Did you mean to come here?
Or are you lost?
Because this hopelessly bleak territory is practically nowhere.
It's crispy and crumbly and blanketed with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs the way old, abandoned places always are.
The parched earth, desperately dehydrated, disintegrates to dust in your hand. Save for the bones of some sporadic, deserted cattle farms and some distant hills that rise up from the valley floors, only a monotonous panorama of colorless grasses blown flat by fierce winds unfolds before you in every direction.
Past the breeze in the tumbleweeds and the seldom calls of some visiting songbirds.
Do you hear that?
That's the sound of almost absolute silence.
What is this place?
This, my friends, is the Carrizo Plain National Monument (and it's my favorite secret place that I almost don't want to tell you about.)
Nestled in a high valley between San Luis Obispo and Bakersfield, the Carrizo Plain, declared a national monument in 2001, is a seemingly forgotten grasslands tucked into the southwest corner of the San Joaquin Valley, the Caliente Range running through the monument and the Sierra Madre Mountains lying just to the west. It spreads out across an impressive 250,000 acres (just a small percentage of the natural landscape that used to be completely widespread throughout the region), yet it is still one of the largest National Monuments in California that you probably haven't even heard of, let alone visited.
Because what possible things of interest could be found in such an impossible place as this?
Look closer.
Closer!
Because the Carrizo Plain not only boasts a remarkably beautiful landscape, but also, some precious geographic features specific to its region.
Perhaps the most prevalent feature of the plains is the San Andres Fault Line, the slippery yet sticky boundary between two of earth's tectonic plates. At about 28 million years old, the 220 miles of the San Andreas Fault that visibly splits the surface of the northeast side of the Carrizo Plain, is actually the oldest section along the entire fault zone. It is the inevitable movement of these earth plates that is responsible for the biggest earthquakes in California, including the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco that killed over 3,000 people and destroyed 80 percent of the city. And it's still moving, gradually. The grinding plates and resulting earthquakes are slowly warping and reshaping California's geography, so that in a few million years you can bet that California will look very different than it does today.
One of the largest soda lakes in all of California can also be found in the Carrizo Plain. Did you know that?
The 3,000 acre, 5-mile-long, alkaline lake, called Soda Lake, is located at the southwest side of the park and serves as the main attraction for many of the monument's visitors. A short trail (.9 miles) that begins at Soda Lake Road, leads curious climbers and hopeful birdwatchers along the edge of the lake that, for most of the year, is totally dry. When the water from the lake is completely evaporated, a crystally, white crust of sodium sulfates and carbonates is left behind, offering a shimmering dance floor for pale dust-devils of soda and salt to waltz across when winds are high.
If you're into art, there's something at the Carrizo Plain for you, too, as some of the finest Native American rock art can be found in the monument. The Painted Rock pictograph site, an imposing structure that rises out of the valley floor near the base of the Caliente Range, is actually recognized internationally as among the best examples of ancient rock art in the world. About 3,000 – 4,000 years ago, Native Americans here began to paint their sacred images within the alcoves of the rock for reasons still largely unknown. Today, unfortunately, the paintings have suffered from the disruptive hands of generations of visitors, and as a result, access to the site is now limited. Still, you can see paintings between 200 and 1,000-years-old on the interior walls of the rock structure on guided tours or self-guided tours offered by permit.
(Reports of vandalism and irresponsible behavior in nature are why I'm sometimes so hesitant to share my stories of these special places with you. It is important to respect our surroundings, wildlife and the glorious artifacts left behind by those that came before us so that they can be preserved for future enjoyment and educational purposes. I promise I'll continue to share, but will you promise to be a respectful visitor while you're here on this planet, please?)
What's more is that the Carrizo Plain isn't just a place for enjoying spectacular geography, but also, animal life. In the flutes of the fault or the grazing grasses are lots of opportunities to spot species of rare wildlife.
It seems impossible that any life could be sustained in a place of such extremes, heat and drought and otherwise, but the animals that call the Carrizo Plain home don't just survive. In fact, they thrive in its acute conditions and stark desolation.
For example, the Carrizo Plain is actually home to 15 unique species of endangered animals, the highest concentration of threatened and endangered wildlife in all of California. Sadly, this territory may rest the fate of such species as the California jewelflower, San Joaquin kit fox, mountain plover, blunt-nosed leopard lizard, pronghorn antelope and the giant kangaroo rat but for now the isolation is protective.
Yet, not all animal life on the plain is threatened. Watch out carefully and quietly for abundant Tule Elk, black-tailed deer, bobcats and mountain lions, coyotes and ground squirrels roaming the land.
The Carrizo Plain is also the largest protected habitat along the Pacific Flyway making it a birdwatcher’s paradise. Here, birders with binoculars can catch glimpses of prairie falcons, burrowing owls, sage sparrows, and a variety of hawks, eagles soaring in wide circles overhead.
At certain times of the year in the Carrizo Plain, wildlife positively flourishes. Last year, when an extraordinary Super Bloom brought on by heavy winter rains swept across the plains, the territory of normally dry and ashen grasslands was transformed into a magnificent garden of wildflowers, the undulating hills and valley floors suddenly carpeted with brilliant shades of yellow and orange and periwinkle.
I've been coming to the Carrizo Plain for years.
I remember when I was younger, my dad would pile my brothers and I into the car, early in the morning, eager to depart.
