding before me—of a "poisonous playa" or a watery wasteland.
But even this federally-managed site is struggling, as its shoreline recedes and the habitat for a number of birds, fish, and invertebrates disappears.
For eons, the Salton Sea has been an important bird migration spot along the Pacific Flyway—but this year, the birds haven't been coming in droves as much as before, despite the five manmade "nursery islands" that were installed to provide a safe nesting place (and the freshwater that's pumped in).
Sure, you might see a Black Skimmer, eared grebe, or black-necked stilt here or there...
...but by and large, this prehistoric, otherworldly landscape is characterized more as a dry, rock desert that was once underwater but may never be again.
In 1987, Field & Stream called the Salton Sea "California's most productive fishery in terms of catch per angler hour," citing Rock Hill as one of the more popular fishing areas (despite toxic levels of selenium being found in all species of fish caught except tilapia).
Not so much anymore. But these 32,766 acres surrounding and including Rock Hill—a small, inactive volcano surrounded by obsidian—were set aside as a sanctuary and breeding ground for wildlife all the way back in 1930. The sea has shrunken since then. Its shores have morphed even since 1998, when the refuge was renamed in honor of 1960s pop star, Palm Springs mayor, and California congressman Sonny Bono.
Two rivers actually feed into this area—the New River and the Alamo River—but because the sea has no outlet, the freshwater just mixes with the salty sludge and the irrigation runoff from nearby farmland and then evaporates, leaving a trail of particulate matter and mineral dust in its wake. Hence the annual fish die-offs, as well as the zero-visibility dust storm I'd driven through the day before.
A stone's throw from Rock Hill is the aptly-named Red Hill, where county, state, and federal officials have already broken ground on a 420-acre restoration project to protect the bay and marina area as a shallow-water wetland habitat. But it's so dry there now, you can't even tell.
At 227 feet below sea level, this dry lakebed hasn't seen water in quite some time, though reportedly it was once hip-deep.
Even the summit of "Red Hill"—another volcano, which was once an island in the sea—is only about 100 feet higher than that, still below "sea level." As a result of the low elevation, you can experience a kind of reverse altitude sickness that results in hypoxia (lack of oxygen).
Campers still come here to spend the night, though, and rockhounds and gem and mineralists search for volcanic rock like pumice and volcanic glass like obsidian.
With all this volcanic activity (and a geothermal reservoir that's one of the world’s most potent), it's no wonder that there are so many geothermal power plants that operate in this region to convert the heat bubbling up from the ground into usable, clean, and sustainable energy.
That means much of the activity that's happening in the Red Hill area is underfoot. Even on a not-so-hot day, there's not much happening above ground at the nearby county park or the so-called marina.
The water that you see there is part of the Alamo River Delta, but the docks are sinking into the sink...
...the tethers no longer toil, with the lack of tides.
But an alien landscape isn't far beneath the rippled surface of the beleaguered sea, that salty, sulfuric lake that once had too much water and now doesn't have enough.
In fact, 2017 is the last year that irrigation waters will be diverted into the sea to mitigate the potential dust problem. Experts estimate that the Salton Sea will continue to shrink—even more quickly than before—in 2018.
And 10 years from now, the Salton Sea will consist of nearly 100 square miles of exposed dry lakebed.
Related Posts:
Retreading Old Ground
Leave No Trace
Photo Essay: Lost City of the Muddy Valley
At the southern tip of the Salton Sea, there's the Sonny Bono National Wildlife Refuge—perhaps an obvious choice of places to visit while you're visiting the salty sea, but it took me nearly 10 years to get there.
I guess I expected it to be nice there, which would be contrary to the narrative that had been unfolding before me—of a "poisonous playa" or a watery wasteland.
But even this federally-managed site is struggling, as its shoreline recedes and the habitat for a number of birds, fish, and invertebrates disappears.
For eons, the Salton Sea has been an important bird migration spot along the Pacific Flyway—but this year, the birds haven't been coming in droves as much as before, despite the five manmade "nursery islands" that were installed to provide a safe nesting place (and the freshwater that's pumped in).
Sure, you might see a Black Skimmer, eared grebe, or black-necked stilt here or there...
...but by and large, this prehistoric, otherworldly landscape is characterized more as a dry, rock desert that was once underwater but may never be again.
In 1987, Field & Stream called the Salton Sea "California's most productive fishery in terms of catch per angler hour," citing Rock Hill as one of the more popular fishing areas (despite toxic levels of selenium being found in all species of fish caught except tilapia).
Not so much anymore. But these 32,766 acres surrounding and including Rock Hill—a small, inactive volcano surrounded by obsidian—were set aside as a sanctuary and breeding ground for wildlife all the way back in 1930. The sea has shrunken since then. Its shores have morphed even since 1998, when the refuge was renamed in honor of 1960s pop star, Palm Springs mayor, and California congressman Sonny Bono.
Two rivers actually feed into this area—the New River and the Alamo River—but because the sea has no outlet, the freshwater just mixes with the salty sludge and the irrigation runoff from nearby farmland and then evaporates, leaving a trail of particulate matter and mineral dust in its wake. Hence the annual fish die-offs, as well as the zero-visibility dust storm I'd driven through the day before.
A stone's throw from Rock Hill is the aptly-named Red Hill, where county, state, and federal officials have already broken ground on a 420-acre restoration project to protect the bay and marina area as a shallow-water wetland habitat. But it's so dry there now, you can't even tell.
At 227 feet below sea level, this dry lakebed hasn't seen water in quite some time, though reportedly it was once hip-deep.
Even the summit of "Red Hill"—another volcano, which was once an island in the sea—is only about 100 feet higher than that, still below "sea level." As a result of the low elevation, you can experience a kind of reverse altitude sickness that results in hypoxia (lack of oxygen).
Campers still come here to spend the night, though, and rockhounds and gem and mineralists search for volcanic rock like pumice and volcanic glass like obsidian.
With all this volcanic activity (and a geothermal reservoir that's one of the world’s most potent), it's no wonder that there are so many geothermal power plants that operate in this region to convert the heat bubbling up from the ground into usable, clean, and sustainable energy.
That means much of the activity that's happening in the Red Hill area is underfoot. Even on a not-so-hot day, there's not much happening above ground at the nearby county park or the so-called marina.
The water that you see there is part of the Alamo River Delta, but the docks are sinking into the sink...
...the tethers no longer toil, with the lack of tides.
But an alien landscape isn't far beneath the rippled surface of the beleaguered sea, that salty, sulfuric lake that once had too much water and now doesn't have enough.
In fact, 2017 is the last year that irrigation waters will be diverted into the sea to mitigate the potential dust problem. Experts estimate that the Salton Sea will continue to shrink—even more quickly than before—in 2018.
And 10 years from now, the Salton Sea will consist of nearly 100 square miles of exposed dry lakebed.
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