Carrizo Plain National Monument: Road Trips from Los Angeles

Carrizo Plain National Monument: Road Trips from Los Angeles

By Armando Ortiz

Decision and intro do the trip:

I had had Carrizo Plain National Monument on my to do bucket list for a while. The number one reason to visit this place was to visit painted rock, which is an outcropping of rock with pictographs on the side walls of the inner sanctum. It is believed that different groups of Californian tribes came to this site and painted images inside the inner rock walls - Chumash, Salinan and Yokut. The ancient pre-Columbian pictographs on the inner rock walls make this location a sacred place. Wildflowers decorating the mountains, hills and floor of this place is also what brings many visitors every year. Being that it was spring and this year’s winter rains started early and ended late meant that there would be opportunities to see an abundance of wildflowers. Aside from that there are many opportunities to explore the surrounding canyons and ridges that ring around the plain. 

Background of Carrizo Plain and area:

Carrizo Plain was historically an area that Native American tribes visited. It is believed that the Chumash people would visit this area. Salinan and Yokut people also frequented the area. There isn’t much known about what they did there, but mortar sites and pictographs have been found. Painted Rock is the main place where remnants of a continuous human presence has been found. However, the flowers that bloom in the plain might contain some evidence. In spring many different types of flowers bloom, some being wild onions and tubers that could have been harvested. 

In addition, some of the plants that sprout might have medicinal properties. After Americans arrived the lands in the Carrizo plain were used for ranching and raising livestock, all of which are now just remnants of a not so distant past. As you drive through you see unkempt buildings that seem to be frozen in a time when industrial agriculture was being introduced into the region. Dried out wooden posts once jammed into the earth seem to hang on wires more than create a barrier to intruders. Now people mostly spend an afternoon visiting the sites that open up to vistas.

Yet, despite the changing demographics of the surrounding areas, the wildflower blooms, and wildlife have persisted. The dry lake bed comes alive after a season of heavy rains. Some of the flowers that cover this area are different types of clover, lupines, gilia, linanthus, ephedra, buckwheat, fiddleneck, thistle, lasthenia, popcorn flowers, desert dandelion, spineflower, and many more. Depending on what route you take, evidence of the different enduring geographical features can be appreciated on the way there. The north and south entrances connect you to winding ridge roads. The eastward road winds out of the mountains and onto the easterly slopes that slowly and gradually take you down to Interstate 5.

Route taken and what we saw:

            Carrizo Plain is about 130 miles away from Los Angeles. We took the route that starts off Interstate 5 around the Fort Tejon area which takes you to Mt. Pinos. You exit Frazier Park and head west. At first the way is straight with a steady climb that goes into a barren valley where people probably grow hay. Along the way you drive through a town called Pine Mountain Club, which seems like a mix between a resort and private cabins community. This road winds its ways through the mountains and areas that have signs informing everyone that you are passing through private land. There are various off roading opportunities along this highway and camp sites if that is what you are looking for. The road changes several times, but as long as your destination is Carrizo Plain you’ll be able to navigate your way there without a problem. 

Driving there the chaparral landscape and open valleys become lush pine forests and transition into more barren ridges that open up to views of the San Joaquin Valley. We drove through this area in the Spring and at times the sides of the mountains were covered with different layers of colors, which at times it felt like we were looking at giant slices of cake that had tangy orange icing, and mellow purple ume layers. Driving through this section felt like driving on a plateau and yet the road winds like a moving snake. Roads like these are perfect for those that have sporty cars and like taking weekend drives in the mountains.

Carrizo plain and activities:

There are two main reasons for visiting this unique geographic/geologic site. The wildflowers that bloom during spring, and sites of Native American life. Another reason for visiting is to do some off-road driving along the dirt roads that go up ridges and take you to sites that sedans and low clearance vehicles aren’t able to go to. 

Our visit was during Spring Break, and the place was busy with nature lovers, flower enthusiasts, mountain bikers, hikers, and people that simply want to go see once carpets of pastel colors covering vast stretches of land. In specific areas, where the blooms were lush and vibrant, cars would park on the side of the road. You’d see people balancing a camera on a tripod to get the perfect close up picture of a delicate blazingstar or gilia. Many visitors wore shades and wide brimmed hats because the elevation makes the sunshine strong. All of us seemed to enjoy the brilliance of the yellows and delicate whites that seemed to be tiny sun bursts.

