A secret gem tucked in the Cuyamaca Mountains 60 miles northeast of San Diego, Pinecrest Retreat is home to 160 trailer sites, mostly vintage trailer time capsules. These range from complete restorations of trailers produced from the 1940s through the 1970s, to those just beginning the journey back to their former glory days.

Originally developed in 1961 by aircraft manufacturer General Dynamics-Convair as a retreat for its employees, Pinecrest was sold to a series of private owners beginning in 1994, eventually falling into the hands of Kathleen Rosenow and her husband Frank Spevacek in 2005.

Old-school family time

When sitting by the Pinecrest pool on a warm summer day, you don’t see kids staring at phones or watching movies on an iPad. You’ll see them pairing up, congregating and creating games with other kids they’ve never met. At twilight, you’ll hear them rambling through the park together, possibly seeking mischief but hardly ever finding too much beyond the occasional rock throwing or squirrel chasing … as far as their parents know.

You will notice the unique makeup of the site holders at Pinecrest. Frank and Kathleen recall their very first summer: It was Memorial Day weekend, the big summer kickoff. Everyone was at the pool enjoying live music as they do every summer, and Frank got up to the microphone to welcome everyone.

“I looked around and thought, here we have everyone from conservative Christian families to gay and lesbian couples with their children, and everything in between. Everyone just seemed to get along,” he says. “I was looking and thought, how did all these people get here? People from LA, from San Diego, from as far away as Texas, from all walks of life. What is attracting folks to this place?”

Frank and Kathleen’s daughter and son-in-law, Jill and Wilson Riggs, nod their heads in agreement.

“Well, it’s a nice place to just be.”

Some vintage trailer site holders have been here almost since day one when Frank and Kathleen were first starting out at Pinecrest. Ron Guley, from Orange County, has two adjacent sites. On one sits a beautifully restored, 1950s Royal Spartanette — much sought-after by trailer enthusiasts — and a smaller, very rare “canned ham” style camper built by Field & Stream Trailers in El Monte during the 1950s and ’60s.

How did he get into this?

Ron explains: “At the time, my partner and I owned an antique store, and we were traveling around in a rental truck scouring the countryside for antiques. We came across someone who mentioned Julian and said we should check it out. There were a lot of cool antique stores here. We asked what their connection to Julian was, and they said they had a trailer in this vintage trailer park. At the time, we had been talking about maybe finding a cabin in the mountains, and I said, you know, this might be a really cool thing. We then met a guy that had a site here and, at the time, was a producer for Huell Howser’s ‘California’s Gold’ and was really into restoring vintage trailers. He told us that if we were serious about it, he would help us find a trailer, and he did.”

A community rises from ashes

Sitting on a western-style sofa in the vintage-inspired “Paradise Lounge” clubhouse, with groovy vibes of “Austin Powers” in the woods, Frank and Kathleen recall their initial vision when purchasing the property 20 years ago.

“We talked a little bit about how it would be developed,” says Kathleen, “but we didn’t really have a clear vision; we just knew it was a beautiful property and there was a lot of cleanup to do because of the fire.”

The fire they refer to was the 2003 Cedar fire. At the time, the Cedar fire was one of the deadliest, largest and most destructive wildfires in California history: 273,246 acres burned, 2,820 structures destroyed. Fifteen lives were lost, including Firefighter Steven Rucker for whom the nearby highway was named. The fire also burned through nearly half of Pinecrest’s 80 acres of pine, oak, cedar and trailers.

But to understand the story of how Pinecrest came to be what it is today, we have to talk a little more about Frank and Kathleen:

In the late ’70s, Frank was working at the city planning department in Culver City. “One day, I came back to the office after lunch, and standing there at the counter was Kathleen. I thought, wow, she looks interesting, and a woman I worked with looked at me and said ‘You’re going to marry that girl someday.’”

His co-worker’s intuition was correct; Frank and Kathleen were married in 1981.

Frank and Kathleen lived in Santa Ana, and eventually started their own successful consulting business, advising cities and private developers on the redevelopment of older communities and other real-estate transactions. After the Cedar fire in 2003, Frank and Kathleen’s neighbor approached them seeking advice for his parents, who were the current owners of the Pinecrest Retreat.

Frank recalls, “It was a rather serendipitous circumstance. Our neighbor came over and said his parents were burned out in the Cedar fire, and they had their home up on the hill there, and the fire just raged through and burned it to the ground as well as half the property. Well, they were done with it and wanted to move on, so he asked if we would come by and take a look at the property and give them some advice on what they could do or how they might be able to sell it.”

As it turns out, they ended up buying Pinecrest themselves.

“Our overall intent was to nurture the land and its facilities back to good health.”

‘Trailer people’

New to Pinecrest this past year, Suzie and Richard DeGuilio of Alhambra had some friends who were site-holders. They informed them of a 1969 Silver Streak Sabre that was for sale, and if they purchased the trailer they could probably take over the site from the current owners.

Silver Streak trailers were produced in small numbers in El Monte, and you’ll never want to confuse one with the similar-looking Airstream trailers, as Silver Streak owners tend to look down on the more mass-produced, industry giant Airstream.

Standing in front of their new-yet-old Silver Streak, Suzie recalls, “We drove up to see it with our son, and they had multiple people looking at it, but they liked us the best, so we got picked!” She laughs.

Richard chimes in, “That was our first time visiting Julian and Pinecrest. And honestly, when we were driving up from LA, I was a little skeptical, thinking, OK, are we really trailer people? Like, is this really our thing? As we were driving, I thought, OK, this is pretty and everything, but still not convinced. Then we pulled into downtown Julian, and I was pretty much sold. We drove into Pinecrest and just fell in love; no more convincing needed to be done. We were trailer people.”

“The site is just gorgeous with the live oaks, and it’s very private,” Suzie says. “I grew up camping all over the western states, and to me, it felt very comfortable. As we got older, we realized we didn’t love pitching tents and sleeping on the ground whenever we camped. It’s a lovely way to have a getaway without making a campsite every time. Another thing we love is that our trailer was in original condition, all the appliances and fixtures, nobody took it apart and tried to build something new. You see so many old trailers that look like a new condo with plasma TVs and microwaves. We appreciate the original vintage.”

Richard adds: “It does need a little work; that’s the fun part of owning it. We don’t want to come up here and work the whole time, but it’s cool to work on little projects, and it starts to make it feel like it’s ours.”

All in the family

After they purchased Pinecrest, Frank and Kathleen moved to Julian full time and began the overwhelming task of restoring it. It soon became a family affair.

Frank and Kathleen’s youngest daughter, Jill, chipped in by working at the pool snack shop during her summer break from college.

“After college, I went to work on a farm in Nevada City, kind of testing the waters of what I wanted to do in life because that’s what you do in your early 20s,” Jill says. She later took a job teaching outdoor education in Portola, a small town in Northern California, where she met Wilson Riggs.

If you were to picture in your mind’s eye what a “Sierra Nevada mountain guide” looks like, an image of Wilson Riggs would appear — big, bearded and burly. And if you were to give a name to that imaginary mountain guide, you’d choose a name like “Wilson Riggs.”

Jill and Wilson ended up working together in the mountains in 2010 — Wilson as a mountain guide with Yosemite Mountain Guides, and Jill continuing in outdoor education. They soon fell in love and were later married.

Speaking from the clubhouse, a space Wilson and Jill helped create, he recalls, “Our time working in the mountains kind of left a gap in our winters, so we came down here to Pinecrest and started helping out, and then we’d go back and do our seasonal work during the summers up north.”

“At that point, we started to really see the potential of Pinecrest and said to my in-laws, ‘You know, we could eventually take this place over.’” In 2013, Jill and Wilson Riggs took over full-time management of the property and are now part owners.

“We’ve just kind of been chugging away at it ever since. There’s not a part of this park we haven’t put our stamp on at this point,” Wilson says. “When we first started, it was kind of creating my mom and dad’s vision and then just us getting comfortable here. Our first big job was numbering all the sites. The previous owner had their own mental numbering system that no one really knew about. We ended up collecting 160 large rocks and hand-painting them with site numbers so we would have some idea of who was where,” Jill adds, laughing.

Waiting to get in

There’s a wait list to become one of the coveted 160 site-holders; people just don’t want to leave. The yearly lease on a Pinecrest site is about what one would expect to pay to store a trailer at a storage facility in Southern California.

Kathy remarks, “The site holders are our business plan. They’re what keep us going.”

When asked why, with such a high demand, they don’t raise the yearly leases, Wilson responds, “This is our life’s work. There’s not a rock here I haven’t stepped on or kicked, and we’re not here to make a killing; we’re here to make a living.”

You’ll often see “Pinecresters” on long walks through the tight, gravel drives that randomly connect all of the sites, a sort of living, natural gallery, marveling at the beauty of their neighbors’ blood, sweat and tears, described by Jill Riggs as “pieces of art.”

The most famous trailer at Pinecrest is probably a fully restored 1957, 27-foot Airfloat Cruiser in anodized gold, purchased by partners Jim Dowle and Spencer Street, from a Hollywood film editor in 2023. You may have seen Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Kurt Russell or Margot Robbie lounging in and around the Airfloat in the 2019 film “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.”

