Jenn Tan

9-28-04

ENGL 134

Mr. Marx

My First and Last hike in Poly Canyon

I knew it was coming. A couple weeks before, I received an introductory email from my instructor explaining the textbook we needed and providing a link to the class website. I selected the link and navigated curiously around the site, arriving at last at the class itinerary. To my horror, I saw planned on the third class day a “moderately strenuous hike over steep, rough ground.” Subsequent readings of this statement produced the same result, and so I resigned myself to impending doom.

And so it was that I found myself standing on a dirt and gravel road, surrounded by equally sleepy classmates at 7:30 am, Monday morning. We all huddled within our baggy jackets, unconsciously mirroring one another in loose jeans, gray or black t-shirts and scuffed, dusty running shoes. In contrast the instructor appeared wide awake and put together, standing before us in a green sweater, pressed khaki slacks and well-worn yet well-maintained hiking boots. He perkily welcomed us to the threshold of Poly Canyon, and with other preliminary descriptions of the upcoming landscape turned and headed down the long, winding service road.

Being so close to the pacific coast- a mere ten or twelve miles- a thick marine layer had rolled in during the night, and the waning summer sun had not yet mustered the heat to dispel it. We moved to the crunch and scrape of rubber sole on loose stone, passing ancient monoliths of serpentine stone that jutted from the mountain on either side. Vague silhouettes of live oaks and yucca plants loomed from the morning mist, and occasionally a hoarse crow would cry out. Above and beside us power lines carried electricity to private homes hidden down the road, occasionally crossing above us only to resume their march on the other side. Some of these were decorated with various types of tennis shoes, thrown like modern bolas and left to hang until perhaps the end of time. It reminded me that we were not the first to visit this place, nor would we be the last.

We paused a moment beside a large copse of Eucalyptus trees, taking in the soft, pungent scent of their leaves. I imagined them bedraggled fugitives with their bark hanging from them in long, brittle tatters and stringy leaves dangling from long, thin branches as our instructor explained their non-native origins. These were only the first of many foreign plants he introduced to us, which had been purposefully or accidentally introduced into the California habitat and now threatened to unbalance the whole system. The majority of grasses seen on today’s hillsides were brought over by the Spaniards to feed their herds of cattle, a resilient species that has steadily encroached upon the territory of natural grasses.

The hill we approached, however, is one of the last places in California that looks the way it did in terms of flora before European explorations in the area. Spanish daggers hunched on the bare rock like enormous land urchins,d and amber tufts of grass coated the gray brown dirt around it. Our instructor moved off the service road and lead us to a wooden bridge that spanned a now dry creek. Stepping on it and following my classmates across I felt that we were crossing a threshold into another world, leaving our classes and friends and responsibilities to integrate with nature, at least for a short time.

It was at this point that my fears manifested themselves in the flesh; specifically, my own. As our path lead us onward and upward, we encountered a steep rise predominantly made of large rocks and dusty gray dirt. After the first couple yards my legs protested this abnormal abuse, and with each step farther the pain only increased. Half way up the rise my lungs threw a jealous fit and tried to gain my attention by swelling my bronchial tubes and denying me much needed oxygen. I could feel the blood pounding desperately in my swollen veins as the reasoning part of my brain began the inevitable downward spiral into unconsciousness.

Most fortuitously, our instructor chose that moment to pause and explain the phenomenon of a spring pouring from a nearby rock. I used the much needed opportunity to try and catch my breath, but as soon as order was partly established within me he started off again up the road. Remembering his words of caution before we began, I took up his offer of separating me from the main group and taking a hike that suited my own physical needs. I stepped to the side of the trail to allow my classmates by, and as soon as they disappeared over the rise I parked myself on a nearby boulder and readied my sketchpad to capture the moments that followed.

After several long moments, my body had quieted enough for my mind to emerge from the semi-conscious state it had retreated to, and for the first time I took in my surroundings completely. I noticed an oak the instructor had pointed out earlier, and how the leaves on the bottom-most branches had been stripped away by foraging deer. The deep green of the oak’s outer leaves stood out in stark contrast against the faded golds and grays of the landscape, fed as it was by the underground water source. IMy eyes followed the path of the newborn stream down a crevasse in the hill, marked by other oaks and shrubs, until it melted away into the fog. Above, a solitary crow burst from the hillside and found a yucca flower stalk as a temporary perch before diving away into the gloom.

I noticed at my feet an odd plant, with thick cupped leaves that extended from a fleshy stalk, curving outward from the main stem of the plant. The color of this unusual plant ranged from pale lavender to a faint teal, offset by the deep brown of dead stalks and leaves beneath. It reminded me very much of a creature one would find at the bottom of the sea, and so I contemplated it for a time before rising to retrace my path to the main road.

Moving downhill on a trail, I soon found, is very different from moving up one. The slope seemed very steep indeed as I slipped off the edges of rocks and endured heart-stopping skids down long patches of loose soil, thoroughly convinced that if I left the canyon with my face intact it would be a medical miracle. Once again my heart thundered in my chest, not from exhaustion but a fear of heights, a phobia I previously believed to have conquered. I finally managed to find another smooth boulder to perch on and rest before attempting the rest of the hill, and in this position I found myself in a stare-down with a pair of deer several hundred feet away.

The larger of the pair was taupe colored fading to cream on its underbelly, and the other was a uniform, smoky gray. From time to time one would glance away, looking toward a newer sound or motion. But then I would shift a foot or tilt my head, drawing their attention to me once more. They were odd and foreign creatures to me, though I am sure I was no novelty to them. I do wish I knew what they were thinking of me. Did they see a threat to their territory and very lives, afearsome predator? Or did they see yet another two-legged beast, merely an oddity and nothing more? In any case, they retired at last back to the wild, leaving behind me and my questions.

The remainder of my visit was spent in quiet contemplation of the mountains in the morning, pausing here and there to admire the striations of a rock or the peaceful murmurs of the tiny stream responsible for the canyon. I thought about the natural beauty of the place, from the small symmetrical acorns hiding shyly beneath leaf litter, to the late summer glory of poison oak, though I dared not near it for fear of the dangerous oils pulsing just beneath its surface. I thought about the interaction of man and nature, and how as fast as we work to remedy our wrongs we commit twice as many more. But mostly, I wondered about my own purpose and place there.

Who, of any of us, could considerthemselves native to the land? Every human being can trace their family history to a point where they did not belong, where their ancestors set foot for the first time on what only later became known as their homeland. Beyond even this, I wondered about my place in the human world, whichfelt more distant than ever surrounded as I was by other life forms. What, I pondered, was my purpose there? Was I predator or prey, virulent or benevolent, useful or worthless? In nature, the strong and necessary survive and prosper, while the weak and redundant are mercifully removed for the good of the system. I solemnly asked myself which I was, and was relieved when like deer the answer retreated from view, filed away in the archives of my mind for future perusal. Giving Poly Canyon a final glance around, I followed their examples and left that ethereal place to meld once more with the world of Man.

I did not see my instructor nor my classmates again that day, and was content to be left alone with my meditations. It was an experience I would not trade, though I will admit that I am never setting foot in Poly Canyon again; once is definitely more than enough.