A Day on the Plain

Nobody in California has seen it all. It is possible to live in California, as I have, for more than 40 years, to travel across California each week as a journalistic scavenger, to read about the place, think about it, form all sorts of opinions about it . . . and still go out one rainy day and be absolutely floored by it. Monday was one of those days.

It occurred here, on what is called the Carrizo Plain. The plain is a virtually unpopulated valley that runs north-south for about 60 miles between the Temblor and Caliente mountain ranges. It is as beautiful a natural landscape as can be found in California.

It also is arguably one of the least known. Serious bird watchers tend to know about the plain, as do geologists, wildflower enthusiasts, archeologists and botanists keen on California grasses and sage. After that, the awareness curve tumbles off a cliff.

Geographically, the plain sits in the middle of nowhere--twisting, two-lane roads in and out--and at the same time in the middle of everything, right smack in the center of California. Using personal references, it is about a three-hour drive south of Fresno, where I grew up. Or about an hour east of San Luis Obispo, where I went to college. Or about three hours north of Los Angeles, where I spent much of my work life. And so naturally, until this week, I had never been to the place.

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Perhaps the best way to envision the Carrizo Plain is to imagine what the San Fernando Valley looked like before it was farmed, subdivided, freewayed, malled up and just plain civilized. Imagine a wide open, rolling grassland, framed by stark, steep mountains. Imagine hawks wheeling overhead, flocks of bluebirds flittering among the brush. Imagine a sky without smog, a landscape devoid of sound except for that of birds, wind and the occasional coyote.

Who knows why such a delicious sprawl of land was missed by the developers. The plain seemingly has everything needed to erect a modern California city. It enjoys close proximity to an earthquake fault line; the infamous San Andreas is actually visible as it shoots down the lower flank of the Temblors. Plus, there is hardly any water, another must for cityhood, at least in Southern California. Maybe it was the lack of an inversion layer that spooked the subdividers.

In truth, one dreamy subdivider did buy up a bunch of the plain about 35 years ago. He renamed it “California Valley” and started peddling lots to presumably snowbound mid-Westerners. It didn’t take. A couple dozen trailer houses, some incongruous street names (College City Road) and a billboard half blown apart remain as monuments to that particular adventure in metropolis building.

In other times, the plain has attracted waves of miners and solar power investors, jojoba plant promoters and cattle ranchers. Only the ranchers stuck, and they are scattered and like to keep their distance. The net effect, as Philip L. Fradkin put it in his wonderful history of the state, is a “retarded California. . . . Time has begun to run backward on the plain, an unusual occurrence in California.” Some people want to make certain the trend is not reversed.

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A new dream envelops the plain. In this installment, it is to become “the Serengeti of California,” a living reminder of a once common landscape. Several years ago the Nature Conservancy, an environmental group, purchased enough land here to spur the creation of a 200,000-acre Carrizo Plain natural area. The preserve is managed by the U.S. Bureau of Land Management, state Fish and Game and the conservancy--not always to the satisfaction of every plains constituent.

Sandy Wohlgemuth, a retired pharmacist and conservation chairman of the Audubon Society’s L.A. chapter, is disturbed by the cattle-grazing and antelope and tule elk hunting allowed at times on the preserve. So far his complaints have generated responses that stress the need for compromise and balance among all users--the old circle of life, and politics, sort of defense.

A persistent sort, Wohlgemuth wanted me to see the California Serengeti firsthand. He guessed, rightly, that the plain would serve as its own best propagandist. Along with an expert panel he’d thrown together--a botanist, a geologist and a biologist; Carrizo-lovers all--we slogged along the muddy roads all day, stopping often for closer looks at rare birds and grasses, kangaroo rat precincts and an antelope herd, ancient rock etchings, a flock of sandhill cranes and a lone coyote.

Just before sundown we climbed a hill. The storm clouds had cracked apart enough to create a rainbow and some spectacular plays of sunlight and shadow across the mountains. Mist rose up from the valley floor, where hawks hurried about the brush. All the panorama lacked was Ansel Adams to photograph it. I had never seen anything like it. And it had been a very good day.