“We loved it straight away,” Jim says with his distinctive British accent as he points out some of the tedious work they’ve done to the trailer. “The connection to the film was quite something. We went up to Ventura to take a look at it, and it was way out of our budget, but we thought budgets were meant to be broken, so we made a deal then and there.”

“We love it here at Pinecrest,” Spencer adds. “We all have a common interest, in the vintage camping and the outdoors. It’s truly where you leave all your troubles behind, isn’t it?”

It’s an intimidating and austere environment, a cliff island, with only one small beach that can only be reached by boat and has barely a nod to any requirements to support habitation.

The 40-foot sea arch rock just offshore serves as both the symbol of the park and a guidepost on approach to East Anacapa.

Visitors ferried by Island Packers Cruises, the concessionaire in charge of transportation to the Channel Islands National Park, must climb a ladder to a series of cliffside staircases to mount the island. The transition from boat to ladder is aided by a small mechanical lift, with visitors timing their movement to match the sea swells.

Ferry service to the island is dependent on tides and weather. Boats do not run to Anacapa every day; mostly, they drop off or pick up returning passengers in a single stop.

On days when tides permit, Island Packers runs extra trips to give visitors a chance to explore the island and return home the same day, but in terms of scheduling, those dates are few and need to be booked well in advance.

After landing on East Anacapa, the island’s 1932 lighthouse is nearby and the roundtrip to Inspiration Point on the west of the islet is an easy 1.5 miles. Other features along the figure-8 trail system include Pinniped Point, where California sea lions can be sighted, and Cathedral Cove, which is noted for its beautiful rock formations.

For campers, a primitive experience awaits. Campsites lie in a small valley and include a picnic table, food storage box, pit toilet and nothing else. Fires are not allowed.

On a recent visit, a friend and I were two of only three campers staying on the often fog-shrouded Anacapa, with gray and white Western gulls squawking to protect their nesting spots all over the island. While often noisy and in some cases camping out on food storage boxes, the birds weren’t aggressive.

Anacapa also is home to the largest brown pelican rookery in the United States. Park advisories note the island can be noisy and smelly depending on the bird nesting season, but wildflower displays can be vibrant. Anacapa has no food, services or water for visitors.

Visitors’ guide: Channel Islands National Park

California is home to some of the most stunning gems of the National Park system: Yosemite, Sequoia, Redwood and Joshua Tree national parks, to name a few. But one might argue any collection that speaks to the Golden State’s nature, must also represent the coast and, in the sparkling Pacific, the Channel Islands.

Established in 1980, Channel Islands National Park consists of five islands — Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, San Miguel and more detached Santa Barbara — and the marine reserves which lie within 1 nautical mile of the group’s 175 miles of coastline. The archipelago was thrown up by tectonic collision of the Pacific and North American plates and is named for the deep trough that separates them from the mainland.

Considering a visit, or just want to learn more?

Start with an easy trip to the Channel Islands National Park Visitor Center.

Off Highway 101 at Telephone Road in Ventura, roll past shopping and business centers to a bridge over railroad tracks where the route drops into a broad agricultural expanse.

A little further on, a right turn on to Olivas Park Drive leads to the South Jetty Beach, Island Packers Cruises and the visitor center. The center offers a visual and tactile display of all the islands have to offer.

Just inside the center’s doors, on the walls to the left, are screens with images from island webcams; straight ahead are fossil replicas and life-sized models of island fauna — including a massive elephant seal — all inviting closer examination; and to the right is a functional tidepool exhibit populated with an array of creatures, plus a bookshop.

A whiteboard just to the right of the entrance displays tallies of marine mammal sightings: March 20, 20 gray whales and 1,500 common dolphins; March 21, 30 humpback whales, 18 gray whales, 3,600 common dolphins and 10 Risso’s dolphins. …

Entries for other days note high numbers of common dolphins as well as bottlenose dolphins. Collected by Island Packers and relayed to the Park Service, the numbers reflect the abundance of life in the channel.

The islands offer diverse opportunities for visitors and have a long history of human use and occupation. Besides Anacapa, here’s a brief look at what each offers:

Santa Cruz: At 96 square miles, Santa Cruz is the largest of the National Park group. Perhaps the most family friendly, it offers visitors a more hospitable stay with opportunities to hike, visit tidepools, camp and explore sea caves either by kayak or boat tour. Information about guided kayaking can be found at sbadventureco.com/adventures/channel-islands.

While the human presence on the islands by the Chumash Indians dates back some 13,000 years, Santa Cruz provided grazing for both cattle and sheep in more recent history. Visitors can explore some of that past at the Scorpion Ranch House, which was built in the 1880s.

Santa Rosa: Neighboring Santa Rosa is the park’s second-largest island and has a similar history of ranching and offers beach and backcountry camping, a coastal lagoon, tidepooling, rare Torrey pines, beach dunes and driftwood. Another attraction different from its neighbors, Santa Rosa’s Lobo Canyon is reported to feature spectacular sandstone cliffs, but the trek to the canyon is described by the Park Service as a strenuous 9.6-mile roundtrip hike.

San Miguel: The westernmost of the group, San Miguel gets the most severe weather and its 28-mile coastline is surrounded by submerged rocks. The island was used by sheep ranchers for almost 100 years until the mid-1940s. The island was subsequently used as a bombing range by the Navy, which officially owns San Miguel although the island is managed under an agreement with the Park Service.

Today, San Miguel is a breeding ground for seals and sea lions and the home of pristine tidepools. While visitors can do some limited exploring on their own, access to other areas is allowed only when accompanied by a park ranger.

Santa Barbara: At 655 acres, Santa Barbara is the smallest of the Channel Island group; it’s also more distant, well detached from the other four and some 55 miles to the southwest of Ventura County. Described as a cliff island with no beaches but technically open to the public, there is no boat service to Santa Barbara Island as the landing dock remains closed as a result of damage from 2015 storms.

A note on safety and a general advisory

While the Park Service strives to provide safe and reasonable access to the islands, visitors would be wise to remember the Scout motto, “Be prepared.”

Help is not as immediately available as it might be at a mainland park. Never hike alone; stick to marked trails; avoid cliff edges; carry water, and know boat departure times and be aware that changing weather conditions can alter or interrupt boat schedules.

RESOURCES

Channel Islands National Park visitor center1901 Spinnaker Drive, Ventura; 805-658-5730

Ferry service

Campsites

Guided kayaking

I feel as though I’ve just passed through a magical portal. One moment, I’m walking across a gravel parking lot for San Diego’s Los Peñasquitos Canyon Preserve, accompanied by the hum of traffic from the nearby roads and freeways. The next, I’m enveloped by western sycamore trees, coast live oaks and arroyo willows.

The traffic noise recedes into the background, succumbing to the bubbly song of a house wren and the burbling of the nearby creek. I pause to watch the wren as he darts to the ground to grab a twig. It’s nesting season, and he’s busy trying to woo a mate and start a family.

As I witness this spring ritual, I’m reminded that this preserve, and many others like it, serves as a home to hundreds of species of plants and animals, while also providing us with a place to escape from the stressors of daily urban life.

These pockets of nature exist in canyons throughout Southern California, partially because their topography makes them challenging to develop, but also because communities have fought to keep them here, valuing the ability to connect with nature in their own neighborhoods.

These are not just pretty spaces. Urban canyons work hard. They absorb and filter stormwater, leaving our oceans and everything downstream cleaner. They reduce temperatures in our cities. They improve air quality. They provide habitat and corridors for wildlife. And they give us places for recreation and connection to nature, and the whole slew of health benefits that go along with that — less anxiety and depression, better sleep, better focus and problem-solving skills, less chronic disease and longer life spans.

From the massive Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area in northern Los Angeles County to neighborhood canyons like Runyon Canyon in Los Angeles and Eaton Canyon in Pasadena (both heavily impacted by January’s wildfires), to mid-sized parks like the Sycamore Canyon Wilderness Park in Riverside and the Aliso & Wood Canyons Wilderness Park in Laguna Niguel, Southern California offers an amazing array of natural spaces that are easily accessible to residents and visitors alike.

San Diego’s wild side

Nowhere, however, will you find more undeveloped urban canyons spread throughout a city than in San Diego. According to the San Diego Natural History Museum (The Nat), more than 80 percent of the city’s 1.4 million residents live within a 10-minute walk of a park or green space, and this is largely due to urban canyons.

There are hundreds of urban canyons spread throughout the county, some 27,000 acres of which are managed by the Open Space Division of the city of San Diego’s Parks and Recreation Department. These lands snake through the city from as far north as San Pasqual and Clevenger Canyon near the San Diego Zoo Safari Park all the way down to Otay Valley Regional Park near the southern border.

“If you go to the city of San Diego’s website, there’s a map, and you can see all the little slivers of neighborhood canyons and open space parks within five miles or less of your house,” says Julie Aeilts, senior park ranger for Mission Trails Regional Park, an 8,000-acre open space park located just 8 miles northeast of downtown San Diego. “We really want people to know what treasures they have in their own backyards.”

Part of what makes the city’s urban canyons such treasures is they provide important habitat and corridors for San Diego County’s plants and animals, including 85 species that are either endangered, threatened or species of concern. The county is the most biodiverse county in the continental U.S., but it is also a “biodiversity hotspot.” That means its biodiversity is not only recognized as globally important, but it is also severely threatened — making it vital to conserve the biodiversity that remains in the county.

