I let everyone go past me and sat in silence for a moment. Then I closed my eyes and opened them slowly. Amidst the shaded woodlands of Bay, Laurel, Oak and Sycamore trees, there must have been a village here at one time. Again, I felt flashes of a former existence, just quick blurred glimpses into the past. There were men in the temescals, the sweat lodges, with fumes and starlight above. There were women grinding acorns to mash in open-air granaries. Fires were lit, and portable, makeshift tents made of hemp clustered around. Historical energy was trapped in the trees, earth, and gurgling creek that surrounded me. But this was not a serene vision. Something else. Something darker. Screams, panic, pandemonium, and the crack of rifles were intermixed with the images of village life. I was puzzled and slightly fearful, but continued on ahead, listening for the excited voices of my friends who were ahead on the trail. Huge cobwebs covered the open routes, but I barged through scraping off sticky spider excretions and hoping none of the rather large and plump arachnids did not fall into a nook or cranny of my clothes.

Eventually we came to what I naively considered our terminus, a beautiful green pool at the edge of some massive boulders that formed a kind of mountainous beach area. Sunbathing and natural algae slides into the fresh water pools quickly ensued. Then I learned about a tradition among the good friends who have gone upon this glorious hike in the past. Creek cooled cans of beer to refresh the palette! Evidently we were supposed to bring a few in our backpacks on the way up to restock the outdoor refrigerator. That way whenever friends take this hike, they have a holy grail to look forward to at the slide pools. Well, not quite.

With the amount of rainfall we received in Santa Barbara County last winter, the creeks are all flowing strong. What an impressive thought: imagine tracing every tributary of any size that exists in this north-south facing range of chaparral mountains. What kind of treasures could you come upon? Working with organic produce in the early-nineties here in Santa Barbara I was fortunate enough to have met some pretty incredible people who had a strong fondness for nature and the outdoors. One friend told me about a special hike that is of course not on a map (the great ones never are), a hike that allows you to swim with the rapidly dwindling Western Pond turtles that inhabit the hills around here. Low and behold, the Teardrop hike can provide that wildlife-viewing experience as well, but only if you come in quietly and respectfully. We got lots of cute frogs, but our boisterous group of eight came bushwhacking up the trail so loudly that the turtles were long gone by the time we made it to the pools.

ER Harris