Catholic Group’s Plan to Mine Sand Collides With Indian Beliefs

Near the North San Diego County village of Pala, on a dusty, sun-baked slope overlooking the San Luis Rey River, Father Mirko Flac is trying to work miracles in a rustic cluster of buildings called the Pala Rey Youth Camp.

Each summer, Flac plucks 600 kids from pockets of poverty throughout Southern California and plops them down at the camp for some fresh air and healthy living. A member of the Salesian Order of Catholic priests, Flac believes the experience gives inner-city youths a leg up on the world, a vision of something beyond their own dreary urban landscape.

Hampered by Lack of Funds

For years, the camp has merely limped along, hampered by an unstable source of funds. And Flac’s desire to host campers year-round has been crippled by an equally vexing problem: During heavy winter rains, the river rises and washes out the road leading into the compound.

Awhile back, Flac and his fellow Salesians hit upon an idea: Could the rural property’s only real asset--the sand on the river floor--be used as a ticket out of their predicament? The hunch proved a sound one. Soon, a local firm had offered nearly $1 million to buy 208 acres ripe for sand mining. What’s more, company officials promised to maintain the road to the camp.

The deal seemed a virtual godsend. But instead, the fathers’ well-intentioned Christian quest has collided with the spiritual beliefs of their neighbors on the Pala Indian Reservation just up the road.

It seems the land targeted for sand mining and a rugged mountain overlooking it are sacred ceremonial grounds used for religious rites by generations of American Indians. To rip up the river valley with sand-scooping bulldozers, some Indian leaders argue, would be to desecrate the people’s heritage.

The impasse has put a strain on normally cordial relations between the two communities. The Salesian fathers, while sympathetic to the Indians’ spiritual concerns, feel they have the right to develop their property as they see fit. Other landowners along the San Luis Rey mine for sand and gravel, and one outfit does business right on the Pala Reservation. Indeed, the fathers argue, the flood plain land is not good for much else.

“Denying us access to that sand is really to condemn our land,” said Father Richard Presenti, treasurer of the San Francisco-based Salesian Society. “We can’t build anything there, and we can’t farm because the river would just wash it all away.”

The Indians, meanwhile, view the Salesians’ effort as yet another modern threat to their ancient traditions.

“I understand that, in Fallbrook, there’s a controversy because someone wants to build an automatic car wash right next to the Episcopal Church,” said Jerry Boisclair, tribal chairman on the Pala Reservation. “That battle is similar to the one we’re fighting here. We cannot have this noise and disruption right next to what are essentially our cathedrals.”

So far, the Indians have prevailed. This summer, the San Diego County Board of Supervisors denied JB Unlimited--the Escondido company seeking to purchase the Salesians’ land--a permit to mine the river. Though there were some worries about the loss of riverfront habitat and an endangered bird known to nest along the San Luis Rey, supervisors seemed most troubled by the prospect of sanctioning an operation that might tread on age-old Indian customs.

The county’s verdict doomed the land sale, which was contingent on JB’s obtaining the mining permit. And with winter approaching, Flac fears heavy rains will again sweep away the dirt road that is the camp’s lifeline. There is no money, the priest says, to rebuild it.

Still, the fathers remain hopeful. JB Unlimited has filed an appeal with the state Mining and Geology Board, which will consider the matter Nov. 13 and can remand it to the Board of Supervisors for a rehearing.

Meanwhile, the Salesians and company officials are hoping to strike a compromise that will assuage the Indians’ concerns while allowing the sand mining to proceed.

“We want to be cooperative because if we fight them on this, we could enter an era of controversy that may never end,” said Flac, 67, a stout, friendly man whose mild but distinctive accent betrays his Yugoslavian roots. “We’ve coexisted here for 20 years, and we can continue to do so.”

Flac and JB Unlimited officials hope that if and when the matter is back before the Board of Supervisors, a settlement between the two camps will have been reached. Meetings with tribal leaders have been held, and at least one supervisor who formerly opposed the project--John MacDonald, whose district includes Pala--has pledged to help clear the logjam.

“This isn’t dead by any stretch of the imagination,” Ted Marioncelli, an aide to MacDonald, said. “Some of these Indians seem very sincere about their sacred beliefs. But the Salesian Society has a valid constitutional issue here about the right to use one’s own land.”

The property at issue straddles the San Luis Rey River and sits just west of Pala, a village of about 350 people east of Interstate 15 along California 76. The land looks ordinary enough. In summer, when the river runs dry, it’s a sandy expanse covered with weeds, shrubs and small trees. The youth camp sits on its southern flank, nestled at the foot of a mountain behind a veil of oak trees.

Immediately to the west, huge, noisy earthmovers deployed by H. G. Fenton Material Co. have created giant craters in the river bottom in their endless dig for sand, one of the raw materials that help fuel San Diego County’s booming construction industry. Upstream, Conrock Property Development Corp. is engaged in a similar search for materials on the Pala Reservation, created by the federal government in 1903 on land that appears to have housed an ancient village.

Meditation Site

According to Ron May, an archeologist on the county planning staff, the Pala tribe--including Luiseno, Kumeyaay, Diegueno and Cupeno Indians--has used the Salesians’ property and the boulder-studded mountain that looms above it as a site for “spiritual communing and meditation” for centuries.

May said the 2,000-foot peak--topped by a rock formation called “Indian Head” because it is said to resemble the profile of an Indian--traditionally has been a spot for Indian leaders, while the lowlands were used by other tribal members.