I was able to see painted rock from a distance, but would have liked access to the site. It’s a dream of mine to one day go there and see the site for myself and wander inside letting my mind wonder what took place there. To many tribes this was their frontier. It was a place of encounter, but also a place where you could reflect on the finiteness of life and the enduring might of nature. Yet, in those instances of thought you might glimpse the images etched by people hundreds if not thousands of years ago. Further east is the San Joaquin Valley and the Sierra Mountains. From that side of the ranges, stones for making tools were traded, and brought to these places, and used to make arrows and spears. One could only imagine what else could have taken place here.

We drove into one of the unknown roads and headed towards SUVs that could be seen at a distance. The truck was set to four-low and drove it up to a steady speed. It felt magical. The gravel being pulverized by the all terrain tires, and the cloud of dust it made was at times amusing. Wildflowers were on all sides, and at one point I could see a small valley that was covered in varying shades of purple and dark blues, and different hues of yellow and orange. I stopped the truck on one of the roadside stops to take photos. There were moments of silence where all you could hear was the sounds of music emanating from the truck. At other times you could hear the light chirps of the birds that crossed our sights which only made the drive ever more pleasant. 

Ending and review:

The drive to Carrizo Plain National Monument varies from whichever side you decide to enter from. The drive will have varied terrain and will showcase a wild landscape that at one point was tamed with the arrival of Europeans. The views of this not so distant past are found across the land which now contains only barbed wire and farm houses that seem on the verge of collapsing. On the other hand an industrial landscape where pumps suck the hidden black gold that is found within the deep layers of rock. On top of all that the plain itself is a wonder of the life that it has sustained, and becomes vibrant every spring. Viewing wild flowers is one good reason to take the drive here, and another is to enjoy a drive through Frazier Park and its different winding roads that quickly make you feel like you are driving on top of the world. You will definitely see a couple of sports cars zoom bye if you take this route. Exploring California is always an adventure.

Northern Sky: Free-Verse

Northern Sky: Free-Verse

By Armando Ortiz

I was conceived in the heart of a growing city

where youth overflowed and were pushed north,

I was born under the northern sky

towards the west where Aries floats near Perseus.

I gave my first cry to the angels of that place,

while they were busy chasing stars.

I was followed by its galactic embrace,

inside planes and mountain trails.

It’s been a silent shelter,

a deep blue safety blanket. 

It’s protected my journeys,

together we traced the contours of China.

It’s kept me warm under the splendor of night 

and bathed me with the cover of midday light.

Its midwest sun passed me by

as I raced towards the western mesas.

In the endless hours through unknown places,

the suspended constellations were my anchor.

Even as I sailed deeper into the ocean of life’s experiences,

the daily burst of stars became the coast of my youth.

Where the waves of time crash with the moment,

and the sound of the turning universe births each second.

Wherever I was, there it was

a different hue of blue but always true.

City River: Free-Verse

City River: Free-Verse

By Armando Ortiz

All the rain of a wet season,

wouldn’t clean this river.

The egret stands atop a grocery cart,

like a homicide detective wondering,

when the streets will be cleared of its filth.

A billion summer tsunamis,

could not purify the water.

The egret contemplates its murky reflection,

like a mysterious figure wearing a peacoat,

the school of fish looks suspect from the outside.

Melting snow from the  Tujunga mountains,

is unable to change the course of the city.

The egret lazily raises a foot,

rusty flakes falling into the current,

it watches a rainbow of plastics float bye.

A never ending mega drought,

wouldn't stop this arroyo from resurrecting.

The egret slowly dips its claws in the stream,

ancient dancer lifting its gray hakana,

despite all the distraction the cycle persists.

Rush hour traffic and midnight flows,

can’t silence the trickling sounds of water.

The egret reenacts its movements,

shoots its beak through the waters edge,

a small frog is trapped as the sky darkens.

Suburban medication  and the urban chaos,

couldn’t stop the river reaching its destination.

The egret glides through the crying willows,

rises up the stream that’s eternally etched,

follows the contours that lead to the ocean of time.

Summer's Arrival: Free-Verse

Summer’s Arrival

By Armando Ortiz

Jacarandas dry up 

as they fell and landed 

on the sidewalk, 

a purple carpet 

welcomes our walk.

Jasmine fragrances blend 

with the warming days, 

tiny white flowers burst

Summer's sudden arrival.

Traffic lights turn red,

a humming is stalled,

destinations unknown

in cars people forever roam.

Sparrows perch on branches,

feeding crying chicks.

Hummingbirds hovering besides

crimson nectar feeders.

Sycamore trees lush and green,

swaying with the wind,

cars resume their drive,

artificial breeze picks up. 

Offshore currents

blending with westerly flows,

longer warm days mix with

the humdrum of summer’s arrival.

Stargaze: Free Verse

Stargaze: Free-Verse

By Armando Ortiz

Materials gathered and shaped to replicate a moment, an instance of awe as men stand seeing wonders.