“We have so many special species here,” says Aeilts. “We have San Diego fairy shrimp, the California gnatcatcher, the Least Bell’s vireo, burrowing owls — all kinds of wonderful animals — and plants, such as San Diego thornmint and San Diego ambrosia.”

More understanding needed

One of the challenges of conserving the biodiversity in San Diego’s urban canyons is there isn’t enough known about the species living in them.

“We definitely need a baseline of just understanding what species are there,” says Rachel Larson, a postdoctoral researcher in The Nat’s Conservation Biology Department and one of three researchers spearheading the museum’s Healthy Canyons Initiative, a multiyear project to survey the plants and animals living in 20 different urban canyons throughout the county.

The researchers hope the surveys will help determine the state of conservation of plants and animals in the canyons and empower community members — whether they are land managers, policymakers or local residents — to become stewards of these spaces.

All of The Nat’s departments — including Birds and Mammals, Entomology, Herpetology, Botany and even Paleontology — are conducting extensive fieldwork at the 20 sites, collecting data on a wide range of species. “Something that makes this project unique is the fact that it involves all the taxonomic disciplines in our museum, which gives us really cool overlapping data,” says Larson.

This multidisciplinary approach means researchers can look beyond what’s happening with specific species and begin focusing on wildlife communities.

“That is a really interesting move forward for the field of urban ecology because a lot of it has been species-focused,” she adds. “We can look at how plants and animals interact with each other and how the urban fabrics might shift those interactions and what that means for ecological processes.”

Every picture tells a story

With a background in mammalogy, Larson has one of the coolest jobs in the project. She’s in charge of the large mammal camera traps designed to capture images of the variety of mammals living in the canyons. She currently has 37 cameras deployed in the field, with at least one camera in each of the 20 target sites in the Healthy Canyons Initiative.

She sets the cameras out on a quarterly basis (October, January, April and July), and each camera stays at a site for about a month. She started deploying the cameras in October of last year and was just about through the April cycle at press time.

One of the cameras captured a mountain lion in the Elfin Forest Recreational Reserve in Escondido on two separate occasions.

“They basically go wherever there’s enough space to support deer,” says Larson. “That’s the one thing mountain lions tend to care about. It was cool to see that individual had stayed in the canyon. Hopefully it establishes territory there and we see it often, but if it is a juvenile, it may disperse out of it at some point. They don’t tend to stick around.”

Some of her favorite images so far are of a gray fox captured by a camera in Tecolote Canyon. “It was really cute,” says Larson. “He’s staring directly into the camera.” She says she had a bobcat do the same thing in Los Peñasquitos Canyon. “He was taking selfies, just staring into the game camera,” says Larson. “We think they can hear the shutter shut, but they don’t seem afraid.”

One of the more dramatic captures by one of the cameras was a barn owl trying to grab a wood rat sitting right in front of the camera. “I’m not sure whether it was successful or not,” she says. “There was just like a flurry of wings, and the owl kind of sat for a second before flying off.”

Recording sessions

In addition to cameras, researchers are also deploying audio recorders in the target canyons to monitor species of birds and bats. “The bird recorders are a really cool way the public can get involved,” says Olivia Poulos, The Nat’s community engagement manager. “If you live within 1,000 meters of one of the selected canyons, we would love to have a bird recorder in whatever outdoor space or yard that you may have.”

Larson says they are pairing audio recording devices, so one device will be deployed in the canyon, and the other device will be deployed in the neighborhood that borders the canyon. People who host a recorder will receive a report listing the species of birds recorded in their yard as well as a list of species picked up by the paired recorder in the canyon.

“Hopefully as a result of the science, we might be able to explain why you only see certain species in some places,” says Larson. “Homeowners can decide what they want to do with that information like whether they might want to make changes to their landscaping to attract more birds.”

How to help

Even if you don’t live right next to one of the 20 canyons in the museum’s Healthy Canyons Initiative, you can still help researchers document the plants and animals living in them by joining the project on iNaturalist and submitting observations either through the smartphone app or on the iNaturalist website.

“You don’t need to be an expert,” says Poulos. “The beauty of the app is it can connect you with our scientists. They are on the app helping to identify species that you photograph.”

Larson points out these iNaturalist observations are vital to the project because the museum’s researchers can’t be out in all 20 canyons every day. “They really do add to the rigor of our scientific models and give us a lot more information about where species are,” she says.

While they receive a lot of observations from the larger canyons and open space parks, such as Mission Trails, Los Peñasquitos Canyon and Tecolote Canyon, they would like to receive more observations from the smaller canyons.

“There are fewer iNaturalist sightings from certain neighborhoods where people don’t have as many resources and time to go out and take those observations,” says Larson. “I get it if you work two jobs and recreating outside is not something that is in the cards for you, but maybe you can snap a photo of something while walking the dog. Even that adds so much natural history value to your neighborhood and the greenspaces by it.”

Larson also emphasizes that you don’t need to just document rare or unusual plants and animals. “Even common species observations have a ton of value,” she says. “We can really start raising alarm bells if we suddenly see drops in common species. If it’s affecting the common species, it’s definitely affecting the rare ones.”

Millie Basden is one of the community scientists participating in the Healthy Canyons Initiative. As an avid iNaturalist user, she regularly submits her observations to the project and enjoys the interaction she has with scientists and other iNat users.

“Some of the plants I’ve found, I didn’t know what I’d found,” says Basden. “I put them on iNaturalist, and Jon Rebman [curator of The Nat’s Botany Department] came along and said, ‘Wow! I didn’t know that was out there!’”

As a resident of Tierrasanta, Basden frequently explores the West Fortuna side of Mission Trails, which is just a short walk from her house. She has become very familiar with the plants and animals there and has even discovered species of plants that had never been identified in the park. Basden, who volunteers in The Nat’s Botany Department, says she was able to collect specimens and take them to the museum’s herbarium, and they will be added to the park’s plant checklist. “I feel a real sense of ownership for this side of the park,” she says.

That sense of ownership is something many regular visitors to San Diego’s urban canyons experience, and it’s something Larson hopes the Healthy Canyons Initiative will inspire in those who have yet to discover these community treasures.

Los Peñasquitos Canyon Preserve is where I experience that sense of ownership. As I wander along Peñasquitos Creek through the western sycamore trees, arroyo willows and coast live oaks, listening to the birds sing and the water tumbling gently over the rocks, I feel at home.

Resources

Open Space Canyons and Parklands, City of San Diego

San Diego Canyonlands

San Diego Natural History Museum’s Healthy Canyons Initiative

Friends of Los Peñasquitos Canyon

Friends of Rose Canyon

Friends of Tecolote Canyon

What started with a stick and a shaky hand quickly became a full-blown calling. These days, the former lingerie model is the one locals call when a rattler shows up uninvited. No hazmat suit, no bravado. Just Wall in her thrifted cowboy boots with a pair of tongs and a knack for staying calm when everyone else is climbing the furniture.

Her mission goes beyond snake removal: she’s out to dismantle the fear around these misunderstood and maligned reptiles — one call, one Instagram story, one wild encounter at a time.

Q: Let’s start from the beginning. What’s the story of your first rattlesnake rescue?

A: Total accident. I was working a 9 to 5, driving a boring Honda Civic, managing a wedding venue out in Pipes Canyon, and one day I nearly ran over a rattlesnake. I pulled over, because I don’t want anything dying — but there’s no phone service, so I couldn’t call for help. I eventually found a stick, and I poked it, and it scooted off. I was like, “Well, that wasn’t so scary.” That moment changed everything.

Q: What made you think this could be more than a one-time thing?

A: I was always, like, a nature freak, and I’ve done pit bull rescue. So I tried to see what was in place for humane snake removal, and everything was kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. I realized there was no one to wrangle them, and I thought, how hard could it be?

Q: And you’re self-taught? No formal certifications?

A: There’s no rattlesnake certification in California. It’s all a grey area with [the Department of] Fish & Wildlife, so I only work on private property, moving snakes within their home range. I operate in an in-between space — trying to do good in a system that hasn’t caught up yet.

Q: Did you face any barriers when you first entered the field?

A: Early on, I reached out to a high-level pro in the snake world, and he told me, “Sit down, little girl. You’re going to get hurt.” So I decided: I’m going to become better than you. I’m going to become better than everyone. Suddenly, I had a life purpose.

Q: How did you spread the word about your work?

A: One Facebook post. A woman needed a snake moved, and everyone in the comments said, “Kill it.” I said I’d help. That turned into 50 calls that year. Now I get hundreds. I’ve never stopped. I started doing it for free, and I still do it all as a volunteer. I know what it’s like to make money, and this work feels better than making money.

Q: What happens when someone calls you about a snake?

A: I ask for a photo, if it’s safely possible. If it’s a rattlesnake, I go. If it’s a harmless red racer, I don’t unless it’s trapped. I work my butt off to respond fast. But I don’t charge, so I have to keep it local. I’ve had people offer hundreds for a house call an hour-and-a-half away, but if I’m gone for three hours, I could miss three local emergencies.

Q: What’s your go-to gear?

