The Things Left Behind: Overlanding Carrizo Plain and Prewitt Ridge

The Things Left Behind: Overlanding Carrizo Plain and Prewitt Ridge

By Armando Ortiz

This late March, we took a weekend trip to Carrizo Plain National Monument and drove to Big Sur to take a road up to Prewitt Ridge. The journey was enjoyable, but it also left me thinking about the people who had passed through these places long before us.

We left Los Angeles, taking I-5 north all the way up to Highway 166. In Maricopa we filled up on gas, food and firewood. Arriving at Carrizo Plain, the landscape was opposite of what it had been during our January visit. A series of storms had passed through then, leaving the road muddy, and the hills lush green. We visited Painted Rock, whose pictographs made the site feel less like an outcrop and more like a sacred chapel. This time the flowers had faded, the grass was turning gold, and we planned to explore deeper into the monument.

Countless tiny painted lady butterflies fluttered and zigzagged along the edge of the road. The rising dust behind the truck created a huge adobe plume. We arrived at Selby Campground to find it packed, and the only spot we found was littered with evidence of those who had stayed before us. The scattered artifacts included unfinished chicken wings, pistachio shells and fruit peels. A half full champagne bottle lay beside the brush. For a moment I wondered what people thousands of years ago left behind– milled grains, paint containers, water jugs or clay shards. It was too much to clean and the cell phone connection was a bit precarious. We turned back. On Caliente Mountain Road we stopped at a place we had visited on our last trip. This time we arrived earlier, the weather was warmer, and there was more daylight. 

We pulled out our hiking gear and headed to a cluster of weathered boulders that looked promising for signs of earlier visitors- like mortars, petroglyphs or pictographs. She didn’t feel safe, and turned around to wait for me in the truck. The trail I followed had become visible after a late Summer fire swept through the area a few months earlier. Broken sea-green glass and empty aluminum cans littered the trail. Last time, I’d found the weathered backbone of a deer. Going down the trail was exciting, though not without caution. 

The boulders were surrounded with knee high grass. I hiked down and explored one of the boulders. The thought of ticks and snakes made me walk cautiously. Climbing around the boulder, I discovered traces of pictographs tucked into an alcove a few feet above the ground, and immediately found myself wondering what those symbols once meant. To a person today, the eroding images might just be drawings or vandalism, but to the people that once walked through here and called it home it might have meant something deeper. I stood before a place shaped by people whose purposes I could only guess at. Like them, I was merely passing through. I climbed back wondering what the symbols once meant to them. We continued our ascent on our overlanding expedition. 

We kept climbing past scattered campers before deciding to stop at a turn out. The Caliente Mountain peaks were behind us and before us were the ridges of the Temblor Mountains on the other side of the great Carrizo Plain valley. The hills everywhere were becoming golden tan with patches of green. The wind was just right. Beneath a juniper’s shade we ate lunch while she caught up with her family and I finished Elmore Leonard’s Out of Sight. After a while we pitched our tent, and lit a fire on the portable pit. We saw the constellations emerge from the night, and marveled at the sky till we were too tired.

These are the moments that make sleeping outdoors memorable. We rose early and watched the first rays of sunlight pierce the distant Temblor Mountains, their warm glow gradually bringing colors and shadows into focus across a landscape that stretched far beyond the horizon.

In the distance, a line of hikers wound across the mountainside before coiling in a circle. From afar it almost looked like prayer. As we packed up cars began passing by. The winds were calm so clouds of dust were almost nonexistent.

After oatmeal and hot coffee, we followed the dirt road back to Soda Lake Road and headed north to Highway 58. Our next destination was Prewitt Ridge – a coastal mountain top. We crossed undulating hills decorated with old oaks and rows of vineyards. We stopped at Paso Robles to refuel and stock up on snacks. Good music and the chaparral landscape gave the drive classic California road trip vibes.

From Paso Robles we climbed through Fort Hunter Leggett and into the Santa Lucia Range. Along the way, we stopped to take pictures and scout campsites for a future visit. Oak groves eventually gave way to a sun-baked scenery of burned pines and sycamores before we reached the turnoff to Prewitt Ridge.

The road wound through a blackened landscape before opening onto a mountain top crowned with a few weathered and gnarled trees. This was the place I had imagined reaching for years, long before I ever bought my truck. A puffy white blanket of fog covered the coast. Above it, the sun was bright, and the coastal breeze nearly perfect.

We ate lunch overlooking the coast as waves crashed below and trucks and SUVs came and went. Some travelers lingered to camp while others stopped only long enough for a photograph. The place felt larger–and more magical than it ever appeared in pictures. After we finished we drove back to the main road. Once down the mountain it was all coastal driving.

As we approached PCH, a layer of grey mist engulfed us, transforming the coastline into something that resembled a Chinese ink painting by Zhang Daqian. Through the fog we occasionally heard the crash of waves. A single coastal cypress stood nearby, an ancient warrior in a long battle against wind and time. Following the curves we drove by Plaskett Creek. A bit past Piedras Blancas Lighthouse we stopped to admire elephant seals who were sunbathing. By evening we reached Moonstone Beach and settled for the night.

