Salton Sea

What is it about this place? It is garbage strewn desert when it is not being farmed by Big Agra. It is a collection of left over dreams from mid-century mixed with low-rent trailer parks and enough tidy little homes owned by folks who refuse to quit to make you scratch your head and wonder.

On paper, the sea itself is fed by three rivers plus agricultural run-off from Coachella and Imperial valley mega-farms at its north and south ends. But the rivers are actually streams and in drought-ridden California one doubts that the streams are up to much. So most of what feeds the sea is the chemical-laden, highly-saline waste water from the fields. They call it "endoheric" because what runs in doesn't run out. It's a closed system. No flushing. And it's dying. 

There are places like North Shore, Salton City and Bombay Beach where people live their lives. Someone had big dreams for those places not that long ago. Probably there are people who live there who continue to have big dreams. But it's hard to understand what those dreams are made of.

Someone had an idea to develop a fishery in the sea at one time, but the only species that survived is talapia and they undergo a cyclical die-off that leaves the shores thick with carcasses and the air rancid with decay. There are goethermal plants at the south end of the sea that look like the industrial future of Mars, and the remnants of a early 20th-century salt harvesting industry that rots into the beach.

The birds love it as an important stopover on a major migratory route. And birders flock (!) to see the dozens of species who stop here. But since the only plan for the sea appears to be allowing it to dry up, you can't help but think about ecological repercussions when that happens.

White pelicans (Amber's)

Failure and broken dreams and what might have been are inescapable themes in this landscape. But every time we're in southeastern California, we come back. And I can't quite figure out why. Sometimes we camp for a few nights, sometimes we come for a day of birding, sometimes, like today, we just drive over for a look.

We went to the North Shore Beach & Yacht Club, a snazzy little building at the northeast end of the sea on Highway 111, designed by Albert Frey, a prominent architect of the "desert modernism" Palm-Springs style. This was supposed to be California's largest marina when it opened as part of a $2 million development in 1959 that was championed by a number of Hollywood stars, but the agricultural run-off, fluctuating water levels and a dock-destroying flood laid those dreams to rest and it shut down in 1984, was vandalized, then renovated and reopened in 2010 as a community center. More dreams. When we were there today, it all looked pretty good, but it was closed, there was no one around, and the smell of rotting fish was overwhelming. However,  we did find a geocache!

The group with yacht club in the background. (Amber's)

Looking into the desert from the front of the yacht club.

Geocache! (Amber's)

We stopped for lunch at the state park just a few minutes down the road, and enjoyed a picnic under a palapa, shaded from the blazing hot sun, red ants scurrying around at our feet. The nature center there was open and as in past visits the displays were interesting and the park rangers were friendly and informative. While we ate our lunch, we watched several American kestrels dazzling each other with loops and dives among the palm branches. I've only seen kestrels by themselves usually perched on telephone wires looking very business-like, so this display of frivolity was unexpected and impressive. Could be early mating stuff because of the unseasonably warm weather, the ranger told us.

We also saw egrets, white pelicans, an eared grebe, cormorants, lots of gulls, and black-necked stilts. But the dancing kestrels were definitely the big winners.

Kestrel in palm (Amber's)

Pair of kestrels through the scope (Amber's)

The Salton Sea is a fascinating place. Some people snort when you mention it. But for us it's endlessly interesting. Maybe it's all the untold stories in the rocks, in the shadows, in the derelict buildings. Maybe it's that every time we go back we stumble upon something new. Can't quite figure it out. But I look forward to the next time.