Cal Poly Ponds

I’m perched on a rocky outcrop, looking down on the pond from above at a distance. A comfortable breeze, bordering on windy, flows across the water pushing ripples to the shore. Thick tufts of vegetation border the bond at all sides, and sounds of birds come from inside. It sounds so alive, the zone of watery vegetation. What plants are these? I wish I knew.

I wonder what it would be like to push right through that all of vegetation and plunge into what lies beyond. How many steps before my shoes first meet the water? The birds would scatter, flying up from the most unsuspected locations. Soon my shoes are waterlogged and my vision is obscured by the stalks that rise above my head. I continue on, fighting through the thickness of it, and finally, the light! The pond is in front of me, below me, up to my knees. It’s the only way to see this particular pond from up close. There isn’t a single exposed section of shoreline.

My imagination takes me through the experience, to a place where I am reluctant to go. Even though I want to explore that unknown wetland habitat, the practical consequences hold me back. There is certainly someone out there who is so caught up with nature that they would willingly do what I described, unfazed by the soiled and soaked clothing that would result. I’m not that person.

Pismo Beach

A single pier extends out over the ocean, daring to reach into the untamed vastness, but not reaching far relative the ocean’s immensity. The pier is a tangle of thick timbers, and the combined strength of them battles the relentless waves that crash into the structure. At a glance, the timbers appear haphazardly placed, with the simple goal of sinking as many as possible into the earth below for support. Winds rip into the shore, bringing the slightly stinging smell of salts.

Pismo Beach is a picturesque and stereotypical Californian beach. To the north and south of the pier, clean sandy beaches extend in an arc miles long. The sand slopes gently into the crashing waves, providing space for hundreds of beachgoers. Behind the beach, vertical cliffs separate the sand from the city above. The cliffs are whitish with dark green vegetation hanging down from above.

If a cool breeze causes you to rethink a day at the beach as you park above, think again. Descending to the sand below on a sunny day can be like descending into a furnace, and the breeze is less noticeable with the bright sun above and the hot sand underneath.

The only different between Pismo Beach and an outsider’s expectations is the water temperature. I was from out of state, and when I moved to California I expected warm tropical waters. I never expected the frigid waters that stay cold year-round and necessitate using a wet suit for swimming any length of time.

Poly Mountain Oak Grove

I’m at the point this week where I can’t give much thought to nature or ecoliterature. So tired! Six, four, five, and six hours of sleep for the past nights. I could be comfortable at home in bed, or out her in the oak grove, and it makes little different; the one thought on my mind is peaceful, uninterrupted, lengthy slumber. Now let’s see if I can’t salvage this terribly un-ecolit journal entry.

The oak trees sprawl overhead in a gnarled maze, blocking the warmth of the sun from the cool enclosure below. Crunching, brittle, dry leaves litter the ground in a blanket of autumn. The leaf covered ground seems out of place with spring in full swing, but the does have a feel of separation from the world. It’s barely visible from below, and more extensive than I thought possible from the little that could be seen. The natural structure formed overhead brings to mind the Wendell Berry’s poem “The Timbered Choir”, and I imagine he was thinking of a similar grove when he wrote it.

Cool air blows constantly across the bare skin of my arms and face, and I wish I brought a sweatshirt. San Luis Obispo’s moderate climate is both a curse and a blessing, depending on the circumstances of when you ask my opinion. Right now I want to be sprawled out in the hot sun, skin absorbing the rays, eyes closed, and I drift off into blissful nothingness.

Conservation and the Robert O’Neill Lawn

As with any debatable issue, conservation in practice is a balance between the supporters and opponents. Conservationists like Aldo Leopold push their viewpoint with the help of literary exaggeration, half-truths, and unreasonable elitism. Developers and industrialists fight back with deception, incomplete environmental impact reports, and their deep pockets. Inevitably the two sides meet somewhere in the middle, where neither wanted to be but both are willing to accept.

