If you have ever wondered what might
lie west of Bakersfield and east of the Pacific Ocean, the answer is
“not much”, but I am on my way there now. Exiting off Interstate
5, the road is arrow straight through almond groves, over the
California Aqueduct and past small signs posted by farmers urging
politicians to “Solve the Water Crisis”. From a distance, the communities of
Maricopa and Taft are green smudges on an otherwise arid landscape,
peppered with oil wells. Oil is huge here, and the sign by the side
of the road reminds me that I am on The Petroleum Highway.
Soon, a left turn
puts me on a delightfully curvy road, away from oil and through
brown, hilly ranchlands, heading to Carrizo Plain National Monument. After a while, I pass a car headed the other direction, then one herd of cows, then
two crows and twenty minutes later, another car. Carrizo Plain is an
inland valley with a dry lakebed, little visited but well know to geologists for the
interesting things the visible San Andreas Fault does as it skirts the
valley. Here is also the community of California Valley, planned in
the 1960's by optimistic real estate developers who didn't take water
seriously into account. An extensive grid of roads and street signs never became the community that was envisioned. Today, the population is supposed to be 500, but as I drive in, I see a few lonely ranches, but no people until I reach the California Valley Lodge and the manager
checks me in. Sixty five dollars in cash for the night, but he has to
walk across the road to the auto repair garage to get change for me.
I was prepared for a low key establishment – when I called a few
months ago to reserve, I was advised to bring cash, as well as food
(the restaurant has been closed for a while) and water (some people
find the slightly alkaline well water objectionable).
I go for a short drive, scouting
locations to photograph the full moon rise this evening and I see
nobody on the road at all. I see an abandoned tractor, that has some
promise as a photo foreground and find a small hill overlook that has
a panoramic view of the whole valley. The sky is clear, and a little
hazy which might make for a spectacular moonrise.
After I walk to the top of the overlook and set up my gear, I photograph in solitude for about an hour an a half. The birds in the salt marsh have quieted down with the sunset and there is a coyote nearby who yips from time to time, but not one car drives by on the main road to spoil my shot.