Despite lasting two nights, the trip felt far larger than its time suggested. The next morning we walked all along the Moonstone Beach boardwalk where we saw pelicans glide over waves, while seagulls rested on island rocks. Next we explored Fiscalini Ranch Preserve where we discovered more evidence of those who lived here long before us. Mortar rocks with million dollar views of the ocean and coast lay exposed among the grass. I thought of the people that had walked this land long before we did and wondered how far they walked before reaching their place of sleep. Standing there among the mortar rocks, the coast, the mountains, the human artifacts, and even the dust trails behind passing trucks all felt temporary.

Jawbone Canyon to Lake Isabella: Marks Left in the Mountains

Jawbone Canyon to Lake Isabella: Marks Left in the Mountains

By Armando Ortiz

We started our overland one day expedition by meeting up at the Friends of Jawbone station. It's right next to highway 14. The visitor/rest stop is 15 minutes south of the 395. Hardly any cars drove by. Pulling in, my brother’s rig was already there. For this adventure I used Southern California Backroads & 4-Wheel Drive Trails by Charles A. Wells as a guide to reach Bodfish, CA. 

The shade that Jawbone Canyon gave kept the air cool. Before reaching a security booth we made a right onto the dirt road. Driving on Jawbone Canyon Rd a couple of miles, we gained steady elevation — Joshua trees, sotol, yucca and other desert fauna abounded. The air was warming up quickly and the sky’s dark blue was getting lighter. We reached a ridge where turbines or windmills stood. A morning breeze was non-existent. We paused, exited our cars, and talked before beginning our descent into Kelso Valley. We could see the natural green carpet covering the valley floor. 

Approaching the flattest area, we turned left and drove through the valley. To the right there were granite outcroppings. The area was fenced off on both sides – private property. Cows and horses grazed the green pastures. After a short time, signs of the past revealed themselves. Something that looked like giant bowling balls covered with foliage and other organic materials came to view. I stopped the truck and walked up to an uncovered part that looked like a mortar. After looking around, I noticed that several places had grinding depressions. I could hear our engines running at a distance. This area might have been a water source or at least a seasonal camp, making it a perfect place to process food. I took some photos and returned.

Ascending, more and more oak trees, both evergreen and deciduous, now lined the trail. The more elevation gained the more black oak with its delicate lobed leaves could be seen. From the window of the car the valley below kept getting smaller. The forest extended south of the mountains. We stopped at a place where we saw the foundations of an abandoned home. A brick chimney stood there among trees. Could this have been the home of a lone miner working on his claim?  After a few minutes we arrived at another collection of boulders and stopped the trucks to explore. Now a mix of oak and pine trees shaded us all around. Nearby was a small sign on a post that signaled the Pacific Crest Trail. This trail starts at the border of Mexico and takes thru hikers up to Canada.

Still driving on Jawbone Canyon Rd, we reached an old mine with a conical structure. Inside, the light pierced the sheet metal like laser beams. Gunshot bullets might have created that effect. This stretch of trail was mostly flat, the air felt cool and damp on the skin. A few minutes later, I stopped the truck near some boulders to find any signs of prior human life. Nothing was found. We made a left on to Paiute Mountain Rd tracing the contours of the mountains, and the fenced off properties, until we reached an open space. We stopped to take a break at Piute Peak Camp. My brother took out some oranges from the cooler. The flesh of the fruit was refreshing. Being surrounded by tall pine trees was a very pleasant moment. A sign pointed towards Paiute Peak. After a quick climb, we started driving down towards a gentle slope. It seemed that we were entering a different world. The light show had been cool, and the next section would be just as interesting.

A year prior a wildfire passed through this section of the mountain, the Borel fire 2024. This area had been completely burnt. Black trees, like giant needles solemnly stood, and a grey scale of ash covered the area. Some of the trees had blue ribbons, marked to be chopped down. The gentle slopes were completely carbonized. Dark shadows came to life in the midday sun - all seemed black. But there was a water source- a brook. Along the tiny creek, fresh green vegetation vibrated under the light. On the western side almost next to the truck lay a boulder. I got out, my feet sank onto the thick layer of pine needles. As I approached, mortars could be seen at the top. My mind, for a moment, heard rhythmic pounding, and people conversing by the rocks. One can easily spend hours looking around, but our destination was the Kern River. There were too many boulders to explore but not enough time on that day.

Once again, we drove, the pervasive signs of the fire that swept through the area was everywhere. There looked to have been a motorhome community, which brought me back to the present - evening television, checking of emails, and the hum of power generators. Following the natural curves of the mountain along Saddle Spring Road, barren trees, gray boulders, and darkened slopes seemed frozen in time. It felt as waves of settlement were covered and uncovered by nature’s power and time's enduring patience. There were empty little square subdivisions. Everything had been incinerated. The likelihood of people returning seemed high though. If people were here thousands of years ago, the area would continue to attract them. We started to descend. The landscape was apocalyptic, dusty propane tanks stood lonely, concrete foundations covered in ashes, and the oxidized axles that once held homes or cars lay abandoned. 

As we began our descent the road got rough. There were reddish and beige rocks on the ground with more ruts than where we started from. The landscape again began to transition to semi-desert fauna. This area had its own harshness: it was rockier, and drier with hardy desert fauna on the mountain side. With every other turn there were pinon pines and juniper trees. We finally reached the end of the trail. The dusty tires were back on a paved road - Caliente Bodfish Road. The drive was an unexpected revelation of all the people that have called these mountains home. A reflection of all the vestiges that seem to recycle themselves over time with places that were once called home or where people processed raw materials. Now on the road we passed the town of Bodfish and headed to the Kern River.