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June 11, 2012

Los Angeles River's Beautiful Ugly

Technically, it's still illegal to visit the Los Angeles River, a feature of Los Angeles' past and present which exists somewhere between watershed project, natural resource, real estate development, and public open space.

For years, the river's locked gates have been a beacon for homeless, gang members, and the other disenfranchised, disadvantaged, and ne'er do wells of the city.

There are stretches of it which have been turned into greenways with bike paths and river walks, but technically, it's still illegal to go there.

Thankfully, on Sunday, we had a key. And a permit.



The Los Angeles River isn't known so much as a river but as a concrete channel that cuts through the city. Because of the films and TV shows that have featured it over the years, most people know it more as a white-washed, dry ditch hidden in the nether regions of LA, home to body-dumping, skateboarding, and drag racing à la Thunder Road.



But thanks to a water reclamation project, for the first time since the river was covered in concrete as a flood control measure, there's a steady supply of water to the river, which was once fed by a number of creeks and tributaries in a time when LA was actually quite wet.



You can see the beginnings of the LA River at Owensmouth Avenue in Canoga Park (formerly called Owensmouth), where the Arroyo Calabasas meets the Bell Creek. Their concrete walls are conveniently labelled as such.



At the headwaters, the LA River lives up to almost all of its stereotypes: it's industrial, rusted, abandoned, green, and slimy. We didn't see any cadavers but there were a few healthy pigeons enjoying a bath.



A short distance away, near Balboa Park in Encino, the LA River becomes a real river at Sepulveda Basin, one of three soft bottom stretches of the waterway....



...near the Sepulveda Dam which was also built to control the floods that ravaged the Valley in the 1930s.



But whereas most of the Valley was left with a channelized, hot, dry, concrete-floored "river," Sepulveda Basin has managed to thrive as an open space with a nearby wildlife refuge.



We felt confident enough to actually get in the water with our bare feet...



...dodging mostly rocks and plants and birds...



...and the occasional gook.



The area is wild to visit because it looks quite similar to the stretches of the river that run through downtown, with the various bridge crossings and the high-banked sides...



...but this section, though not swimmable, would be fully navigable by water vessel.



And unlike Glendale Narrows, another soft-bottom section where nature has more or less taken over and the waters continue to break up the concrete floor, whose fragments simply float away, this section seems almost untouched. I wanted to spend all day there.



Instead we moved on to visit The Great Wall of Los Angeles, an extensive mural project that runs for a half mile along the concrete walls of the Tujunga Wash, a tributary of the Los Angeles River in the Valley Glen area...



...depicting the history of various ethnic minorities in California from prehistoric times to the 1950s, as well as other pop cultural and social milestone events like the Baby Boom and the birth of Rock and Roll.



The mural, like much of the LA River, lies behind a fence.



In fact, for the last 60+ years, it seems that all people have done is try to hide the LA River - limiting its access, obscuring the view of it with hedges...



...and turning their houses and buildings away from it.



At least now, when you're driving through downtown, or Studio City, or Burbank, you get to see those blue and white signs identifying the river, so you have some sense of its crossings...



But it's impossible to follow the river from beginning to end, or along any long stretches - by foot, bike, or car (or boat). It's a stop-and-start waterway that sometimes sends you walking in circles, the path dead-ending at, for example, CBS Studios, which is not letting in recreational visitors anytime soon.

For those of us obsessed with uncovering the hidden treasures of LA, exploring their beauty where others only find ugliness, the LA River has tremendous draw.

But those who have dreams for the river wish to remove the concrete and restore it back to its natural state.

Even upon my second day-long visit, I don't want to change it. I just want to get to it.

Related Reading:
Los Angeles River's Ugly Beauty

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April 10, 2017

Damage Control

I found myself back in a kayak today for the first time in nearly four years.



July 25, 2012

Plenty of Room to Paddle



"I'm kayaking the LA River tomorrow afternoon," I typed to my friend Michael, who's always asking me what I'm up to, living somewhat vicariously through me.

"U NEVER FAIL ME SANDI!" he replied.

For a second, I felt good. I always feel kind of admired when Michael marvels at how busy I keep myself.

But then, he wrote, "Honestly, you move so much, it's hard for a guy to find you. You're a moving target! .... U have to stay in one place long enough."

"A four-hour hike is not long enough?" I retorted. "Three hours in the library?" Those extended time blocks always feel like an eternity to me.

Michael then clarified: "Being on the move too much is not helpful for 'settling down.'"

Oh.



Even if that is the problem with my singlehood, I don't care.

Everyone says, "It'll happen when you least expect it," or, "when you're not looking."

So I live.



I kayak my way under bridges that people drive, walk, and bike across.



I am just trying to live a good life, be a good person, learn new things, and work on crafting whatever artistic talent I may have.



The desire to be a stable, suitable wife is not going to keep me off a notoriously toxic, polluted industrial river, whose raging rapids halted our kayak excursion...



...in order to explore the rusted relics that litter the lagoons and waterfalls.



Why should I not want to paddle everywhere I can? Why shouldn't I want to see the city from more than just the driver's seat of my car?



Wildflowers line the LA River.



Who else gets to see that?



Who else has witnessed a perched egret on a dead tree branch, or a huge heron flapping its wings overhead?



