It’s a good day when I can get out and enjoy both nature and culture. Astrida & I loved the Fabulous Fiber exhibit at BG Gallery in Bergamot Station. And, of course, a visit to Temescal never disappoints. These well-worn steps climbing the slope under a spreading oak are made from log cross-sections.
It was another windy, chilly day at the coast so I headed over the hill to my favourite sheltered trail, the section of the Backbone between Piuma Rd and Tapia Park, also known as Piuma Ridge Trail. I love that place—it’s shady, ferny, moist, and mostly human-free. Perfect for just sitting on a mossy rock and breathing it all in with eyes closed, enjoying my daily dose of nature therapy.
I saw an interesting and new-to-me plant, so did some sketch-noting and looked it up when I got home. It’s Warrior’s Plume (Pedicularis densiflora), a perennial root parasitic herb that attaches to the roots of other plants to obtain nutrients and water. I only saw a few plants; I wonder how widespread it is. It doesn’t appear on the 1983 list of the Flora of Malibu Creek State Park, so maybe it’s a more recent arrival, or perhaps it’s too rare to have made it on the list? Regardless, it’s very pretty!
Something I learned in MCSP Docent School this week: our native woodrats build large dens in coast live oak trees; dens can reach five feet in height and eight feet in diameter. They have separate rooms for sleeping (lined with chewed up bay leaves to keep away insects), food storage, nurseries, and protection. Woodrats live in a matriarchal social system where females choose mates, and boot out the males after mating. They are similar in appearance to the common rat species Rattus rattus and Rattus norvegicus, but with larger ears and eyes, softer coats, and furred tails (i.e., they are cuter!)
White Oak Farm is tucked into the northwest corner of Mulholland and Las Virgenes Roads. Once a dairy farm, it’s now part of Malibu Creek State Park, and a ranger lives in the old farmhouse. There are no ‘white oaks’ here, only valley oaks and coast live oaks. The valley oaks have lighter bark than the others, so perhaps that’s where the name came from.
It’s been six weeks since I hiked Mishe Mokwa/Sandstone Peak and the difference is stark. The muddy trails and babbling streams are just a memory now. That December rain was lovely, but there’s been nothing since. We’re certainly not seeing a wildflower superbloom this spring.
It was pretty windy here at the coast, but I found a sheltered spot in Topanga State Park to sketch-hike (sketchike?). Even though I once lived in Topanga, I’d never explored Dead Horse Trail, part of the Backbone Trail system. I’m glad I checked it out; it’s short but very pretty.
I was back at King Gillette Ranch yesterday with the LA Urban Sketchers, very happy they chose to meet in my neck of the woods this month.
I was minding my own business, sketching the riparian plants in a secluded spot by Malibu Creek, when I was suddenly aware that I was not alone. In fact, a Large Creature was right at my back. I was so startled—and then immediately relieved that it was not a mountain lion* or a crazy human. It took a second for my adrenaline to calm down and for me to start sketching the friendly doe, who slowly (silently!) wandered off. I aspire to be so quiet in the wilds.
* A pet dog was taken by a lion a couple of days ago, a few miles from here.
It’s easy to take the wrong turn on the Corral Canyon loop trail and end up climbing way up the mountain. I managed to do so AGAIN today. I eventually realised my error and backtracked; I’m *pretty* sure I won’t make that mistake a third time.
There aren’t many wildflowers out yet, but the grounds of the burned out house are full of naturalized garden flowers, including African flag, periwinkles, and the ubiquitous oxalis. I gathered a baggie of sour flowers to try making ink — more to come on that!
Today I found a lovely sit spot under a big oak beside Liberty Creek, in a less-visited part of Malibu Creek State Park. Sadly, even here there was styrofoam litter, which I duly collected. On my way back to the car I thought I saw a bunch of tennis balls nestled among the mustard, and reached in to add them to my bag ‘o trash. But they were ripe calabazillas or stinking gourds (Cucurbita foetidissima). The vine had completely died back, leaving just the fruit. Tricked me!
hashiworks 