I know what a river looks like.
I grew up outdoors. I spent most of my childhood summers in the upper Santa Ynez River valley. I’ve fished and boated rivers all over the country. I have made nearly holy pilgrimages to specific rivers, falls, canyons and fishing holes. Somehow, I missed the Santa Clara River completely. I think it might have been too big for my brain to comprehend as a Southern California river system.
And it’s not like I just got here either…
I was born in Oxnard, lived in El Rio and Saticoy. The Santa Clara River basically ran right through my formative years. And yet I missed it.
I guess, clinically, I always knew it was there. But it wasn’t until our work began that I actually noticed it.
And that’s the best part of working with CIR. You become deeply intimate with the areas we work in. You get immersed, figuratively and sometimes literally, (Yep, I’ve fallen into the SCR), you learn about them, often with some of the best experts in the world working right by you.
And like I did, sometimes you fall in love with them.
In the last couple years that we have been working on the SCR, I have in my free time: Travelled to the headwaters, explored the estuary, been to many talks, lectures, events, and training seminars about the river. I have learned about the birds that rely on the valley, the amphibians and fish that historically populated the river waters, the plants, reptiles and mammals that use this corridor to live and travel in. I have walked long sections of the riparian zone. I have explored the shattered remains of the Saint Francis dam that sent a catastrophic flood 50-70 miles to the ocean and killed over 400 people. I have worked on clean up events, become involved in the “betterments” of a new levee project and volunteered many hours helping create a native plant interpretive trail adjacent to the river that will one day be the parking area and entrance for public access to the river. I have even listened to songs written about the river.
And sometimes I just go there and sit. I listen to the river tell me her story. It’s a tragic tale of a near death. She shows me the scars of battles she survived and the remains of past abuse. I see the struggles she faces daily as thousands of people take from her, and yet so few give back.
And yet she still lives.
Our work on the river is primarily removing Arundo donax, common name, giant reed. It was imported to be used as roofing material and in historic adobe buildings you will see it as the layer under the clay tile shingles. Besides a limited use as musical instrument reeds, that was the only practical purpose of the stuff, and then it got loose.
It looks like a cross between corn and bamboo and grows over 25 feet tall. At times when traveling along the river corridor I fall into moments of futility as I see miles of Arundo choking out the native plants and animals. I think about how much water that insidious plant is pulling from such a limited resource and flashing off through evapotranspiration. I think of the crazy high fire hazard of these monocultures. Arundo burns well, even green, and the large flat leaves are notorious for flying great distances while still aflame and creating hundreds of downwind ignition points. I think of the massive roots, tangled and impenetrable, channelizing the flow and eliminating the shady gravel river bottoms required by frogs, toads and steelhead to reproduce. The futility fades a little when I remember that those massive fronds of blossoms never produce viable seed. Arundo only reproduces in North America by roots and cane nodes being moved by water and people. Even so, it seems to be doing quite well despite the limited reproduction options.
Eliminating Arundo is hard work, in often brutally challenging conditions. The most effective method is to use a heavy mower/grinder to knock down the monocultures and then come back when the Arundo is springing forth with new life, bright, green, vibrant…. And kill it. Our field crews are excellent and skilled in this process.
Another unique expertise that CIR provides is in working in and around sensitive areas and species. We go in where the machinery cannot and protect areas of native plants. This ensures that when the mowing has leveled vast swaths of the riparian zone, there is still forage and habitat for the animals, many of concern or endangered, to return to. The river system can still provide until the native plants capitalize on the lack of competition with the Arundo now gone. And then of course there will be much more forage and habitat, and more opportunity for all the endangered and threatened species. Nature finds a way, and I believe we are giving nature better chance for success.
And when I go to work, be it one cane, or one acre of cane I kill that day, I know…
The river still lives. And at times, now that I know her, I believe she is thankful.
Doug Morgan, Project Manager