I can't say where it is, but it's magical. Just off the road and below a bridge. Not the famous Bridge to Nowhere. Just some inconspicuous bridge connecting an inconspicuous road just out of the range of reliable cell service. An oasis of disconnectedness in this world of constant connections. Davis and I slipped down a spur trail near the parking area and entered a lush ribbon of trees, with a trickling stream knifing its way through the vegetation. Being so readily accessible a spot, we were hardly alone. A family claimed a space of their own a short clip away. The exclamations of children were audible from a distance, though hardly able to overpower the tranquility of such a setting. In the other direction, a swimmer in the deepest collection of water, formed out of a natural depression in the slick rock, gleefully pointed the way to Blackberries nearby. "2 more weeks and they'll be ready!" he said before diving back in. It's always a delight to make these momentary acquaintances. We found our place somewhere in between, with a view of traffic crossing the bridge above and to the right of us, partially veiled by the limbs of countless White Alder trees. I found the largest, most level rock in the immediate vicinity to make my perch. Davis, as always, curled up nearby. We both initially chose our placement poorly. I selected a rock of somewhat diminutive size in the middle of the stream thinking it would hold me much the same as it had held back the hardly raging waters. I moved a log damming this section of stream and the resulting splash made for a freshwater addition to my iced coffee. Davis laid partially on a shoreside log. This action had the unintended effect of disturbing the ants inhabiting the dead wood, and they began to swarm up his legs in a hurry. I moved to assist him as soon as I became aware of the predicament, though by that time he had apparently eaten the defensive critters. I laughed and opened up my book. As I read, intently absorbed in the harsh world presented by Ken Layne in Dignity, butterflies emblazoned with yellow and black stripes fluttered haphazardly by. There are few things in this world of ours with the same capacity to produce joy in the beholder. One passed mere inches away! As if inspired by the majesty of its insect brethren, a dragonfly hummed steadily across the scene, dipping its tail into the water several times. The trees began to shake in unison. This little semi-secluded spot near Baldy became a natural concert, showcasing the splendor of life in all forms and iterations. I soaked in every precious moment. It's a considerable challenge, devising a way to properly appreciate every detail afforded on a day that on the surface appears ordinary, but to the trained observer is evidence of subtle brilliance that we often fail to notice. I finished a few chapters and endeavored to free Davis from his nervous shell with a cool dip. The dry year thus far precluded much of a soak. However, a partial submersion would suffice and be received with due gratitude amid the dry afternoon heat. A short walk thereafter complemented the time spent in the graces of foliage provided shade. I discovered the remnants of a road that once weaved its way along the bottom of the narrow canyon. The asphalt had been stunningly reclaimed by the native flora in a symbolic showing of the phrase "life finds a way" (a Jurassic Park reference for those of you who managed to catch my drift). It immediately conjured to memory a vaguely similar example that can be observed nearby Calico Ghost Town, within the depths of Odessa Canyon (seriously, why put a "scenic drive" in a desert canyon like that??). After admiring the massive yuccas dotting the landscape, and surmising what high elevation peak made itself known in the distance (Lookout mountain?), we circled back. Bush Poppies were surprisingly plentiful in this dry scene, all the more impressive with the wildflowers existing in full command of the sun's relentless summer fury. Making headway back into the riparian corridor, I surveyed the status of the Blackberries growing adjacent to the foot path. In wetter climes, this unyielding species makes for quite the pest, growing quickly and pervasively, crowding out other plants and molesting unsuspecting passersby, or those simply attempting to pick ripe fruit, with their innumerable spines. Here, where moisture is scarce, the Blackberry bush is restricted to the occasional strip of spring-fed habitat, and is therefore much less of a nuisance. I picked what I could at this time, four berries in total, and made a note to consider coming back with the hope of securing the ripe multitudes of berries before the summer "crowds" could do the same. What a fun game of chance. Nearby the Blackberry bush, I correctly spot-identified Pacific Poison Oak. This was confirmed with the aid of the Seek app (by iNaturalist). I cannot understate my own fascination with this plant, and the incredible urge to touch it for the sole purpose of painfully confirming what I already know about its toxic disposition. Alas, common sense prevailed and I refrained from doing so. Scattered relicts of the spring bloom presented themselves in muted fashion as well on the return trip. These included Scarlet Larkspur and a lone western Columbine flower. Such persistence here deserves requisite appreciation. I picked up some trash before I left, consisting of cigarette butts, glass, plastic and aluminum drink containers, and the like. It saddens me in a profound way to come across the improperly discarded evidence of good times. Why does nature have to pay for our laziness? Leave no trace and pick up what you can wherever and whenever you can. These mountains and their inhabitants have it difficult enough as it is, with a long summer ahead raising the stakes for survival into precarious, uncharted territory. Enjoy this little spot near Baldy if you find it, but leave it as it is, or perhaps even better.
A lone western Columbine amongst the undergrowth.
Riparian habitat in the foreground, chaparral hillsides in the background.
Humongous yuccas making themselves known in the landscape.
Bub was really happy to be outside.
A few ripe Blackberries that I picked and subsequently consumed.
Scarlet Larkspur adjacent to the stream.
Lookout mountain in the distance? Ft. a slight haze.
Pond skaters abounded in the shallow pools of water.
A lucky guess on first sight! Pacific Poison Oak. Really tempting to touch.
Bush Poppy somehow surviving the dry midsummer conditions.
A memorial on the banks of the creek?
White Alder leaves reflecting the afternoon light.
A leaf trapped against a rock by the current.
Davis bein' a weird little bub sitting in the water.
Sitting next to the stream with a book.
Davis and I (he's really not into selfies)
Graffiti under the bridge. I feel like it really "activates" the space.
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