He'd always drive us to the south entrance of the monument, always by way of State Route 166, always stopping at Mortenson's Bakery in Solvang for cherry danish and double espressos along the way. At the exit for Route 166 in Santa Maria, he'd roll down all the windows all the way, and any Dixie Chick ballads or Vin Scully narrations of Dodger baseball games playing over the speakers were instantly drowned out by hot, inland winds whipping through the car.
On our trips to Carrizo my brothers and I would spend the day taking turns gazing through my dad's binoculars, trying to catch flashes of fast, far-away birds, chasing after cows in small herds and challenging each other to running races to designated markers on the horizon.
We'd feast on a picnic lunch of squished peanut butter and honey sandwiches on San Luis Obispo sourdough, beef jerky slices and a whole watermelons and then we'd chase the sticky, dry sandwiches down with lukewarm water bottle chugs.
I learned how to drive in the Carrizo Plain. My dad let me sit in the drivers seat of our old, beat-up, baby blue, Honda Previa that looked like a jelly bean when I was just 12-years-old. I pulled the car into drive and coasted along the flat, empty, road until I was bored with driving in a straight line at 15 MPH.
I always knew, even before we moved to California, that I had wanted to take Tim to Carrizo. For nostalgia sake for me and for adventures sake for him.
When we went in November and I was so excited to visit, because I hadn't been for about five years.
I piled Tim into the car, early in the morning, eager to to depart.
From Santa Barbara, there are a couple of different ways to get there, as the Carrizo Plain is sandwiched between two east-west running freeways, State Routes 58 and 166, both of which are accessible by interstates US-101 and the US-5.
We drove south to Route 33 in Ojai and took it all the way to where it meets the 166 near New Cuyama (where the south entrance to the monument is not much further down the road). We went by way of Ojai instead of Santa Maria because it's a splendid and beautiful drive on a two-lane highway which weaves through the back-country. And because Google Maps told me that this was the quickest route to Carrizo. In November, crisp air and clear visibility on the drive inland granted sweeping views of rolling hills colored by the rich foliage of fall forests.
To enter the park from the south, we looked for the turn-off for Soda Lake Road off Route 166. The road is so discreet and can so easily be missed if you aren't paying close attention. When I went with Tim he actually did miss the road because I only recognized the little lane as the entrance to the park from vague remembrances of visiting with my dad so many years ago.
Soda Lake Road is bumpy and mostly unpaved.
Once inside the monument, which requires no fee upon entry, we saw almost no people. The only sign of others, the distant sound of gun shots that rang out from some secret shooting range that we could only roughly locate with our ears, not our eyes.
We drove along Soda Lake Road for miles, the tires of our car stirring up a frenzy of dust in a trail behind us. After a long time we pulled off to the side and got out of the car to wander into the nothingness.
The silence and secrecy of the Carrizo Plain, to me, is so sensual and sexual. Shiny bodies dirtied up with dust that sticks to the dewey beads of sweat that pools in the small of your back and on your upper lip. Panting breaths inspired by heavy hiking.
The light is golden and the sky is big and the emptiness of the land urges you to be more thoughtful and contemplative.
In November, I noticed the Carrizo Plain had not changed at all since I had been last. It was exactly as I had remembered it and I liked it as much as I had recalled. Tim liked it as much as I thought he would.
Tim didn't see the Soda Lake, but we did get to hike through the San Andres Fault Line. We climbed down into the split of the fault-line and considered that it looked like a miniature version of the Grand Canyon. Lizards sunbathed on warm rocks and little flies hovered above our heads.
I also got to show Tim an old, forgotten-about cemetery that I had remembered finding with my dad on one of our hikes.
About a mile or two down an unnamed dirt road at the south end of the park, a graveyard of three modest headstones enclosed by an intricate wrought-iron fence from the 1800s still stands. The only legible headstone reads, "Mary W Morris, Died August 13, 1886 Aged 63 Years".
The cemetery is a reminder of the timeless feeling of this place. It makes you wonder not just where you have come to, but also when.
Is this place the past? Have you time traveled to some Yee-Haw! cowboys and outlaws land on the edge of the American Frontier? You might half-expect to accidentally stumble across some Wild West pioneer town filled with blacksmiths and cowgirls and where scores are settled with bar brawls and shootouts. In the center, a ye-olde shanty pub where surly wenches serve up frothy beers, overflowing with foam, to silver-spur, pistol-pouch-wearing sheriffs who tie up their police ponies to posts on the porch. Old-timey organ music melting into the noon heat of the desert when the hinged wooden doors at the entrance swing open and closed.
We didn't find a secret pioneer town, of course, and neither will you, though we did find the skeletons of a couple of old, rotting cattle ranch barns. We saw a few cows, and even fewer people, simply passing through the park in big rig trucks that kicked up a whirlwind of dust behind them.
Because the Carrizo Plain is not too far a drive for us, we'll go back again soon so Tim can see the Soda Lake and for some more exploring of the many hiking trails sprinkled throughout the plains. Maybe my dad will want to come and we can pack a picnic. Maybe heavy rains in winter will bring another Super Bloom to the plains this year, or next.
Or maybe not.
And if not, that's okay because that just means there won't be lots of touristy visitors disrupting the quiet peacefulness of this special grassy valley.
And, you know?
I really do like it better that way.
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