Does it always work that way? Is it a natural progression starting with a person or party’s unchecked fulfillment of self-interest? I highly value the work of conservationists, but I could never be one myself. Luckily, today there is a growing population of advocates for nature.

This college of business lawn that I set next to is an example of the inherent fuzziness of the issue. The lawn is artificial and exact, designed to be what it is and placed over the original landscape. On the other hand, it is a beautifully organized and peaceful setting, and will ensure that the vegetation has a secure home for years to come. One could argue that it is even a tribute to nature’s beauty. But the natural extremist might counter with a claim that the best and only tribute would be the original environment itself. Who is right? I believe neither group can win the debate, not in any real sense, and their opinions must merge to create workable solutions.

Oregon Forests

The forests of Oregon are lush, thick pine forests, full of wildlife. They are close to California, a long day’s drive from San Luis Obispo where I live, but they seem worlds away in appearance. California’s coastal forests are sparser, and are distinctly Mediterranean. They also have a tropical feel that Oregon lacks completely.

The Willamette Valley is stunning. One of the best times to see it is in July or August when the sun is bright overhead, but even today, in May, the valley is a sight to see. It isn’t as big as the central valley in California, but it is nonetheless massive. A drive from the south end by Eugene up to Portland takes two hours on the fastest route. Along the whole drive, mountains line either side in two parallel ranges, much like the Sierra Nevada and costal ranges far to the south.

Farms, wetlands, and forests abound throughout the Willamette Valley. A common sight is the Christmas tree farms that dot some of the hillsides near the edges of the valley. The farms contain row after row of young pine trees in various stages of development, but any given section of a farm contains trees of exactly the same age. For this reason, the tree farms look unnatural. The middle of the valley is flat, without a single hill interrupting its planar surface. It’s never truly flat though, because trees and other vegetation are everywhere. Oregon is known for its rainy weather, and the greenness of the landscape proves it. The landscape of western Oregon is a beautiful collection of wildlife and forests.

The World from Above

Landscapes, no matter what type, take on a new appearance from above. The small turboprop airplane lifts abruptly from the hold of the earth’s surface, and the transformation beings immediately. At first the experience is something akin to climbing Bishops Peak. The world sprawls around me, but no place is my base of observation. Every geographical feature is viewed from an ever increasing distance.

The manmade and natural features that seemed so familiar become part of an intricate map as I continue to rise. Poly Mountain, at first looming high to the east, takes on a pathetic size in relation to my increasing range of observation. Topography becomes meaningless, because the plane’s elevation is much greater than the changes in height below. Highways follow valleys like artificial arteries, reaching into the most remote locations, as if supplying some type of life-giving fluid.

The lakes near Paso Robles look like puddles when the ocean can be seen covering half the currently visible surface of the earth. The Pacific Ocean stretches on into infinity, to the north, south, and especially to the west. Not a single object blemishes the uninterrupted, dark blue body of water. More water than I can imagine is just beyond the horizon that reaches to ever increasing depths. It looks lifeless, but I know that the opposite is true. Marine life hides just below the surface, and reaches down to the ocean floor. Imagine the wonderment of being able to look down and see exactly where all of that life is—to see the whales and their migration, and perhaps a few solitary sharks venturing near the beaches. The godlike sight would be absolutely incredible.

Cal Poly Farms

Wendell Berry’s poem, “The Timbered Choir,” is easy to identify with in the presence of the enormous trees that sprawl overhead. The branches wind their way upward in gnarled paths, and the main trunk manages to support the enormous weight. A canopy is formed overhead. The branches form natural arches that rival the splendor of cathedrals, a fact that Berry was well aware of.