“People who go up on the mountain speak of seeing an opening to the other world, or of experiencing another dimension,” said May, who recommended against issuance of the permit. “Some say they have seen Taquish--a sort of god or spiritual presence--come out of the mountain with a burst of bright light.”

On the Salesians’ land below, meanwhile, other tribal members “fast and bring themselves into a sort of trance state” in which the “trees and the entire natural environment around them become animated,” May said.

Boisclair likened the mountain to “the ancient pyramids that were the focus of society in the God-centered communities of Central and South America . . . they are places of worship, places where we commune with God.”

Journey Up Mountain

The tribal chairman said he went on a “vigil or vision quest” to the mountain earlier this year. The specifics of such rituals are “private and secret,” Boisclair said, but “my journey involved a weakening of the material self so that the spiritual self is more receptive.”

Boisclair said that “the noise pollution is already massive and creates a disturbance to such ceremonies, and any more sand mining would make that even worse.”

An environmental review of the proposed permit echoed that concern and noted that, because of the role the environment plays in native religion, any “non-natural changes . . . would cause an imbalance and would impact the sanctity of the area.”

Overall, that report, prepared by RBR & Associates Inc. of San Diego, concluded that sand mining would have a significant effect on “the religious freedom of the Native American community.”

As the Salesian fathers see it, selling a portion of their riverfront land to JB Unlimited is vital to their religious mission--serving youth.

The Salesian Order was founded in the 1850s in Italy by St. John Bosco, who was chaplain to a wealthy family until he abandoned that life to devote himself to helping children. The Salesians operate schools in all corners of the world, and they have three youth camps in California. The Pala Rey facility is dedicated exclusively to needy children.

The camp opened in 1967 after Thomas Leavey, a founder of Farmers Insurance Group, donated 378 acres near Pala specifically for such a venture, Flac said. Leavey’s largess helped give birth to the sturdy wood and aluminum cabins that serve as dormitories, the spacious dining lodge, the chapel and the swimming pool on the site.

Each summer, inner-city kids from 7 to 12 are bused to Pala for a weeklong stay. They are treated to typical camp fare that includes field trips to Sea World, the beach and other destinations normally out of their reach.

“When they come in, they are on edge, terrified, ready to pull a knife on you,” said Flac, who in addition to his priestly duties serves as counselor, plumber, cook and carpenter. “By the time they leave, everyone is their friend, the world is a beautiful place. They see there is a lot more to life than their drunken mother who beats them.”

Fighting the River

Over the years, Leavey helped the Salesians in perhaps their toughest task--fighting the San Luis Rey River. After heavy rains, the river rises and expands, tearing away everything in its path, including the road into Pala Rey.

In 1980, $40,000 from Leavey helped replace the crossing. But the benefactor died later that year, and the Salesians have found no new donor to assist them with future calamities. The only reliable answer, they say, is to open their chunk of the San Luis Rey to the sand miners, who can channelize the river and maintain the road.

The fathers say they first heard that ceremonial rituals were taking place on their land and the mountain above it earlier this year, during testimony at county hearings on the application for a sand-mining permit. Flac says that, in 20 years, he has never seen any Indians engaged in religious rites on the Salesians’ property.

Concessions Offered

Nonetheless, JB Unlimited--which sought a 30-year permit to remove an estimated 4 million tons of sand from the site--agreed to make certain concessions designed to soften the sand-mining operation’s impact on the land and protect the Indians’ use of it.

Arnie Veldkamp, project manager for the company, said that, in addition to meeting a host of biological conditions set by the county, JB officials agreed to set aside 40 acres for perpetual use by the Indians. They also pledged to guarantee access to the sacred mountain south of the river, replant vegetation that is of ceremonial importance to the Indians, and cease all activity on the river to allow the Indians sole use of the land for up to 30 days a year.

Moreover, JB Unlimited has offered to help pay for improvements on the reservation or the public campground operated by the Pala Indians.

“We did our best to address their concerns,” Veldkamp said. “I think we were fair, and we still hope to reach a compromise. Presently, they don’t have any legal rights to (the Salesians’) land at all.”

Stephen Pezzola, an Oakland-based attorney for the Salesian Society, agreed and noted, “If we wanted to be unfriendly about this, which we don’t, we could put up a fence and keep them from trespassing.” Instead, Pezzola said he hopes that a balance can be struck between the fathers’ property rights and the Indians’ desire to preserve ancient traditions.

“I think JB’s proposal, when looked at in a reasonable light, gives everyone considerably more than they had before,” Pezzola said. “The Salesian Society could sell their land and get funds and maintenance of the road. The Indians would have rights over the land that they do not have now. And JB would be able to put that property to its best use.”

Next Step

What happens next is in the hands of the nine-member state Mining and Geology Board, the policy-setting arm of the Division of Mines and Geology. The Salesians’ land is part of about 31,000 acres in San Diego County determined by the state to be of “regional significance,” meaning their sand reserves are needed to help a given area keep up with local demand.

Deborah Herrmann, the board’s special representative, said that applicants denied permits to mine in such designated areas may appeal a local government’s decision to the board. If members find that the local agency’s decision was not supported by the evidence, they can require a rehearing of the matter.

Should the state board rule against JB Unlimited, making the denial of a sand-mining permit final, the Salesian Society may resort to legal action against the county. Pezzola said that the land in question has been “in effect rendered valueless by the county” if a sand-mining permit cannot be obtained.

“That raises constitutional questions, and the opportunity exists for us to file an unlawful taking of property action if all else fails,” Pezzola said.