A: Snake tongs, which are like big, glorified barbecue tongs. A two-foot hook. A secure clear-front catch bin. And always boots — mid-calf or higher. I thrift them. I don’t use gloves; I’ve got small hands, and most gear is made for men. In most situations, my hands are away from the snake anyway.

Q: You must get asked this a lot, but I have to know: Have you ever been bitten?

A: No. It’s so easy to not get bitten. Most bites in the U.S. [about 75-80 percent of venomous snake bites] happen to young men — the two main reasons are testosterone and booze. So I’m cautious, but I know the data. Statistically what I do is much safer than driving down Old Woman Springs Road every day.

Q: Any close calls?

A: Never from a snake. But people? Absolutely. Steve Irwin said it best about crocodiles: they don’t pretend to be your friend before trying to eat you. Snakes are predictable. People aren’t.

Q: What do people misunderstand most about rattlesnakes?

A: That they’re aggressive. They’re not. They’re defensive. They don’t chase you. They just want to be left alone. Rattlesnakes behave more like feral kittens than monsters. If you don’t touch them, they won’t touch you.

Q: When you respond to a snake call, you relocate them. How far do you take them?

A: I try to keep it within their home range, ideally under a mile. If you move them too far, they’re likely to die. It’s all about striking a balance between safety and survival.

Q: After a wildfire, what actually happens to the snakes? Are people more likely to encounter them?

A: I’m no expert on fire ecology, but snakes definitely get displaced. Rattlesnakes are extremely territorial creatures that typically spend their entire 20-year lifespans within just a half-mile radius. They’re very routine, hermit-like animals. So while displacement definitely occurs after a disaster, these snakes won’t travel far from their original territory unless absolutely necessary.

Q: What advice do you have for people who encounter a snake?

A: Don’t touch it. Most bites happen because people get too close, often trying to take pictures. Use the zoom on your camera instead. Accidental bites do happen, but many are preventable with proper footwear and awareness. If you must move a snake off a porch or path, toss sand at it gently. Don’t poke it with a stick or broom.

Q: What’s something you wish people better understood about you and your work?

A: That I’m not doing this to be famous. I’m doing it because someone has to. I love these creatures. They’re misunderstood and vital to the ecosystem, just like hawks or owls. The more we can decrease fear by showing the true demeanor of snakes, the better.

Q: How can people support you?

A: Follow me on Instagram: @high_desert_dani. That’s where I post updates, calls and photos. (I don’t have a website; I’m not great with technology, I just like wrangling.)

Donations help. Venmo is linked there, too. I don’t charge for calls, so anything helps with gas, gear, wear and tear on my truck. But mostly, support by spreading the word: there is a way to live with rattlesnakes without killing them.

During the past four decades, scientists have documented a 1.6 percent decline per year in the number of butterflies in the southwestern United States.

Doesn’t sound like much? Consider how that figure compounds over the years.

“This means that since 1977, scientists have observed a whopping 64 percent drop in butterfly numbers, which comports with my own childhood memories of butterflies in Southern California,” says Adriana Briscoe, distinguished professor of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at UC Irvine. “Thirty-two of 50 species of butterflies showing declines over this period occur in Orange County. Across the U.S., over a 20-year period starting in 2000, butterflies have continued their decline by a similar amount.”

Besides lifting spirits with their beauty, butterflies serve important environmental functions: Butterflies are indicators of overall ecosystem health. They’re important plant pollinators, and also a food source for birds and wild animals.

“The decline of butterflies is a factor in the decline of birds and other animals,” Briscoe says.

But there’s hope: We can all do things to ensure the butterfly’s future.

Because butterflies are a short-lived, annual organism, populations will generally react strongly and quickly to changes in their environment — both negatively or positively — explains Ron Vanderhoff, general manager and vice president at Roger’s Gardens in Corona del Mar. He’s also a principal contributor to the book “The Butterflies of Orange County, California” and the Orange County coordinator for the Xerces Society’s Western Monarch Butterfly Count.

Here are simple actions we can all take to make things better for our local butterfly populations:

Toss the pesticides, insecticides and herbicides.

Brisco says the biggest declines in insect abundances, back in the 1990s, coincided with the introduction of neonicotinoid pesticides. Here’s a list of common gardening products that contain the chemical.

A 2022 study of milkweeds purchased from nurseries found that every single plant contained pesticides, and one-third of sampled plants contained pesticides at levels which are harmful to monarch caterpillars.

Says Briscoe: “As someone who rears butterfly caterpillars for my research, I can verify from personal experience that if you treat a plant with pesticide, it takes a very long time for the plant to become safe to eat.”

Instead, do companion planting.

Kim Neal, garden manager at Casa Romantica Cultural Center and Gardens in San Clemente, says companion planting in gardening is the planting of different plants in proximity with each other for weed suppression, pest control, pollination and to draw in beneficial insects — eliminating the need for insecticides, herbicides and pesticides.

Grow it yourself.

Since we can’t control all of the pesticides, insecticides and herbicides used in our environment, Briscoe recommends that home gardeners grow plants from seeds. “If you do purchase plants from a nursery, you might try changing the soil before planting it in the ground,” she said. “That way you are less likely to put plants in the garden which are toxic to the caterpillars you are trying to help.”

Plant both host plants for caterpillars to develop and nectar plants for adult butterflies to eat. Here are some of Briscoe’s favorite host plants for butterflies in Southern California:

• Black sage (Salvia mellifera)
• Buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum)
• California sage (Artemisia californica)
• Coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia)
• Deerweed (Lotus scoparius)
• Fourwing saltbush (Atriplex canescens)
• Narrowleaf milkweed (Asclepias fascicularis)

Kale also is a good host plant for some of the local pierid white butterflies. Some swallowtail butterflies lay eggs on citrus trees.

“Adding even a few host plants to our gardens can help a lot,” Briscoe said. “You’d be amazed by how efficient female monarch butterflies are at finding even a single host plant for laying their eggs.”

The best nectaring plant? Lantana.

“It is a hardy plant that can produce flowers year-round when planted in the ground and has medium-sized flowers for skippers — a kind of butterfly — and larger butterflies,” she said.

Also, buckwheat produces small, pinkish-white flowers that feed local butterflies.

“They have smaller flowers so butterflies with tiny proboscides can reach the nectar,” she said. “Butterfly bush (Buddleja) is also a good option, and of course, milkweed produces flowers which monarch adults will nectar from.”

Vanderhoff recommends calscape.org as a good resource for finding the types of local butterflies in an area as well as specific food plants for those butterflies.

Add a puddling area in your garden.

A plant tray filled with mud, gravel and plant material along with added water to keep it moist is a simple way to create a puddling area.

“Our butterfly garden here at Casa Romantica also has a puddling area for the butterflies to seek out nutrients from minerals in the decaying plant matter, mud and gravel,” she said. “It’s not unusual to see multiple butterflies in the puddling area at the same time.”

Shop for change.

“One of the best and most impactful ways to influence a change is with our shopping habits,” Vanderhoff said. “Simply said, do not support those businesses that do not align with your values of environmental health.

“If a garden retailer or landscape company is selling or installing invasive plant species, stop shopping there and tell them why. If the shelves and displays are stock full of butterfly-harming neonicotinoids and other insecticides, stop shopping there and tell them why. If the landscape company is installing a bed of acacia, Rhaphiolepis or another plant that does not support our native butterflies, insects and other pollinators, ask them to stop. If not, stop using that landscape company and tell them why.

“Our actions and our dollars usually speak louder than our words.”

The epic drive on Route 1 from Ragged Point to Carmel, with its steep cliffs, hairpin turns, and magnificent ocean views, is a must-do for any adventurous soul. But Stephen Copeland, who owns Big Sur Guides and Hiking, believes taking the time to explore the county’s many parks and nature preserves can be nothing short of life-changing.

Copeland moved from Southern California to Big Sur in 1971. When not working at the Nepenthe Restaurant, he would hike in the area, and soon decided to start a tour guiding business.

“I was enamored with nature,” Copeland says. “I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I thought for sure people from around the world would want to come to see this. The power of nature in this particular place was so meaningful, in a God-like way. I mean, this was a religious experience, in my opinion.”

And in the years since he started his business, Copeland says he has seen many others fall in love with the area. He currently offers tours not just in Big Sur, but on the Monterey Peninsula and Carmel Valley, and they run the gamut from hiking in beaches and forests to walking tours in town, to seeing butterflies and flowers.

But while a guided tour is a great way to get an introduction to Monterey County, you can of course also explore on your own. And since there is so much to see, we are dividing the highlights into Land, Sea and Stars (because if you live in a big city, you seldom get to see the stars).

Land

Monterey County can certainly not be accused of lacking green space.

The National Park Service runs Pinnacles National Park, Fort Ord National Monument, Los Padres National Forest, and the Salinas National Wildlife Refuge, while state parks and reserves include the Elkhorn Slough, Fremont Peak State Park, Garrapata State Park, Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, Point Lobos State Natural Reserve, and the Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park.

And that doesn’t even include the many county parks, or state-owned land.

Copeland prefers to take his clients through state-owned lands, not parks, though some of his tours are on park trails. What is the difference? There are no bathrooms on state-owned lands, he says, so you must plan accordingly.

But taking one of his tours has other benefits.

“For the most part, we don’t hike people in places you can easily find,” Copeland says.