After taking time to appreciate Berry’s literature in a natural setting, we continued on to Cal Poly’s main field. Hundreds of neat, evenly spaced rows of plowed dirt extend into the distance where a hill obstructs further expansion. I always imagine farmland as uniform plots, each containing a single type of crop, with every plant more or less at the same state of growth. This field is notably different. Roughly ten rows are planted, for only half the field’s total length, and they contain a wide mix of vegetables. Carrots, lettuce, turnips and more. It looks like pathetically little from afar, but by walking down a row I quickly revise my judgment. What looks like little is actually a lot, and what looks like a small field can support all sorts of crops. I will have a new perspective the next time I drive by a farm, because I have a new appreciation for the amount of food contained in plot of land.

The trip culminated with a tour of the dairy unit. We went in through the front door, and my first view of the operation was through a series of second floor hallway windows. Rows of cows were being milked below, surrounded by complex machinery. Cold steel was the dominant impression. A runway extended straight out, sloping downward with railing on either side, increasing the futuristic and artificial appearance of the facility. I couldn’t help feeling like I was looking into a manufacturing facility, sheltered from the true experience by the walls of glass. I thought of the scene in the movie Independence Day at the secret military facility, when the president and others are looking in while the aliens are operated on. It has a distinctly un-naturalist feel, but I understand, and accept, its place in modern society.

Bishops Peak

Every time I’m here I feel like I’m ascending to the center what has been my world for last four years. Bishops Peak rises like a spire, thrusting out of the landscape, and supporting a pile of enormous boulders at its summit. The peak’s size is deceiving. At some angles it appears as a large mass, dominating the landscape. From other vantage points, and especially up close, it looks deceptively small.

There comes a time, about half way up, when I remember how striking and extensive the views are. The sun beats down, warming my skin. The clean, dry air fills my lungs as they breathe faster. My feet kick up dust from the packed dirt of the trail. Trees have been left behind, and the slopes are a maze up shrubs and boulders until the summit, where trees once again take hold. The path winds in a series of long switchbacks. This last stretch up the exposed mountain side always seems to take the longest, because the distance seem shorter than they really are. I think it’s the absence of any sense of scale that causes the effect. There are no buildings or other manmade structures for a concrete perspective.

The summit is teeming with boulders, some help precariously at the edge of a steep slope. I like to imagine pushing with enough force to dislodge one of the behemoths. It would begin slowly, the boulder reluctant to abandon its towering presence, and then it reaches the point of no return. Gaining speed, ground shaking, obliterating obstacles, the piece of mountain cannot be halted.

Every part of my life is spread out below my view from atop the highest boulder. Cal Poly, to the east, is nestled in the corner of the valley with Poly Mountain as a backdrop. Downtown San Luis Obispo is further south, and even at this height I can identify landmarks. On the other side, next to Laguna Lake lies my neighborhood and house. Beyond all of this—the ocean.

Laguna Lake

Laguna Lake has the interesting phenomenon of being almost completely ignored. Everyone knows it is there, but in a casual, offhand sort of way. It’s never mentioned in the same context as other lakes—as an exciting nexus of summer recreation. Only one road, Madonna Road, passes close to the lake, and only for a few car lengths. On many occasions I drive past without even remember a lake is there at all.

The part next to the lake is a very peaceful setting. Paths twist and turn away from the parking lot, carrying me between scattered trees. I am surrounded by fields of short, golden grasses. The lake extends into the distance, away from the road. Most of the lake is difficult to see, except from along its shores or from above.

Different times of day bring about unique experiences. There are two times of day at which the lake is especially breathtaking. Early morning, after a fog shrouded night, wisps of mist appear and fade in an eerily supernatural show. My favorite time to see Laguna Lake is during that time. Steam rises from the water, giving it a feeling of life. The other time is during late afternoon, as the sun makes its way down to the horizon. Everything is vividly colored. The greens are richer, the golds brighter, and the shadows contrast with all of them. Laguna Lake glistens in the sunlight, and the breeze sways the lazy trees in a gently rhythm. My house is a single block away from this peaceful place.

