It was a deceptively sunny August morning. The air was cold as I stepped into my backyard to take a look at the Temetate Ridge, a sight I've awoken to for the past fifteen years I've lived in my Nipomo home.
On this late-summer day, some friends and I rode our mountain bikes out to Upper Los Berros Canyon, accessible from Sheehy Road off of North Thompson Avenue. A quick left turn at the end of Sheehy, and North Dana Foothill Road will take you around the mountains and into the canyon.
My friends and I discovered Los Berros Canyon a couple years ago while going on a similar ride through Nipomo. We were astounded to find another world tucked behind the hills of the Temetate Ridge, a world rich in oak trees with beautiful green slopes, quirky old domiciles, and a meandering creek.
The Los Berros Creek flows out of Los Berros Canyon in a northerly direction. Its course passes close to the northernmost reaches of the Nipomo Creek, then proceeds under the 101 Freeway and goes on towards the ocean, running adjacent to Los Berros Road along the north-eastern edge of the Nipomo Mesa. The creek's name, “berros,” is Spanish for watercress, a plant that is found in the canyon.
We rode on down the dusty dirt road alongside the creekbed, managing the bumps and keeping an eye out for cars as we enjoyed the scenery. At some spots along the road the trees overhead curved inward, forming a veritable archway which brought to mind thoughts of the great cathedrals.
Eventually we arrived at the property of a friend from school. Here we pulled off the main road and proceeded onto a jeep trail. With the prior permission of our friend's family, we began our trek up the eastern slopes of the Temetate Ridge.
The Temetate Ridge is one of the southernmost reaches of the Santa Lucia Mountains, which stretch southward all the way from Monterey. At 1,600 feet of elevation, the Temetate towers 1,300 feet over Nipomo. It's little wonder, then, that the most popular translation of the Chumash word “Nipumu” is taken as “at the foot of the hills.”
Geologists believe that movement along a fault line that runs parallel with the Temetate Ridge is responsible for its formation. Marine fossils discovered on the tops of the coastal mountains are evidence of this geological upthrust.
And upward we continued to trudge. At some points the slope was too tricky to ride up, so we got off and walked our bikes. We rolled through a muddy spring and dodged poison oak, making sure to enjoy the rich green of the abundant undergrowth as well.
The differences between the western and the eastern slopes of the Temetate became easily apparent as we ascended. Nearly the entire western slope is treeless, covered rather with grasses. The eastern slopes, however, are shrouded in oaks and other plants.
To the east beyond the Temetate are many other mountain ranges which run in a similar north-south fashion. These also are covered in trees and other greenery, rolling happily on towards the greater northern peaks.
We could see all these other mountains from the trail as we neared the top. As we grew closer to the crest, the tree cover gave way and the sun shone on us brilliantly. And then we were there, a stiff breeze hitting us from the direction of the ocean, and all of Nipomo opened up in front of us.
I found a nice spot and sat down with my journal to take in the view.
From this vantage I could see everything. I could see all of Nipomo and Santa Maria, Arroyo Grande and the rest of the Five Cities and out to Avila Beach. I could see all the places I've written about—the high dunes, the meandering line of willows marking Nipomo Creek, the Dana Adobe. I could see all the things of grown up with—the trees, the fields, houses. And I could see all the places I've lived—my home, the houses of friends, the beaches, the schools, the stores and restaurants.
As I sat there I could here the faint tone of the bell reaching me all the way from the high school. Beneath me lives continued to pass, thousands of people carrying on with their business unaware of their (relatively) high-altitude observer.
I realize that one my greatest joys in life so far has been in exploring these places, learning more about this place called Nipomo. And there is so much more to learn about this area—these hills, these trees, these dunes, these people.
I hope that later in my life, when my education is done, I will be fortunate enough to live in Nipomo, or a place much like it, and learn all there is to know about it. As I sit here finishing my article in a courtyard in UC Davis, I have none of the things I've taken for granted in my life in Nipomo—my friends and family, the places and the people, the plant and animal life and knowledge of the land.
Not that's there's nothing to be explored up here—I can keep myself occupied in my new environment. But when I return to Nipomo I'll know now not to take it for granted, and I'll appreciate it all the more.
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