As for what animals you may see in those secret and less-secret places, it’s everything from bears, mountain lions, and bobcats; “I see them, I make a U-turn,” Copeland says.

Rattlesnakes are also around, as are deer and rabbits. But a favorite with tourists is the California condor, and they are easier to find since the state released several dozen condors into the wild.

Monterey County is also known for its butterflies. Pacific Grove, which sits between Pebble Beach and Monterey, is often called “Butterfly Town, U.S.A” and got its moniker because of its Monarch Grove Sanctuary.

Every year, usually between November and January, Western monarchs (there is also an Eastern variety, which goes to Mexico) migrate to California to avoid winter weather, and Pacific Grove has long been a favorite stop. The city owns and maintains the sanctuary, but the Pacific Grove Museum of Natural History, says museum naturalist Natalie Johnston, provides education in the form of volunteer docents and field trips. “In addition, we count the population of monarchs each week while monarchs are in Pacific Grove, as well as what trees the monarchs are on.”

Johnston is one of the people who counts the sanctuary’s monarchs every season, and unfortunately, this past year had many fewer winged visitors than the years just before.

Monarch butterflies are at risk (though not officially endangered). But while monarchs are of particular interest to scientists because their milkweed diet makes them toxic to predators, they also live longer and they migrate. Also, they are not the only butterflies in the county.

“One of the coolest things about the area is we have butterflies year-round,” Johnston says.

Different types of swallowtails, including western tiger, pale, and anise, can be seen at Jack’s Peak, Johnston says. Smith’s blue, which unlike the monarch is an official endangered species, can be found at Garrapata State Park. And even the Monarch Grove Sanctuary is not just for monarchs, Johnston says. Visitors have also spotted red admirals, which are considered “monarch mimics,” or butterflies who evolved to look like mimics to avoid predators. Other monarch mimics in the area include the American lady and the West Coast lady.

And though monarchs tend to prefer milkweed, Monterey County also is well-known for its many spring wildflowers.

Ice plants form a “purple carpet” along Ocean View Boulevard in Pacific Grove between April and June. Garrapata State Park features poppies and daisies. Pinnacles National Park also has poppies, along with lilies and larkspur. Garland Ranch and Fort Ord both offer lupines.

Sea

If marine critters are your thing, Monterey Bay Aquarium is always worth a visit. Built in the 1980s on the site of a former sardine cannery, the aquarium is world-renowned for its commitment to ocean conservation. And its many exhibits also showcase the local marine life, from sea otters to sea stars, so after a visit, you’ll be more familiar with what to expect in the wild.

Tidepools

The Monterey Peninsula’s rocky coast may not be ideal for swimmers or surfers, but it is a real bonanza for tide pool lovers. Rebecca Malkewicz, a marine naturalist at Monterey Bay Aquarium, is a big fan of tide pooling, and recommends Asilomar State Beach in Pacific Grove.

“You can literally go anywhere along the coastline there,” she says. “It’s just kind of fun to wander.”

But that’s not the only place worth a visit. Point Pinos has the always-popular Great Tide Pool. South of Asilomar, Pebble Beach’s 17-mile Drive has its share of tide pools (though for an $11.25 fee). Even farther south, Point Lobos’ tide pools are worth a look, though locals and tourists alike warn the preserve gets unbearably crowded at peak times. Also, you have to pay $10 per car, and parking is limited.

As for what you might see, sea stars are common, Malkewicz says, along with crabs, sea urchins and sea anemones. Less common are nudibranchs (better known as sea slugs) and, if you’re really lucky, octopuses.

To get the best tide pooling experience, Malkewicz recommends checking tide charts before visiting.

“You want the tide to show a negative number,” she says.

And even then, always keeping an eye on the ocean is a good idea. “Sneaker waves,” also known as sudden huge waves that surge higher up the beach to pull the unwary off rocks or sand and into the water, are not uncommon during the colder seasons. Other safety recommendations include wearing water-proof shoes with good soles that won’t slip so easily on wet rocks.

Tide pooling etiquette demands that you not remove any of the animals or plants you might see, and it’s best not to touch them or even get too close to them. (The aquarium has exhibits where you can touch tide pool denizens safely.)

“Leave everything as you found it, and don’t leave anything,” Malkewicz says.

Marine mammals

As for seeing bigger ocean animals such as seals, dolphins or whales, there are several companies based out of Monterey’s Fisherman’s Wharf or Moss Landing that offer boating trips. None are operated directly by the aquarium, but

likes to educate their clients as well as entertain. According to the company’s website, their tours are led by marine biologists, who also do research while on board.

But you can also see many of these animals from dry land, Malkewicz says. You just need binoculars and a bit of patience.

“Anywhere along the coastline with ‘point’ in its name,” she says, is a good start. That would include Point Pinos, Lovers’ Point, Point Lobos, and Cypress Point. Also, vista points along Route 1 can yield results on clear days.

Malkewicz says the whales you’re most likely to see, whether from a boat or from land, are humpbacks (the most common) and grey whales (on their migration between Alaska and Mexico). It’s also not unheard of to see orcas, fin whales and minke whales, though they are less predictable. Blue whales, the biggest animals on the planet, will also make an occasional appearance, depending on whether krill, their favorite food, ventures closer to shore.

There are plenty of dolphins, though many may not recognize the Risso’s dolphin, the most common to the area, as a dolphin because of its flatter face. Yes, there are stereotypical Flipper-like bottlenose dolphins around, but not as many as common dolphins, who also have a bottle-like nose, but different coloring, including a yellow streak along the side.

If seals and sea lions are your thing, you can find Harbor seals at Elkhorn Slough. They also gather on the beach at the Hopkins Marine Station in Pacific Grove, mostly during spring, which is pupping season. Elephant seals have a sanctuary at Piedras Blancas, just north of San Simeon. While not technically in Monterey County, they are a must-see if you are planning to take Route 1 to the Monterey Peninsula. Sea lions can usually be spotted along the Coast Guard Pier in Monterey. If you are a sea otter fan, they can often be seen anywhere between the Coast Guard Pier and Point Cabrillo in Pacific Grove.

As with the animals in tide pools, keeping your distance from marine mammals is key. Experts at NOAA recommend staying between 50 and 200 yards away, depending on the species.

Stars

Monterey County has long been known as a favorite playground for celebrities. Clint Eastwood still owns the Mission Ranch in Carmel (diners at the restaurant have been treated to his piano playing), and John Denver fans can pay tribute at the site of his fatal 1997 airplane crash in Pacific Grove.

But if you prefer stars of the celestial variety, there are many places where, weather permitting, you can get your fill of the firmament. That includes Pinnacles National Park, Asilomar State Beach, Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, Andrew Molera State Park, Jack’s Peak Park, and Garland Ranch Regional Park. You can even often see the stars standing near or on the beach in Carmel, since the village has no streetlights.

Basically, any place without city lights and trees and an open unclouded sky can work, says Jean Perkins, an astronomer at the Monterey Institute for Research in Astronomy, or MIRA. MIRA was established in 1972, and its main facility in Carmel Valley, with a 36-inch telescope, was built in 1984.

While MIRA offers tours to the public during the summer, the telescope is only available to professional stellar astronomers. Stellar astronomy focuses on the birth, structure and evolution of stars. However, MIRA has a smaller facility in Marina, the Weaver Student Observatory, which has a 14-inch telescope available to the public during planned events, as well as to local high school students who study astronomy.

Unfortunately, because of its proximity to the ocean, the Marina facility’s telescope is “constantly fogged out,” Perkins says, adding that humidity is also a problem because dew gets on the telescope. And that’s not all.

“In general, humidity is bad news for astronomy,” explains astronomer Bob Berman in a 2005 piece for Discover Magazine. “Water absorbs light, especially light at the red end of the spectrum, coloring our view of the world … water vapor in the air takes a little bit of the red out of starlight before it reaches the ground.”

What this means, practically, is that many stars, nebulae and galaxies (and that includes our Milky Way) are much harder to see in humid air. It doesn’t even take fog or a marine layer — when the air is damp enough, it can dim the sky as much as 60 percent, Berman writes, even if it looks clear to the naked eye.

And that is why Monterey County’s monthly star parties (free and open to the public), are usually held in higher and drier locations like Garland Ranch and Laguna Seca (also known as the WeatherTech Raceway).

The parties are run by the MIRA Astronomy Club, which is an independent entity from the Institute, says the club’s lead coordinator Mark Tomalonis. The club started in 2013, and in 2014 joined the Jet Propulsion Laboratory’s Night Sky Network. The Network hosts web pages for astronomy clubs across the country, and while California’s Central Coast has several astronomy clubs, MIRA’s is unusual, Perkins says, because it has both professional and amateur astronomers as members, and she herself often attends the star parties.

Etiquette at the parties, Tomalonis says, includes no running around in the dark, no bright lights (like car headlights and phone screens), no touching the lenses or eyepieces, and being polite and taking turns looking through the telescopes after asking the owners. In return for good behavior, both the pros and amateurs will be thrilled to show you everything from a nebula in Orion’s belt, to Jupiter and its moons.

If you’re on your own, the light rules still apply.

“Leave your smartphone in your pocket!” Tomalonis advises.