Morro Bay

The beaches of Morro are remarkable different compared to the other frequented beaches of California’s central coast. While most have lengths of sloped sandy shores, at Morro Bay the earth seems more rugged and rocky. The sand has rocks and small pebbles mixed in, and even the sand itself seems rougher. Morro Rock’s proximity suggests that the surrounding rocky terrain contributed to the beach’s characteristics. Dark grey rocks that eroded from the mountainside form a rocky shoreline, and this further supports my observation.

Morro Bay, the city, is a mirror of its surrounding landscape. The most striking feature is the coal mill—a dominant structure, out of place, and a symbol of our industrialization. Morro Rock is nature’s version. It’s too dominates the landscape, is quite out of place on the coastline, and is a testament of nature’s own industrial workings. The rock is a remnant of a long dormant volcano. I couldn’t imagine the area without Morro Rock, and its hulking mass belongs here more than any of us. The power plant is equally associated with Morro Bay, but it could disappear without eliciting any sorrow from me.

Both the bay and city have a rugged feel. The houses are strewn about on the low hillsides, surrounded by patches of coastal plants and brown packed dirt. There is a raw ugliness to it, and I see the same thing in Morro Rock. The city is a quintessential example of a settlement matching the environment in which it was built. But I don’t mean to say that the city is good for the environment, only that it matches it.

Rockslide Ridge

The shear rock face drops away for hundreds of feet until it meets the mess of jagged debris that has fallen throughout the millennia. I stand firm, concentrating on my balance, lest I topple over the edge and meet a similar fate. Rockslide Ridge is the obvious name for the geographic feature, and I am certain that even Mary Austin would have used it with approval.

Past the rockslide, the hillside gradually gives way to sloping grassland, and eventually scattered trees. Further away I can see the riparian area that we followed during our first excursion weeks before. My eyes drift left and up in the direction of the Cuesta pass. It rises steeply from the valleys below, and is the final barrier between the coast and California’s central valley.

In the opposite direction, I look past road we followed at the beginning of the hike and gaze upon the central campus. It seems more rural and insignificant from this perspective, and I am glad to have the chance to see it this way. Cal Poly is right on the edge of civilization. Development surrounds the campus on two sides, but the other two touch lands that contain few signs of our proximity.

Walking down the hillside is as difficult as climbing it. As I navigate around and sometimes over the rocks, while at the same time dodging sharp yucca plants, I think about the enormous history of the place. Regardless of what caused the erosion, it was a painstakingly slow and intermittent process.

Montaña de Oro

The eucalyptus forest in Montaña de Oro is somber today, as it often is, shrouded in a sea of fog that just barely touches the tree tops. The fog drifts slowly inland in a continuously changing mass of piercing water vapor. I can imagine standing in the midst of its movement. The cool air would be felt all over my body, making the day seem unfriendly. But the fog is high enough to spare me the sensation, and I can walk comfortably through the trees below.

Of all the trees in California, the eucalyptus is one of my favorite. My preference for them is interesting, because the species was introduced to the United Sates. I’ve been told that some Californians are averse to their presence in the state. But how could I dislike them, even for their invasiveness? The eucalyptus is tall and elegant, reaching out but mostly up in a series of well-defined branches. They look so clean, sleek, and a bit exotic. Blotches of orange often accent the branches of the eucalyptus, adding to its uniqueness.

Multitudes of tress surround me as I wind my way through the forest. Old, dried leaves blanket the ground, reminding me that the eucalyptus is not as clean and elegant as I sometimes think. If one paid no attention to the leafy canopy overhead, then it would appear that the entire forest had lost its leaves in preparation for winter. The signs of life are higher up, because the taller trees lack any lower leafy branches.

The trees look at home here, and I suppose they are. They took over the area and made it their home. Controversy aside, I can’t imagine coming to Montaña de Oro without gazing upon the beauty of the fog cloaked eucalyptus forest.