The LA River has been abused, rerouted, channelized, and polluted. But there is a stretch of it in the Valley, which feels pristine, whose depth reaches as much as eight feet, making it a real river, with a soft bottom, and plenty of room to paddle.

(There are, of course, other parts that are so shallow, you drag the bottom of your kayak along the bottom of the river, and use your paddle to merely push yourself off the lagoon you've found yourself landed upon.)

I know that I'm not going to meet Prince Charming on a kayak tour of the LA River. (I wish!) But that's not the point. I have to do what I want to do, and let the rest fall into place.

If it never does (which it looks like it's not going to), so be it. At least I've lived the life I've wanted to live.

Related Posts:
Los Angeles River's Ugly Beauty
Los Angeles River's Beautiful Ugly
Kayaking the Salton Sea
Photo Essay: Bronx River Estuary Paddle
Mono Lake: From Shore to Surface

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March 23, 2018

Monstrous Fun In Concrete and Steel

Just a few miles east of Los Angeles, in the San Gabriel Valley between the Puente Hills and the Montebello Hills, you'll find an area known as Whittier Narrows.

This former floodplain was urbanized and developed in the mid-20th century, its overflowing waters from the San Gabriel River and the Rio Hondo channelized into a reservoir by the Whittier Narrows Dam.

It's just another example of how communities tried to tame the wild nature of Southern California.

But some things cannot be contained or tamed.

This is true of monsters—whether of the land or sea—and of the monstrous children whom they fascinate.

Mexico City-born artist Benjamin Dominguez (1894-1974) seemed to understand this when he shifted his career focus away from zoo enclosures and concrete sculptures made to look like wood (faux bois a.k.a. trabajo rustico) and towards fantastical play areas in cities like El Paso and Las Vegas (whose "Fantasy Park" has been demolished).

His concrete beasts really captured the imaginations of the beastly tots who climbed them, despite their being unsafe for climbing.

And they still do.



September 21, 2020

Photo Essay: A Preserve of Wetlands and Willows In the South Bay's 'Garden Spot' City

The Gardena Willows Wetland Preserve in the South Bay city of Gardena, California is only open on the second Sunday and fourth Saturday of the month—and after months of pandemic closure, it's now reopened by advance reservation only.
   
It's easy to miss, with the Meadowlark Manor senior housing tucked into its corner, and its entrance tucked onto the corner of the city's Johnson Park. 


Upon entering the preserve, you take the North Loop trail going clockwise, starting to your left...


...past laurel sumac and an observation deck enshrouded in overgrowth...
 

...and you quickly forget you're anywhere near the 91/110 freeway interchange (or the LA metro area for that matter). 

 
Gardena may have gotten its name for being a "garden spot" (a factoid somewhat under dispute), but most of the city looks nothing like the land that the Tongva people lived off of—and that drew Spanish and Mexican rancho owners like the the Dominguez and Rosecrans families in the 19th century. 


But what's now hidden—though visible within "The Willows"—is marshland that's part of the 110-square-mile Dominguez Watershed. It was once fed by a "river" that got concretized into a flood control canal now known as the Dominguez Channel. 


Fortunately, this last remaining bit of the Laguna Dominguez Slough (or "swamp") is teeming with life—and not just monarch butterflies. 
 
 
On a hot and steamy August morning, there was plenty of greenery to behold—plus not-yet-dormant buckwheat and still-thriving wildflowers. 

 
It's amazing that a region that struggles with drought would spend so much time cutting off its water sources. 


The Willows nearly got filled in during the mid-1970s, when the City of Gardena floated such ideas as building a convention center there. 

 
Today, its 9.4 acres of wetland includes a riparian forest of water-loving trees (including multiple species of willows), shrubs, and other vegetation that form tree tunnels and a shady canopy for local critters and visitors alike. 

 
And besides the flower blossoms, oak acorns, willow seeds, and unfallen leaves, there are also unexpected outcroppings of fruit...

 
...like the native and ripened lemonade berry, whose flavor lives up to its name. 


During normal times, you'd be able to learn about all these botanical wonders and more at Mother Nature's Backyard, a nature center located on part of The Willows' 4 acres of upland terrain. 
 
 
But with it closed for COVID-19, you've got to just keep going to complete the loop...

 
...crossing the Zigzag bridge (which hopefully keeps evil spirits away like it's supposed to)...

 
...and finishing up the South Loop Trail at the Stream Bridge. 


On my way into the Willows preserve, I was rushing too much to notice the wall of hybrid grapevines, known as "Roger’s Red" grape (Vitis californica "Roger's Red"), along the entrance path. But fortunately, my exit was much more leisurely—so I got a good look at the wild purple grapes and the green leaves that hadn't yet turned their fall red color. I hear that the red foliage is spectacular once it turns. 

Google Satellite View

As I was leaving, I couldn't quite believe where I'd just been—though while inside the preserve, I did catch glimpses of the traffic running up and down Vermont Avenue. But watching that urban scene through the fence was like peeking into some other world that I'd managed to escape—and somehow no longer seemed real. 

We've paved over so much. It's easy to forget what's underneath—like the the underlying riverbeds channelized by concrete. 

Even our green spaces are industrialized—built environments consisting of parking lots, playground equipment, artificial turf, manmade ponds, and other facilities. 

I'll take a little corner of wild land over a planned park any day. 

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