Celestial blanket, following the earth's curve, earthly hands making cairns, the breeze flowing to the four directions.

The unwinding coil that opens as an Anasazi trail that starts where it ends. Chaco road to Polaris, little bear forever pivoting towards mother, a kaleidoscope of lights.

The unmoving torch that seems to unweave itself from dusk to dawn, a pinyon cone falls from a gnarled branch as time flows with the passing wind, the galaxy winds an eternal ticking clock.

A mechanical thermostat ignites the flame that warms us tonight, its coil adjusting the temperature, keeping a steady pleasant night.

Our minds are still the same as before, in play and rediscovery.

The glare of the stars blinding our eyes, and modern artifacts with applications guiding, pointing towards the road where the constellations of the evening hidden lay.

Stone pillars reveal the way to a time of wonder today, with the sun rising over Stonehenge with steady trajectory, and Venus’ orbit momentarily hiding behind a Maya temple.

Galactic sign posts for eyes to search the night are also revealed by a screen’s light, reminding you that the day reveals itself in the wonders on display.

So use the gps or the star map to gaze or better yet find a mountain top to hike.

And from there, be in awe as you stand and calmly a starry delight unveils itself across the dark, where diamonds and sapphires glittering patiently float in a trance along the universal orbit.

Reignite the bonfire, joining the song, and toss more wood to be cozy through the night.

Vessels: Free - Verse

Vessels

By Armando Ortiz

We are a collection of thoughts and memories

our bodies are vessels sensing reality,

Domes are an eye to the universe

inside and through them you see the world,

Constellations glow in the night sky

and the four winds never die.

Enter the reed hut

exit the underground sweat,

Reexperience your birth

following the daily cycles,

The moon moving from the east

sunsets along the western horizon,

The dizzying swirl of the universe

walking on holy ground in our life.

The moment is sacred and eternal

vessels receiving everything sensed,

The earth is cool to the touch

shade of oaks protect us from the heat,

The tree bears fruit

wild flowers wither.

Leaves turn brown in the garden

seeds get buried underground,

Stone cathedrals show human genius

canyon walls speak to open hearts,

 

Mundane eyes see the sacred everywhere

clay pots getting filled by life and time.

We are a collection of the experiences

deciding what to filter and what to let in,

Turning past events into thoughts,

feelings churning into action

Meant to be here now,

experiencing the infinite miracle.

Juan Rulfo's World: A Literary Diorama

Juan Rulfo's World: A Literary Diorama

by Armando Ortiz

Juan Rulfo is one of the best short story writers of the Americas, and his one short novel ranks as one of the best. He stands amongst the great short story writers of all time, and will be read for many years to come. 

Rulfo was born in 1917 in Jalisco, Mexico. His father was killed at 6 years old, and four years later his mother died. In his early teens he lived in an orphanage located in Guadalajara. Despite these challenges he managed to study accounting and went on to become an author and salesman. He received a fellowship that enabled him to focus on writing which gave birth to two books.

His stories take place in a time of great instability and violence, The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) and the Cristero Wars (1926-1929) during which poverty became the environment from which his stories emerge. The violence he describes must have been born from the experiences of that time. Violence, was and still is very common in Latin America stemming from politics. It's a theme that many people around the world can understand. 

His whole written canon is made up of two books: a collection of short stories, El Llano En Llamas (The Burning Plain and other short stories) and one short novel, Pedro Paramo.  There is another book that was published, a collection of photographs that he took throughout Mexico. I’d heard his name in passing from an acquaintance. He was very familiar with Latin American writers and told me that there was one particular character found in Rulfo’s book of short stories, El Llano En Llamas, that stood out, Lucas Lucatero.

Reading his works one easily gets lost in the web of his prose which creates magical settings inside the mind. His descriptions and emotions blend to become enigmatic of what word play ought to be. His stories set the bar high and are a template for good writing.

In Rulfo’s world people are always coming and going. Going to places unknown and never seen before. Characters come from locations with strange names and sites where prayers go unheard. Protagonists are always passing through towns where the inhabitants seem more like wandering spirits in purgatory. The people in his stories have condemned themselves or have earned the condemnation of others.

Furthermore, the poor travel by foot or donkey, while the rich gallop around in horses. Ghosts, like Sisyphus, are condemned to carry firewood on their backs on paths that lead to nowhere- forever. Horse riders become the embodiment of the pale horse rider found in the Book of Revelation, and are not given the sacred sacraments of priests. Salvation is inches away but never acquired. No one is immune to the sins of humanity, and to the consequences of violence. Heaven has become a mirage that exists only in delirious dreams.