San Luis Obispo

I left my robotics laboratory no more than twenty minutes ago. As I make my way across campus to the northern parking area, I am overcome by how calm and pleasantly warm the air feels. The sun is still on its rising path and baths the landscape in its increasingly warm rays. Heaviness to the air has resulted in San Luis Obispo seeming slightly tropical today. Summers here are a mix of moderate weather conditions, but my absolute favorite is the type of weather we have today. It makes me want to forget all of my commitments and work so I can drive off to the beach or climb Bishops Peak.

San Luis Obispo has nearly perfect weather. My only complaint is the wind, which is why I am contented by today’s calm air. A slight breeze is acceptable, and even preferred, but the strongest gusts that rip through from the ocean can be tiresome. But it’s these very same winds that are largely responsible for the moderate weather that attracts people to the area.

Sometimes I forget just how close San Luis Obispo is to the Pacific Ocean. I used to find time to visit the beaches at least once each quarter. Lately, however, classes keep me far too busy. The random trips to the beach in the middle of winter were the defining elements of my freshman year at Cal Poly. I took full advantage of the Central Coast in those days. San Luis Obispo sits on a plot of land that is surrounding by tall, green, grass covered mountains that give the city its unique identity. The ocean, though hidden while living in San Luis Obispo, defines the city just as much as the surrounding mountainous landscape.

Leaning Pine Arboretum

Today was another first for me. The eco-lit class met at the Leaning Pine Arboretum today, and we walked through picturesque scenes of California flora. Even as a fourth-year student, I never found a reason to visit the arboretum. I can distinctly recall occasions when I wanted to go, but I never got farther than expressing a desire to see it before graduating and leaving San Luis Obispo.

The arboretum is a collection of plants that are displayed in different Californian native groups. All of the plants are types that can be found in the Central Coast area. Steven Marx gave background information on many of the species as we made our way down the dirt pathways. Tall, leafy trees stretched over the walkway and created a wonderful sense of immersion. In every direction one could see a new plant species. Some of them I recognized immediately, and others were unknown to me. I was astounded by the concentration of so much diverse plant life within the small plot of land that contains the arboretum. Trees, shrubs, flowers, and grass are carefully maintained by the students and faculty, so the arboretum has traits in common with an extravagant well-manicured garden. But the arboretum stands out in contrast as a showcase of native California.

To the east of the arboretum, the new Poly Canyon Village is rapidly taking shape. It literally borders the edge of the arboretum, with the construction fence no more than 10 feet away at some points. I wish I had found time to visit the arboretum before the construction started. The view from the arboretum seems to accentuate the splendor of its natural contents, and this effect has been dampened by the proximity of the new buildings.

The Misfortune of Inheritance

Thoreau, in Walden, writes “I see young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more easily acquired than got rid of. Better if they had been born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf, then they might have seen with clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in.”

I truly believe that Thoreau is correct. Even if his “solution” is a bit harsh and unrealizable, his reasoning is valid. Thoreau is commenting on the lack of choice that we have as we grow up and settle into a role in society. Well, we actually do have some choice, but it can be immensely difficult to break free from a path in life that is already open, and has been followed by your closest family members.

I have wondered before if farmers are happy with their profession. Not just farmers, but also other professions can be worth discussing in the context of the Thoreau excerpt. How many engineers picked a path that they were directed toward by someone else? Their inherited farms are instead the promise of an “in’ at the father’s company or even a parent’s prodding to go into the profession.

Farming is still interesting to look at, partly because of my years spent in a small Wyoming town. Actually in Wyoming it was ranching instead of farming. So many of classmates ended up on the family ranch and had either decided on it or resigned themselves to it years before. I sometimes wondered if these people had any choice. If they did have other options, how hard would it have been to case away the life that was inherited: by “misfortune”, according to Thoreau.