That said, smartphone apps can also help you identify what you’re seeing. Perkins recommends one called Stellarium Mobile. To get around the brightness issue, she recommends installing a red-light filter app, such as RedLight or Twilight. You can also change the tint on your screen to red.

Happy stargazing!

By the time they began to sit on eggs, we’d put down a deposit on my daughter’s cap and gown. While she drove herself to parties and planned her last summer before college, my husband and I traded the binoculars back and forth, straining to catch a glimpse of this new family.

Inevitably, curious folks paused their dog walking or jogging. What were we looking at? We shared the binocs, pointed up at the tree. “Cooper’s hawks,” we said, pleased to introduce the neighbor on the ground to the neighbor in the sky.

Conservation biologist Thomas Lowe Fleischner defines natural history as a “practice of intentional focused attentiveness and receptivity to the more-than-human world, guided by honesty and accuracy.” By this definition, my husband and I might have been justified in feeling a bit like scientists, but it was meeting a local volunteer from a community science project, LA Raptor Study, that helped us truly understand the value of our observations.

Launched in 2017, by Daniel S. Cooper, Ph.D., in partnership with Friends of Griffith Park, LA Raptor Study trains volunteers — often called “community scientists” or “citizen scientists” — to document raptor activity. Over time, the group has expanded beyond the boundaries of the park to include six-sub regions including the southeastern San Fernando Valley, East Los Angeles and portions of Burbank, Glendale and Pasadena.

“It would be several full-time jobs to collect all this data,” said Cooper, a research associate in the ornithology department of NHMLA. Group effort enables Cooper and others to learn how the birds adapt to their urban environment. “Even basic questions,” he said, “like if you chop down a tree with a nest, does the hawk rebuild or no?”

He told me that the most common raptors — the red-tail hawk, Cooper’s hawk, red-shouldered hawk, and great horned owl — partition the city by habitat. Like movie stars, the red tails enjoy nesting in the Hollywood Hills, but LA Raptor Study volunteers also have found them in South Central and Koreatown.

According to Cooper, this is a territory expansion worth investigating, and one that, without extra boots on the ground, might have gone unnoticed. Volunteers also have located breeding pairs of American Kestrels in Boyle Heights. “They’ve vanished from the Santa Monicas and West LA,” Cooper said.

He wonders if a broken sprinkler has allowed grasshoppers and Jerusalem crickets to flourish. These preferred kestrel snacks may not exist in the lush, heavily fertilized lawns of the westside.

Opportunities abound

Community science projects exist across the country and throughout the world on a spectrum that includes major journeys, local ramblings and desktop investigations. Websites, such as SciStarter.org, catalogue in-person and online opportunities.

Depending upon your interest and availability, you might use your phone to track cloud formations or report on flowers and bees or spend an afternoon collecting water samples at a nearby beach or river. With our help, scientists can deepen their study of the tiny changes in temperature, humidity or pollutant levels that may contribute to larger ecological transformation.

The 2019 rescue of a fledgling owl introduced Nurit Katz to LA Raptor Study and, ultimately, set her on the path toward a PhD in ecology and evolutionary biology. She looks at how different factors in our urban environment affect nesting locations, and cites rodenticide and tree trimming as some of the biggest (and most easily avoidable) threats to the health of area raptors.

“I had some level of imposter syndrome around science,” said Katz, who is chief sustainability officer at UCLA and current co-director of the LA Raptor Study, “but I made some real discoveries and contributions as a volunteer and that made me think maybe I can do this.”

Some of the most successful community science projects, such as the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s eBird, make logging data as easy as taking a photo with your phone. With more than 1 million users to date, the platform boasts nearly 2 million observations from all around the world creating a vast, publicly accessible, trove that broadens our knowledge of migration, species distribution, and biodiversity.

“You don’t have to do it perfectly,” said Brice Semmens, professor of Biological Oceanography, Marine Biology Scripps Institute at UC San Diego. “You just have to start trying.”

Semmens leads diving expeditions for the REEF Volunteer Fish Survey Project, ongoing since 1993. REEF’s public-access database makes it possible to see long-term change in populations of marine fish, and select invertebrate and algae species world-wide. Over the years, swimming community scientists have documented what Semmens calls “pretty fish, but pretty fish that aren’t supposed to be there,” such as the invasive lion fish.

“There are often surprises,” Semmens said. “Often not welcome surprises, but nonetheless important for understanding these sorts of cryptic changes in the ecosystem.”

All part of the ecosystem

Participating in community science reminds me that I, too, am a species in an ecosystem, and that the health of the skies, waters and forests relates as directly to me as to creatures who swim, fly or crawl.

I can think of almost no better example of our interconnectedness than phytoplankton. Allison Cusick, PhD, a biological oceanographer at Scripps Institute of Oceanography, has partnered with cruise ships in Antarctica to collect samples of the microscopic floating plants she calls an “invisible forest.” Built around the November-through-March tour season, Cusick’s study is an on-board educational activity that has provided a bounty of information for her studies of melting sea ice.

“The engagement potential is big,” she says. “I’ve got a captive audience.”

What starts as a bucket-list trip to Antarctica may turn out to be an eye-opening introduction to plants responsible for 50 percent of the world’s oxygen and the health of some of our most photogenic birds and mammals.

“If you know the pattern of your first food source,” Cusick says, “you can see the next pattern in the things that eat them.” Krill eat phytoplankton. Whales and penguins eat krill. We all breathe air. For all these things, we can thank a lifeform smaller than an eyelash.

Data collected regularly over the span of the tourist season gives Cusick a better sense of how the decline of sea ice affects phytoplankton. Chunkier plants seem to like colder water. “Some species are more nutritious than others,” she says. “It’s like a salad bar where you’ve lost all your kale. If all you’ve got is iceberg lettuce, you’ve got nutrient deprivation.”

The living systems of our world are so intertwined that this deprivation will eventually affect those bottles of krill-based Omega 3s on the shelf at your local drugstore. “Contributing to these projects is more than just gathering data,” Cusick said. “It’s inspiring new livelihoods, new hobbies, next-generation scientists and changemakers.”

It takes enormous amounts of raw data to illuminate more complex narratives, especially about species that are rare, vulnerable, threatened or endangered.

“A lot of funding for studies is short-term,” explained Zoe Raelyn Collins, MPA coordinator for Heal the Bay. “It’s good to go into it with a bank of information.”

To track the health of West Coast ocean waters, volunteers conduct monthly samplings in Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) near Malibu and Rancho Palos Verdes. They also track recreational activity. Since California has only had a network of MPAs for 10 years, this data is especially critical.

“We can assess whether current levels of enforcement are working and can advocate for stronger coastal management across the state,” said Collins, who added that volunteers are trained as land stewards and educators. “When you give people a way to get involved and show them there is a tangible way to make a difference in the world, they just light up.”

After three years as a volunteer with LA Raptor Study, Jenn Rose can easily identify a red-tail hawk, and also a kestrel, a merlin, a peregrine falcon, and so many others. On her daily commute from North Hollywood to Anaheim, she points out every single raptor.

“My focus was macro photography — spiders — and so I was always looking down,” she said. “But now the world is much bigger.”

Three years ago, those Cooper’s hawks in my tree hatched three eggs. We watched from a respectful distance as those fuzzy babies stretched their nubby wings, and held our breath as they made their first tentative explorations outside the nest. Their adult feathers took time to grow and, for a while, they looked moth-eaten and seemed completely at the mercy of all that is fierce and dangerous in this world. But then, one day, they took a short flight. And then another. Eventually, they soared.

Like our daughter, they’ve continued to return, on their own terms, for a visit now and then.

Resources

Budburst

eBird

Fjord Phyto

Globe Observer

Happy Whale

Heal the Bay

iNaturalist

LA Raptor Study

MPA Watch

Natural History Museum LA

Nurdle Patrol

SciStarter

They picture a vast mute nothing, hot enough to grill a steak on your vehicle’s hood and dry enough to chap your soul. They think of scorched plains, scrubby plants that look like they gave up trying, and a horizon that barely bothers to show up. A place made of absence.

But those people have not spent enough time with the Mojave.

They haven’t heard the wind chip away at rock like a sculptor, or the way a canyon answers itself with a ghostly “who, me?” They haven’t paused long enough to hear the hush between one rattle and the next, the percussive rhythm of something unseen sizing you up.

The desert doesn’t lack voice. It just doesn’t shout. And sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, the desert sings.

***

I like to drive desert highways, those unbending lines of asphalt that stretch toward the horizon like a wire pulled tight. I blast Lucinda Williams and floor it just enough that the drive becomes a kind of release, not from speed, but from gravity. Eventually, the landscape opens up like a question. A strange one. The kind you don’t answer, just follow.

My favorite stretch is when I take the back way from the Coachella Valley to Las Vegas, a road that thrums with solitude. Sometimes it gets so lonesome that I catch myself daydreaming about alien contact, not out of fear but a desire for companionship. My GPS claims the trip takes three hours. It always takes five. Time, like sound out here, doesn’t behave.

It’s along that route, between the skirted palms of Palm Springs and the neon seizure of Vegas, that the land rises and swells, nudging you to notice. To stop. This is the Mojave National Preserve — 1.6 million acres of desert made strange and sacred by lava flows, fossil beds, abandoned mines, creosote, Joshua trees. In the middle of it all rise the Kelso Dunes, 45 square miles of pale sand heaped like a dream misplaced, like some celestial toddler spilled a bucket across a granite floor.

