LOMALAND CAÑONS: by W. J. Renshaw
POINT LOMA is an age-old peninsula at the extreme south of southern California, close to the Mexican border, "Table" and "Tent" mountains in old Mexico forming part of the unsurpassable view across San Diego Bay. It is situated between the thirtieth and thirty-fifth parallels of latitude (N.), about half way between the latitudes of Gibraltar and Cairo. It runs within a few points of due south from the mainland and is roughly wedge- or pennant-shaped, its eastern curve forming the western shore of San Diego Bay, its rocky west receiving the impact of "the league-long rollers" of the Pacific. Except on the eastern sand flats there is probably not five hundred yards of the main road along the Point that is either level or straight, but up and down it goes from level to level, winding in and out along the contours of the ridge. From the ridge the sides fall away in slopes, terraces or cliffs. On the flats on the eastern side are Roseville and La Playa and the government coaling station, quarantine station, and military fort. The western side is mainly abrupt cliffs fifty to sixty feet high, affording descent to the shore in few places, and hollowed with caves.
The major surface formation of Point Loma is a friable sandstone containing clays, gypsum, marls, pebbles, and a curious reddish iron nodule varying in size from a small pea to a large marble. This occurs in great quantities and is apparently of igneous origin, though whether volcanic or meteoric is not known.
On both sides of the ridge deep cañons have been washed out by the rains and here and there are irregular amphitheaters as if a former cave had fallen in. Such a spot is shown in illustration No. I, the characteristic washing of the adobe face of the break being very picturesque, giving wonderful light and shade and color effects in the brilliant sunshine. The prevailing color is a rich brown, shading from gold to red, which seems to complement the intense blue of the sky. The shrubs and vines add every gradation and "tone" of green. Wild flowers, ferns, and cacti abound in these cañons, and many of the shrubs are aromatic, not only beautiful to the eye when in bloom, but a fragrant balsam to the sense of smell. Large owls and hawks nest in inaccessible places, living on the prolific smaller fauna; and a large tufted-eared wild cat has been met with.
The cañons on the west side are tame and uninteresting compared with those on the east. Here many a delightful outing can be had, with a spice of adventure in negotiating difficult ascents and descents, needing agility and a quick strong frame and muscles; or, if one does not possess such, the help of those who do. In some of the most difficult places niches have been cut with a hatchet, making the climb fairly easy.
Every few yards the character of these cañons alters, revealing views of the most varied beauty. One such is shown in illustration No. II, the entrance to one of the cañons: the silver sand of the bottom, the varied greens of the scrub, the rich red-gold-brown of the cliffs with the green chaparral peeping over, all flooded with golden sunshine almost palpitating with vibrant life, and over all the bluest blue sky, make a feast of color which must be seen to be appreciated. Or again, as in illustration No. III, there is rugged and savage grandeur recalling Whitman's words:
Spirit that formed this scene
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red
. . . . . .
These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own
I know thee savage spirit—we have communed together.
Many of the finest views cannot be photographed because they recede deep, deep out of the light of day. This can be seen by the center foreground of illustration No. IV, the detail of which is quite lost in a veritable yawning gulf. Here one catches the last glimpse of the bay and the distant mountains before descending in five or six stages some one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet. At the bottom it is so narrow that one has to work his way along sideways. It is damp and chill and earthy down there, the sky a narrow ribbon of blue away up, and one emerges later feeling like an emancipated troglodyte.
Or as shown in illustration No. V—which is a view of the rock face on the right-hand side of No. IV, about half-way down—the scene is too large for the camera, while every foot of it is interesting and beautiful to the eye: "no jutty, frieze, buttress nor coign of vantage" but hath its festoon of vines, clump of ferns, or mass of wild flowers, while the flat rock is stained and mottled with lichens—sage green, old gold, brown, red; and only in such a place could mere light and shade work such magic: fairy towers, demon caves, faces in the rock—grotesque, fantastic, weird, beautiful, majestic, are the tricks of sunshine in this miniature cataclysmic playground of nature.
The cañons are full of surprises. At one place—a winding defile between bare rocks, just wide enough for one to scramble through—the members of a party while near enough to converse, are invisible to each other because of the sudden turnings and doublings of the crack every few feet. Some of the cañons open out almost imperceptibly from others. Perhaps a rest will be called on the silver sand of some opening. The older members of the party wish to drink in the beauty of the surroundings. The younger ones work off superfluous energy—scaling the sides, exploring the branchings, or making a toboggan of some thirty feet or so of loose sand-slide. After a while someone will say: "It is time to return." So we retrace our steps and after proceeding a little way, if there be a newcomer in the party he is likely to say: "I don't remember this on the way down; it is altogether different." Being told that it is another cañon, he will say: "When did we enter it?"
So we climb up and out again another way, someone perhaps climbing up on another's shoulders and then hauling the rest up; and within about two hours of starting out we are back home again, braced and exhilarated by the exercise, refreshed and inspired by the unique and varied beauty of these Lomaland cañons.