I feel a little of what Thoreau talks about, but in a different sense. I picked engineering, and am now starting down the path toward law school. The transition is difficult, primarily because I am so entrenched in the world of engineering.

New Engineering Lawn

I am taking a break from classes, and I find myself sitting on the grassy hillside in the new plaza next to Engineering IV. The wind really rips through here at times, but today is relatively calm. A large expanse of rich green grass extends in front of me, all the way to the parking lot, and a few students are lazily stretched out on the turf. The grass is thick and tall, and will probably need to be cut soon.

I wonder how naturalists like Thoreau feels about landscaping, including hedge trimming and lawn mowing. On one hand, the vegetation is unharmed (presumably), and is taken care of. It is provided the water it needs, and will never be allowed to die. But the whole process of planting the grass in a specified enclosure and maintaining it at a certain state is completely unnatural. Would that bother a naturalist? I would guess that it would not, but my guess is influenced by my opinion.

The trees are another matter. They are currently young and very small. Wooden stakes and rope support the narrow trunk until the tree has grown stronger. A predetermined number of trees were planted in predetermined spots, and they will certainly be trimmed if needed as they grow larger. Would a naturalist look at this and cringe?

This plaza is really quite well designed. The buildings are a balance between extravagance and efficiency. I think no one would deny that this set of buildings is one of the nicer structures on campus. I am trying to imagine what it will look like with enormous trees throughout the plaza. The look and feel would change drastically, and for the better. Beautiful landscaping like this allows some remnant of naturalism to remain, even in the midst of constant new development.

Relatively Secluded Clearing and Needle Grass

The class walked up to a grass enclosure near the Cal Poly President’s old house. I rarely have an opportunity like this to sit in a sunny, open, peaceful area that is tucked away from the rest of campus. I wonder if the campus administrators will keep it this way—as a protected escape from the bustling campus. Construction noises are audible, and I can still hear the passing cars, but the visual separation will have to be enough. I can see parts of the rising architectural and environmental engineering building, already beginning to take a definite shape.

The sun bearing down on my face in the middle of this chill and windy day is a pleasant experience. I am certain that if I wanted to I could fall asleep in this setting (if I were along, that is). The gnarled surface of the log I sit on makes a surprisingly good chair, and it adds to the comfort I feel. Chirping birds sound from all directions. I have no idea what types of birds I hear, but I enjoy listening anyway. I wonder if I would enjoy the sounds more or less if I knew all of the scientific details.

The professor is definitely correct about the needle grass being a wonderful native species. A gentle breeze causes the golden grass to sway and ripple. I usually appreciate landscapes without knowing much about the plant life, but now I am able to recognize at least one species. There are so many natural places near Cal Poly, each one as unique as this one, but my schoolwork keeps me too busy to spend more time outdoors.

Poly Canyon

This is not my first trip to Poly Canyon. I was here about three years ago during my freshman year of college. As I walk through the surroundings again, the main thought that strikes me is the entirely different feel of this experience. Last time I was here with my brother and many friends. The day was hot, and Poly Canyon was breathtakingly beautiful. The group of us were simply enjoying the perfect day and exploring a new area. We looked at and went into all of the houses and took pictures of everything.

Today the weather is overcast and calm. The air feels hot and humid. The bright sun is completely hidden behind a sea of grey clouds. Even with the weather so different than during my last trip, the main difference is the situation. I feel like I am on a field trip, which we sort of are. This seems to limit my enjoyment, probably because I am in my learning mode. Also, the other class members are completely unknown to me.

I never realized the extent of Cal Poly’s land ownership. Knowing that Cal Poly has the land assets that it does, I can’t help feeling a slight sense of pride. Not only do I get to study at a great engineering school, but I also get to attend a college in one of the most beautiful and relatively undeveloped parts of California.

I hear the sounds of birds singing all around me as I sit writing on the hillside. The experience has a calming effect on me, and I feel a sense of detachment from the stressful day to day life of classes, projects, homework and tests.