Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve

Author's Comments

Across Pacific Coast Highway from one of the most developed stretches of coast in California, there is a marsh. That is the first surprise. The second is how quickly the highway disappears once you cross the footbridge and start walking the loop, the traffic noise replaced by the small percussions of water against mud and the constant low conversation of birds. I come here in January, before the morning warms. The tidal channels go mirror-flat in the first hour after sunrise, and the light is gentle in a way that California light rarely is - low, sideways, picking out the silver edges of the cordgrass and the pale legs of the willets working the shallows. The reflections are the thing. A great blue heron standing in still water at six forty-five in the morning is a photograph that almost makes itself, and the marsh hands you that scene casually, repeatedly, without ceremony. Bring more lens than you think you need. The birds are out there, but they are out there, and a 300mm is the floor for anything beyond a wide environmental frame. The loop is only a mile and a half, which means you can walk it slowly, twice, and still be home before the parking fills. What I love about this place is its refusal to perform. It is not dramatic. It is not a destination in the way the cliffs at Laguna are a destination. It is a working estuary doing what estuaries do, and if you arrive quiet and early, it will let you stand at its edge and watch.

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