Pacifica, California. This tiny, quiet, lovely town of 40,000 people is hidden between the ocean and a mountain, only 15 minutes south of the 800,000 living in San Francisco.
Since the day that I moved here over one year ago, I have been in love with the lone tree that grows triumphantly atop that distant ridge. Do you see it?
How about from here? Ingrid B. Lacy Middle School is one block from my office, and one block from my home. See how no other trees dare to grow in the windy apex where that tree proudly stands?
Here is the tree breaking the skyline from yet another angle. This is the exit from my neighborhood.
One day, while out for a walk, I met the hugest, neatest bug I had ever seen in real life. She crawled absolutely anywhere that she wanted, without fear or hesitation. I respected this confidence, and decided that I should strive to be more like this bug. It was time to finally meet the tree that I admired so much.
On my way through the trees around the base of the ridge, I ran into this rusted structure. It was just the right scale to be a pull-up bar, but there wasn't a walking trail or other equipment in sight. I decided to get a better look from the sunny side.
What a fantastic find! Perhaps it's a stubborn support piece from a structure demolished long ago? This is less than a mile from the ocean, and metal working Europeans first came to this part of the country centuries ago. All I could tell for certain is that it's old, rusty, and awesome.
A little further along, I nearly tripped over this... engine part?
And here I happened upon a tiny stone wall. I couldn't quite tell if this was a dirt filled well, a former cooking pit, or something else entirely. A snake or lizard zipped into its shadows when I walked nearer. Whatever it used to be, today it is a reptile's house.
That's a concrete pillbox. As in, that's what soldiers use for a shelter to shoot from while on defense at war, as made famous in Saving Private Ryan. Having spent my childhood playing World War II games, my first impulse was to hit the dirt. My second impulse was to flank it. Let's flank it.
The door seems to be open.
This is the perspective out from the pillbox. It has an unobstructed, wide view across the hill. Were this happening in a videogame, enemies would start coming out from behind trees and over the hill right about now.
That's the exit from the pillbox. Judging by the steep drop off into a flat pit, busted cement, and twisted rebar, this used to be connected to a larger building that is no longer here. Note the Pacific Ocean in the distance, beyond the trees.
A little further up the hill. This is a view down on the local high school. The baseball diamond and running track give a sense of scale and distance. Google Maps tells me that the pier seen here in the distance is 1,000 ft long.
That's Pacifica, hiding quietly from the giant urban sprawl just north of us.
There's the tree - it's what I'm here for, and it's what I'm on my way to see. At this point I'm stoked, like a kid that has been waiting in line for hours to get a pro athlete's autograph and just got close enough to actually see her.
Nearing the peak, I discovered this underground bunker. Honest. I'm not cool enough to make this up. There is an underground bunker tucked into the top of this mountain.
From the looks of it, I am not welcome to go inside. Poking my keychain flashlight between the vents I could see dusty, unfinished concrete walls littered with graffiti.
Here is the entrance from the other side.
Just left of the back entrance to the bunker, there was another pillbox overlooking the hill. The windows of this one have been covered with rusty metal plates. Though intrigued, the sun was setting, and I didn't want to forget why I came so far...
...the tree.
A glance down the ridge revealed alien looking plants, a high school for ants, an a 1/5 mile pier now the proper size for picking teeth. My home is up against the ocean on the right side of this picture, right where the setting sun is hiding the water in its bloom.
Mighty, glorious tree, bearing the brunt of strong winds off both ridge faces. It's partly defiant, partly noble. It's unlike the other trees, not because it came from different seed, but because of where it grows.
A closer view starts to hint at the upsetting truth. My understanding of this tree is about to change.
The tree is hideous. It is broken by age, torn and challenged by the weather, partly deformed and partly dead. Its trunk is oblong and uneven. It would be a monster and a freak, were this tree found growing elsewhere. It certainly is no show dog.
But as this camera angle better documents, it is not growing elsewhere. It is king of this hill, it is overseer of this city. What an insignificant accomplishment it would have been for this tree to have taken root here, were it so unusually strong and powerful as to brave the challenges unaffected. The tree is a source of inspiration not because it was physically stronger than other trees, but because experiences that would have killed more rigid trees, it has embraced in sacrifices to its form. The beauty in its appearance is hidden in seeing its disfigurement as undeniable proof of what it has lived through, as evidence that tells the story of a life worth living. This isn't Hollywood hot, and it isn't MTV attractive; it's a profoundly deeper and more significant beauty.
I continue onward and upward, seeing from the tree that the zenith is within walking distance on the same ridge.
Looking back on the tree after moving past it, looking down on the tree from above, it doesn't look quite so impressive from this angle. But I know better. I know that the tree is why I'm here. I know that without that tree, I never would have discovered the rusty structure, the tiny stone ruin, the concrete pillboxes, the motor part, the locked bunker, or this higher point. It's just a tree - I know that. But that "just a tree" was able to talk me into walking over a small mountain, and that's not something that many trees can claim. (You see, I'm stubborn, and not a particularly easy person to talk into doing things.)
Turning away I see other, more densely forested hills of Pacifica. How much less impressive and inspiring any tree is, when it is growing up where there are plenty of other trees. But while it's less obvious when looking at hundreds of them, instead of focusing on one, I'm sure they have all weathered their share of battles, too. Sometimes it's hard to see the trees for the forest.
Oh. Huh.
I see. This part of the landscape is quickly starting to get a little too civilized for my tastes.
It is interesting to me, though, that there are houses and neighborhoods of people living on the other side of this ridge. To me this is discovery, since my view of the world used to reach only to the side of the mountain that I could see. To them this is simply home. To them this is San Bruno. Perhaps if they ever go wandering over and down the ridge, they'll find discovery in Pacifica.
For now though, and for as much as I was unhappy to have my adventure through nature interrupted by running into civilization, I was pleased to stumble upon this playground in a nearby neighborhood. It provides a safe place for children to practice climbing over the top of things. When they get older, who knows what exciting things they might learn from doing that?
THE END
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