Though not spoken, each character’s perception, hand gesture, physical movements and journeys to certain places indicate their destiny. Fate becomes an individual’s collective decision and collective future. Bandits are shot at night in the midst of a robbery. Murders are swept away by torrential rains or are relegated to haunt towns forever.

Choices that were made at a time of heated passion, anger and depression become part of the condemnation. Death becomes imbued with sentimentality and regret. Revenge almost completes the cycle of justice but the circle is never really closed. Vengeance leaves the door open to more misfortune. Incest brings about hidden desires and outward shows of affection towards the dead through hollow rituals.

Exploitation is a byword for the impunity by which people live. Killers are condemned by their own crimes and their sleep becomes one where ghost talk and victims scream at night. Violence is the accepted norm. Blood, the sacred liquid that is supposed to cleanse, just gets coagulated with dust, dirt and sweat infecting the body. The sick are relegated to sweat it out in their own mental sweat lodge. Clinging on to the hope of going to the bigger town to pray to the holier relic.

Despite the suffering that many characters live through, every one of them wishes to keep on living. Yet when the time comes to confront death everyone tries to run away. Like Antonius Block, the Crusader in Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, they try to play chess against death and make excuses to prolong the game. 

Wishing to hold on to life a bit longer, the sweetness of sautéed onions with garlic and olive becomes delectable to them. Morning toil becomes dawn’s morning glory. The gun to their temple makes his characters kneel down and beg for life. Their existence is rough but also bearable in Rulfo’s diorama. Nature in his world takes on dimensions that are linked to ancient Mexican mythology with the recent experienced lives.

Reading through his stories you arrive at small towns where natural forces punish its dwellers, as if the Aztec god of tlaloc slithers around in the background. Streams seem to feed the wild weeds. There is hardly any water that’s drinkable, and irrigating the cornfields is a precarious endeavor. Fruit that is harvested by the shadow characters isn’t sweet. Bitter is the taste of life. 

When the rains come, it pours, rivers awaken and can take small adobe homes down canyons and arroyos. The possessions of poverty stricken families; a cow, a pair of pigs and occasionally a relative; are washed away. Life is harsh, but nature seems to be the cruelest of them all.

This harsh natural backdrop becomes a vivid canvas in Rulfo’s narratives. His descriptions of the environment and climate are active and alive, portraying the sun as hot embers hanging over the heads of everyone. When it rains the tears of his characters’ eyes flow as fast as the savage rivers. The sky is blue, and lifeless. Even in the oppressive heat the sky remains cold and silent. 

The winds walk down corridors like lost children at the mall, wailing for something. Waking life becomes an itch that has no origins and no cure for it can be found. Sleep becomes torturous, because the weather is uncomfortable and secrets can’t get lost in the darkness. Night quickly disappears and the rising sun quickly wakes everyone up from their slumber. 

With the unrelenting heat of the moving sun and the trampling of dirt roads, dust rises. The floating sand particles enter through the mouth and nostrils of the characters making breathing, even for the reader, difficult. Life is tough and complex but his stories are easy to understand.

Even after death spirits wander in the stories in their own hell. Infinity is not something worth talking about or worth discussing because the present moment is too bleak and death so certain. It's just a matter of time before we once again wake up and have to deal with the realities of life. As a result superstition seeps through in many of the religious scenes.

Superstition becomes an outlet of hope where there is none. Saints bleed tears of remorse, because no god exists within Rulfo’s stories. Virgin statuettes seem to shed tears but are artificially placed there by priests in the morning. Idol’s hands spread like branches accepting all, listening to the incoherent cries of believers. Carved dolls cannot see mourners because of the thick incense smoke and their own wooden eyes are blind to injustice. Rulfo, in essence, walks the reader through the Valley of Death and tells them that the journey never ends. 

In a way we see the complexity of life through Rulfo eyes. He reveals that humans have complex desires and needs and sometimes are expressed through violence, and superstitions. Yet, a strong sense of human spirit is found in his stories. His characters at times depend on the blessings of priests, blessings that money can and cannot buy. Individuals that have to be forgiven but are not or cannot. 

Everyone at some point wants to be forgiven for something they’ve done. Remorse, even in death, is what many spirits continue to carry. Even in the bleakest of scenes you can hear the traces of hope being whispered throughout the stories. Life can be harsh, with violence being relative around the world, and humans always adapting to the changing winds of new ideas versus old traditions. Yet, it's the heat of the day that causes the nectar of flowers to drop like water onto the ground. Experiencing Rulfo’s writing is like entering an entire self contained world where the forces of nature are unforgiving and harsh, and yet people continue to persist in life.