Somewhere, Beyond the Salton Sea
Like the accident of birth, the Salton Sea appeared out of nowhere in the early 20th century. A booming resort with fifteen boat ramps back in the 50s, the salt levels and fertilizer toxicity increased over time, and with these changes, nobody wanted to come here any more. Like Bombay Beach just up the road, an exotic sounding horror show of anyone’s idea of a paradise resort, this place clings to life, just barely. We showed up on our way to Salvation, and there was nobody here. Not a soul. Just birds, and flies, and a stench as you approach the water. And mud. Not the good, clean, dirty mud you want to play in. This mud feels and smells like raw sewage. There are fields of tires, some shot with holes, covered with white, silty barnacle-like sand and salt and afterlife. Get over the smell, and it’s a beautiful place, an accidental place that shows us, almost in real time, that life can turn on a dime. What was here yesterday might not be here tomorrow, and we should cling to today no matter how bad it stinks. Without people, I turn to benches as my models. And an egret on a stone in the water.
Magically, a tour bus appears. A group organized by the Metropolitan Water District. They’ve been out for the weekend, to Vegas, and now here, as they learn about water. Mr Bus Driver poses for me. His name is Ed, originally from Belize, but he grew up in Los Angeles. He went down to Belize for a visit and ended up staying for five years. He’s been back in LA for about forty years, but that trip gave him a Belize accent he hasn’t ever shaken, and I hope he never does. Ed tells me the story of his genius uncle who fixed Ed’s broken radio one time by taking out a whole lot of extraneous wires and soldering a couple things differently than original spec. He asked where I was from, and when I told him I was born in the California Hospital on Hope Street, he didn’t think it was still there. I have no idea, so Ed referred me to Shelly and her husband Kelly, who have their finger on the pulse of Downtown LA history. Kelly informs me the hospital is still there, but it’s changed, and the original building is long gone. Like many of the places we come from, vanished from the earth.
Heading back towards the bus from the sea is Ardy, mayor of Glendale. I ask him if we can do some shots with that incredible backdrop. He agrees. I knew he was mayor because he was wearing the mayor jacket with the mayor emblem. We exchange contact info, and he lets me know he can’t get me out of tickets. When I start to tell him how I haven’t gotten a ticket in nearly twenty years, he cautions me not to jinx it. But it’s ok, it’s been a great run, and if I do ever get another ticket, I’m not going to run crying to the mayor.
We make our way to Salvation, looking much the same as our previous visit a year and a half ago. Eohkka, the docent, and his black chihuahua, Freyja, are still on duty, and there’s a steady stream of visitors, just as before. Phoenix the drone guy would like to spend sixty days or ninety days out here, embedded in the haphazard community of trailer dwellers. Tyler and Katie, most recently of Colorado, like the idea of the place but wouldn’t want to do more than visit. Benji and Adrian, visiting from Toronto for a friend’s wedding, finally made it here after knowing about it for years. Adrian’s got an eye popper of a leather jacket. Benji’s a semi-retired dentist who works sixty days out of the year. I told him the sad tale of #31 molar, and he asked if I still had #32. When I said “yes,” he assured me all is right with the world. I let him know that if I lived in Toronto, he’d be my dentist.
Rick and Lynne are heading back to Florida tomorrow. My brother-and-sister-in-law, only discovered in the last two and a half years. We journeyed beyond the Salton Sea, to Salvation, and back, all in a day.