***

For years, I passed them without stopping. A decade of drive-bys, of glancing and then continuing on, as if I wasn’t quite ready to be held by that kind of quiet.

Then one December, I pulled off the road. Not out of a plan, but out of ache. I had been feeling unmoored, like a tide cut loose from its moon. A sorrow that doesn’t speak, only settles — slow and inevitable — the way dust collects in a long-closed room. I thought maybe a walk in the desert might tether me back to something real, help me shake off the blues.

I keep a daypack in my trunk for moments like this. That day I threw it over one shoulder, tucked a water bottle inside, and slid in a piece of broken-down cardboard I’d been meaning to recycle, thinking maybe I’d ride it down a dune the way we used to sled hills as kids. I didn’t know yet whether I’d use it. I only knew I needed to climb.

I parked at the trailhead and stepped out of the car. It was like entering a snow globe drained of snow and shaken by heat. Everything was sand. Pale grains gleamed under the low winter sun, their edges rounded from the long alchemy of wind. The light ricocheted in all directions. The air was taut and breathless, like a held note waiting to be struck.

I headed toward the tallest dune — a mound that looked soft and harmless from a distance, like a big pile of sifted cake flour. This, of course, was a lie.

Sand is a trickster. From afar, it promises gentleness. Up close, it devours your ankles. You think you’re hiking, but really you’re drowning upward. For each step forward, the dune takes some of it back. So I climbed, and the dune slipped away beneath me. I climbed more. Still, it yielded.

I realized this is not the kind of terrain where you seek solid footing. The sand will not offer it. Instead, it gives something more valuable: a lesson in how to move when the ground won’t hold you. How to persist without purchase. How to balance atop uncertainty and still keep going.

Halfway up — lungs straining, heart loud in my ears — it struck me that this wasn’t just a climb. It was a mirror. Of now. Of these strange, teetering times. The shifting ground beneath me, the faltering steps, the way each effort slid backward before it counted. It all felt familiar. There’s no firm path, only the insistence to keep moving, even when you can’t see where forward leads.

The summit appeared. I tried to run. My legs buckled. I crawled the final feet, hands sinking into the grit. At the top, I sat and breathed.

Then I remembered the cardboard folded flat in my pack. I pulled it out and perched on it, the way I did with a sled on snowy hills in Ohio. Gave it a little nudge. Nothing.

So I threw myself forward. And that’s when it happened. The dune trembled. A deep vibration rose from the sand, felt first in my hips, my knees, my chest. Then sound. A long, low, resonant hum. Not loud but wide, like a didgeridoo in the underworld. A sound that bypassed the ears and went straight to the bones.

The dune was singing.

I froze. Let the sound ripple through me. The boom continued, low and haunted, the voice of a landscape exhaling.

What I triggered was not magic, though it felt like it. It was geophysics disguised as wonder, a phenomenon known as “booming” or “singing” sand. The sound, deep and unplaceable, comes not from wind or from otherworldly creatures (though Marco Polo in the 13th century described similar noises in the Gobi Desert as “spirits talking”), but from the sand itself in motion.

At Kelso, the ingredients align just right. The grains are remarkably uniform — mostly quartz and feldspar, worn smooth by wind and time. They’ve traveled from the Mojave River sink, carried here by gusts that whip off the Soda Dry Lake bed. Over centuries, they’ve piled into these vast, velvety dunes, rising nearly 700 feet above the basin floor.

The noise is born of a chain reaction: as grains tumble, they jostle their neighbors, compressing pockets of air and setting off synchronized vibrations. It is an avalanche turned orchestra. The frequency of the sound depends on grain size and speed of movement, and its resonance can last several seconds, echoing across the basin like thunder caught underground.

But the symphony is selective. Only a few dunes on Earth possess the right combination of grain chemistry, dryness, steepness and sun-baked cohesion. Kelso is one of just seven in North America known to sing, and one of the most sonorous. Scientists have studied it for decades, chasing the exact mechanics, but even now, the dune will not always cooperate.

It will not sing for the careless, and it doesn’t always boom on command. You must move a certain way: deliberate, sustained, downward. You must press and shift and let go. And you must listen.

There are other sounds in the Mojave, but they’re not the kind we’re trained to hear. Wind tunneling through a canyon. The distant whistle of a hawk riding thermals. The dry clatter of gravel under boots. None of these noises beg for your attention. They wait. Patient. Ancient. Ready only when you are still enough to be changed by them.

We treat the desert like something to survive or speed through: windows sealed, AC cranked, radios loud, eyes on the next stop. But the Mojave doesn’t reward conquest. It asks for humility. For curiosity. For a kind of listening that begins in the soles of your feet.

And when you move like that — when you soften and stay open — the land doesn’t just speak. It sings.

In this tiny pocket of the Audubon Center at Ernest E. Debs Regional Park in northeast Los Angeles, a crowd of picnickers gathered for the intimate, outdoor concert, organized by Living Earth. Most were lounging as the band played, but a few kids were playing in the dirt and one had climbed a tree. In a corner near the entrance to the event, someone painted on an easel.

I ventured away from the music, following a trail, and noticed plants that appeared on the Audubon Center’s signage, including hollyleaf redberry and white sage. Despite living just a few miles away, I had never wandered into this 17-acre space prior to that Saturday.

That’s a familiar sentiment to Evelyn Serrano, the center’s director.

“We consistently hear, ‘I didn’t know this place was here,’” Serrano says on a recent video call. People will tell her that they found out about the community nature hub because they follow an artist who happened to be playing a show there. Sometimes, they’ll return for volunteer days.

“Nature is for everyone, and your entry into it is going to be different for everyone,” says Serrano.

Part of Audubon California, the Audubon Center opened in Debs Park, where they leased 17 of the 282 acres, in 2003. “We’re here to remind people that you can spend time outdoors — and the outdoors is free for everyone,” says Serrano.

The programming reflects that. In addition to volunteer days and community science gatherings, there are Living Earth’s concerts and Old Time String Band’s performances, on the third and fourth Saturdays of the month, respectively. Beginning May 23, the Audubon Center will hold monthly movie nights through the summer.

We’re not all outdoorsy people, yet nature impacts all of our lives. For those who aren’t science-minded, inclined to garden or don’t particularly enjoy hiking, the arts can be a meaningful pathway to engage with our local environments.

“Nature is art as well. It opens up our minds to different sounds, different combinations of sounds, different colors, different things living together,” says Serrano.

If nature is art, then it is a work-in-progress. It’s not the Instagram-perfect destination that we travel to so much as it is the spaces in our own neighborhoods that thrive when communities put in the effort.

“I think we’re in a world that’s so used to not being in a space that’s literally living,” says Maryam Hosseinzadeh, development and programs director for Arlington Garden. “We’re so used to being in a space that’s staged or constant.”

***

On the day I met with Hosseinzadeh and Andrew Jewell, interim executive director for the nonprofit, water-wise community garden in Pasadena, it was lush. Purple and orange wildflowers popped out of dense greenery. A hummingbird flitted between trees near our meeting spot.

“It’s constantly responding to itself and also responding to the community,” says Hosseinzadeh of the garden.

Founded in 2005, Arlington Garden sits on a three-acre plot of Caltrans-owned land and first bloomed thanks to an effort spearheaded by late neighbors Betty and Charles McKenney. Today, it continues to flourish with a lot of help from the locals who pitch in during frequent volunteer events. Education is built into the garden.

“It’s not just a place to come and look and say, ‘Oh, isn’t this nice,’ and then go home and have your lawn and water it,” Hosseinzadeh says. “The idea is that we can inspire people to enact the practices that they’re learning here in the garden, get dedicated to the land, and really start to think about how they can impact their own little patch of environment.”

That education and inspiration extends beyond the volunteer days. Come here for Resonance, a yoga and sound event hosted by Living Earth, and you might begin to notice the similarities between music and the sounds of nature. Head to an Exploring the Mycoverse evening and you might be entranced by the mysterious world of fungi.

Founded by mycologist Aaron Tupac as a reading group just a few years ago, Exploring the Mycoverse has grown into a monthly celebration of fungi. They’ve hosted film festivals, book talks and art-making sessions.

“We love a good poem too,” says Tupac on a recent video call. The group will often open sessions with poetry. “We don’t have the language yet to describe how fungi work and how they live,” they explain. “That’s where poetry really helps — coming up with ideas of how to understand fungi better.”

Whether discussing fungi in film or sculpting clay mushrooms, the group activities help deepen members’ understanding of the large and relatively understudied fungal kingdom.

“Fungi eludes us so often because they’re not easily visible to the eye. Art can really help us introduce fungi to larger audiences by getting people curious. Just noticing fungi, I think that’s the most radical thing that art can help with,” says Tupac. “Once people start to notice mushrooms, or fungi, they’re all around us. I see them in my yard. I see them when I’m out walking my dog. I see them when I go out walking for a hike.”

***

Just as the arts can be a gateway into the outdoors, they can also help us understand our role in its stewardship.

“The idea of having a stewardship kind of relationship to the places that we live and depend on is really critical in my mind to our survival as a species,” says artist, writer and designer Rosten Woo. Known for his civic art projects, Woo has long collaborated with Clockshop, the public arts organization that works largely along the Los Angeles River.

Recently, Woo teamed up with composer and sound designer Celia Hollander to create “What Water Wants,” an audio tour of an Elysian Valley stretch of Los Angeles that riffs on the format of a guided meditation.

I listened to “What Water Wants” while walking along the bike path that hugs the edge of the river, a birdsong entering my right ear via the earbud while live birds chirp on the left. The format is similar to popular, online meditations, but the content dives into the tumultuous history of L.A.’s water and arrives at the prompt for listeners to think about everything connected to the waterway and its health.

“I think that the art that I’m making and that a lot of other people are making is partially about trying to imagine a more just, humane, connected world,” says Woo. “I think a lot of that can work hand-in-hand with how you change the infrastructure of your local community.”

And, as Woo adds, “the natural world is infrastructure.”

***

Not far from the river is Los Angeles State Historic Park. Since this is my local park, I’ve seen the way it has grown in the eight years since it officially opened. It’s now home to a monarch habitat and large, shady trees. When Clockshop hosts its Listen By Moonrise or Reading By Moonrise events here, the foliage is now thick enough to block out the surrounding activity. And there is a lot of activity here. In a neighborhood that’s heavy on apartments and low on backyards, L.A. State Historic Park bustles daily with joggers, dog-walkers and sports-playing kids. When the annual Kite Festival happens, it sees an influx of folks from across the city flying store-bought and homemade kites together.

Organized by Clockshop, who partners with California State Historic Parks on several L.A. River-adjacent sites, the Kite Festival launched in 2021 in part as a means to bring people together post-COVID. But, it also was a response to the proposed aerial rapid transit gondola system connecting Union Station and Dodger Stadium — a project opponents say could threaten the park’s footprint. Says Clockshop executive director Sue Bell Yank, the Kite Festival emerged from an understanding that green public spaces “are constantly threatened as well.”

Clockshop encourages people to make their own kites, with workshops leading up to the event, as well as a competition at the festival. With a crowd of about 5,000 people and growing, the Kite Festival is, at its core, a day of art and recreation.

“Kites are one of these universal art forms,” says Yank. “Seeing El Salvadoran kites in the sky, Chinese kites or traditional Japanese or Korean kites, it’s amazing to see all of that artistry on display.”

Through their audience surveys, Clockshop does see that events bring more awareness to the park. But, it’s not just about introducing people to a place they might not have known existed. “It’s also about building that bridge to advocacy,” says Yank. “These spaces don’t just happen. They were fought for by the communities around them, or they would have all been warehouses.”

She adds: “We want to invite people to internalize that and recognize that it’s up to them to preserve them and also be fighting for those spaces in the future in the neighborhoods where they live.”

In 2024, there were so many books by California authors whose influence reached beyond the region and reverberated across the nation that we had to increase the list from 10 to 12 to get an accurate reflection of the Noteworthy titles we covered.

Of course, awards and “best of” lists are never perfect representations of all that books mean to readers. At the same time, each year certain authors and the books they’ve published strike a chord that resonates deeply for many readers and impacts the culture at large. Our news group’s editors selected these Noteworthy works for how they connected, enlightened, provoked, entertained and inspired us. For that, we celebrate them.

Percival Everett 

“James”

“James” was everywhere — dubbed by many a “modern masterpiece.” Percival Everett, a Distinguished Professor of English at USC, won the National Book Award for fiction for his novel reimagining Mark Twain’s “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” from the point of view of the enslaved character Jim. But that was only one of the laurels the book received: It also was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, shortlisted for The Booker Prize and was the Kirkus Prize winner. “James” made the list of the year’s best books in the New York Times Book Review, LA Times, The New Yorker, The Atlantic, The Economist, TIME and more.

Danzy Senna

“Colored Television”

USC professor Danzy Senna is married to Percival Everett, and she had her own Noteworthy success in 2024 with “Colored Television.” Her novel was not only a national bestseller but also was a “Good Morning America” Book Club pick, a Washington Post Top 10 Book of the Year and a New York Times Notable Book. Of her dramedy about the fight between making art and selling out, Senna told our correspondent, “I lean into the reality of American culture and describe what I notice.”

Jason de León

“Soldiers and Kings”

For seven years Jason de León, a professor of anthropology and Chicano studies at UCLA and the executive director of the Undocumented Migration Project, followed a group of human smugglers who were being paid to bring willing migrants across the southern border. The galvanizing result was “Soldiers and Kings: Survival and Hope in the World of Human Smuggling,” winner of the 2024 National Book Award for nonfiction. It also was selected as best book of 2024 by TIME and the Boston Globe, an NPR Book We Love and a New York Times Notable Book.

Rachel Kushner

“Creation Lake”

Award-winning Los Angeles writer Rachel Kushner hit the zeitgeist with “Creation Lake,” about a disgraced FBI agent sent to infiltrate a commune of activists in France’s countryside who may be planning to disrupt a government initiative that would destroy their way of life. The novel was an instant bestseller and made the 2024 best book lists of the New York Times, The Atlantic, Vulture, NPR, Vogue, Washington Post, Chicago Public Library, The Economist and others. What’s more, the book was longlisted for the National Book Award and the Pen Faulkner Award, and shortlisted for the Booker Prize

Alex Espinoza

“The Sons of El Rey”

The New Yorker named this epic about three generations of Mexican wrestlers one of its recommended books of 2024, calling it “an affecting exploration of masculinity, familial and cultural inheritance, and all the ways that love can be hidden and revealed.” The bestselling novel by UC Riverside English professor Alex Espinoza also made the longlist for the 2025 Andrew Carnegie Medal in Fiction and was a finalist for the New American Voices Award.

Venita Blackburn

“Dead in Long Beach, California”

Los Angeles writer Venita Blackburn earned serious attention for her first novel, “Dead in Long Beach, California” — a New York Times Book Review Notable Book of 2024, one of NPR’s 2024 Books We Love, and longlisted for the 2024 Joyce Carol Oates Prize. “I knew it was going to be about loss because I was writing it during the pandemic,” Blackburn told our correspondent. It was this period of great transition, giving up on a way of being and also thinking that you can somehow get it again. There’s this illusion that we just have to wait it out, and we’ll be back to whatever normal was. But there’s no going back. Nothing is going to ever be what it was in 2019 and all the years before.”

Rachel Khong

“Real Americans”

A New York Times bestseller, a Read with Jenna Book Club pick, and winner of a Goodreads Choice Award, this compulsively readable novel considers the implications of gene therapy and American identity, and poses these questions: What makes us who we are? And how inevitable are our futures? Rachel Khong, who lives in Los Angeles, is also the author of the award-winning novel “Goodbye, Vitamin.”

Obi Kaufmann

“The State of Fire”

In the wake of the catastrophes in January, artist and author Obi Kaufmann’s meditation on California’s relationship to fire shot up the bestseller lists. “The State of Fire,” which had been published in September, met the moment like no other. “Making the case to rethink California’s approach to fire — highlighting its importance for biodiversity, habitat and soil chemistry — the book explores ancient and modern concepts of fire stewardship, best practices for the wildland urban interface, and an alternate look at the legacy of Smokey Bear,” wrote SCNG books editor Erik Pedersen.

Nicola Yoon

“One of Our Kind”

Last year our correspondent Michael Schaub named “One of Our Kind” a don’t-miss new release. The first adult novel by bestselling YA writer Nicola Yoon, it’s a thriller about a wealthy Black family in LA searching for a place to call home. “I didn’t know I was going to write a book for adults until I was writing the book,” Yoon said in an interview we published. A National Book Award finalist, a Michael L. Printz Honor Book recipient, and a Coretta Scott King New Talent Award winner, Yoon was the first Black woman to hit No. 1 on the New York Times Young Adult bestseller list.

Thomas Fuller

“The Boys of Riverside: A Deaf Football Team and a Quest for Glory”

Look at how our columnist Jim Alexander described this book: “A group of deaf kids and deaf coaches are united in belief, steeled by adversity, and fueled by toughness and the idea that as long as they have each other, that’s all that matters.” Writer Thomas Fuller, based in the Bay area, didn’t win awards for “The Boys of Riverside,” but he should have. Author Andy Martino noted, rightly, that it’s “an oasis of positivity in a divided America.”

Don Winslow

“City in Ruins”

An instant bestseller, Don Winslow’s “City in Ruins” was the final installment of the Danny Ryan gangland trilogy, which Stephen King called something to “equal ‘The Godfather.’” As Winslow told our reporter Peter Larsen, it also marked a turning point for the writer, who owns a home in San Diego County: After 25 books, most of them crime novels, many of them acclaimed, Winslow was done. “City In Ruins,” is his final book, period.

Moon Zappa

“Earth to Moon”

In its starred review, Publisher’s Weekly noted that Moon Zappa’s “unvarnished prose and resolve to capture the difficult and beautiful parts of her upbringing with equal clarity elevates this above other memoirs by the children of celebrities.” In “Earth to Moon,” Zappa, daughter to legendary, iconoclastic musician Frank Zappa and his second wife Gail, tells not just the story of surviving childhood in a home with no limits and no guidance, but captures a corner of cultural history in poignant, unforgettable ways.