Into the Slough

Yesterday I made another trip to the Don Edwards National Wildlife Refuge in Alviso. I am still amazed that this beautiful marshland exists amid the stench of raw sewage that surrounds it.

I arrived around 2 pm and so had time to wander a bit before the gates closed at 5 pm. A meandering wooden trail of sorts made its way from behind the Education building through the slough. I set out along the path, eying with both distrust and fascination the murky green water surrounding me. It was a cloudy day, yet far out into the marsh, amongst the tall grasses, a bit of sunlight sparkled here and there, and Canadian geese flew in pairs in between the reeds.

The labyrinthine path snaked through the brackish water. I wondered what would happen if an earthquake were to occur at that very moment; would the meager boards give way and send me tumbling into the green muck? I decided not to worry about it and continued on my way.

Finally I was on solid land again, standing at the southern edge of the Bay. Brown pelicans were hunting in the shallow water, flying low and scanning the slough below, then plunging suddenly into the water with a great splash, sometimes scooping fish into their enormous bills. Others swam quietly in groups of four or five. I stopped to watch them, marveling at those huge pelican pouches.

An earthen- or was it concrete?- trail wound through the slough now, weather-beaten and worn. Here and there were scattered bird carcasses in various stages of decomposition: a white wing, still feathered, here; a fragile and almost prehistoric-looking bird skeleton there. Stray bones and feathers were strewn about without rhyme or reason. It seemed that the slough had been left to itself for a very long time.

I kept walking. A single railroad track separated one side of the slough from the other and there was no way to cross the track without getting wet. As I continued on foot, an Amtrak train emerged from the south, looking almost like a toy train in the middle of the vast slough, making its way north to Sacramento. I recognized it as the train I used to ride to Suisun City where I would meet my then-boyfriend. Suisun City is also a slough. I watched the train disappear into the slough, headed somewhere far away to my former life, getting smaller and smaller until finally I couldn't see it at all.

I realized, too, that I was walking in the very same slough I used to watch through the train windows, and that a little farther north would be some old abandoned wooden shacks. I always wondered about those shacks- had anyone lived in them? Why did they sink into the marsh, half-covered now in water? When I got back to the Education building later that day, I learned they were a part of the community of Drawbridge, which is now a ghost town. I am absolutely enthralled by the idea of a ghost town in the midst of the slough.

I walked and walked. Sometimes I passed other people walking on the trail. They appeared as tiny dots in the distance, taking on more detail as they got closer until they were real people who smiled and nodded before disappearing behind me, just blips on my radar for a moment, passing in and out of my world.

I wanted to cross the track and walk along the other side of the slough, where the water looked deeper, but there was no feasible way to do that without getting soaked. For a moment I imagined I was a ghost in World of Warcraft, running easily over land and water to find my corpse. Real life in the slough isn't like that, though. I had to walk for a long time until I finally found a dry place marked with a proper railroad crossing sign. And I crossed, and looped back in the direction I had come.

Little yellow flowers shaped like bells grew along the water, and rocky trails stretched out into the slough. I stayed on the main trail, watching two ravens sitting on the railroad track, cawing at each other in their corvid language. I walked and walked. Two young men came towards me and asked if they were headed in the right direction to get to Wal-Mart, and whether I had come from there. I replied that I hadn't, and that I didn't know the trail led to Wal-Mart. Then they asked whether there was any place to cross the track.

"I crossed over a little while ago. It's not far," I replied, realizing that in order to get back to my car I would have to find another place to cross once again. The men gazed off into the horizon, thanked me, and continued on their way. And I continued on mine, not knowing quite where I was headed. Do I look like someone who knows where she's going? I'm just a crazy woman wandering alone in the slough.

After awhile I realized I was hungry, and contemplated the pickleweed growing there in the slough. I remembered a kayaking trip in the Elkhorn Slough farther south, and grabbing up handfuls of the salty weed to snack on. But now I was in the middle of the slough next to a sewage treatment plant, and I wasn't at all certain that eating pickleweed would be a good idea. So I didn't, but fantasized about the delicious seafood dinners of my childhood on the Great South Bay of Long Island, fancying that I could smell broiled flounder with lemon on the wind.

Eventually it became clear to me that I wasn't going to find a way to cross over, and that I'd have to turn back the way I came and loop back around again. On my way back I passed the two young men again. "No luck?" I asked them.

"No. How about you?"

I shook my head. "I couldn't find a bridge or anything. I'm going back the way I came. Where are you going?"

One of the men pointed off into the distance. "See that yellow hut over there?" I squinted, and barely saw it there on the horizon. Luckily for them, it appeared to be on this side of the slough.

"Well... good luck, then." The men nodded and continued on their journey. I paused for a moment, squinting after them, wondering what I might find if I decided to follow them, but decided against it and continued back to the railroad crossing.

Another Amtrak train, headed southbound this time, came tearing through the slough, its horn blaring. I stopped to watch it. The engineer waved out the window at me, and I waved back awkwardly, remembering the many times I'd passed through this slough on that very train, hurtling through the marsh on my way back to San Jose. I waved and waved. Goodbye, my former life. How strange and wonderful that I am standing here now on my own two feet in the midst of this slough, waving at you. Something caught in my throat for a moment, but I pressed on.

When I reached the railroad crossing this time, I noticed a sign which said the trail was closed through January for waterfowl hunting. It was February 28th, yes, but for the entire trip back I thought I heard gunshots far off in the distance, though when I turned to look there was never anyone there. Maybe that's what being hungry and tired will do to you.

As I almost rounded the edge of the marsh, I caught sight of one of the ravens I'd seen earlier, still perched on the railroad track. He was alone this time and seemed, though perhaps it was my imagination, quite distressed. He cawed and cawed ceaselessly, not even seeming the least bit afraid when I was standing so near to him. I wondered if he was calling to his mate, lost somewhere in the wide slough. I have never heard a raven vocalize so much, and noticed for the first time the many variations in his speech. He turned and turned on the track, looking in all directions, searching the ground and the skies, crying out in that hoarse voice. My heart ached for the raven and I prayed that he would not be left alone in this huge slough, that his mate would come out of the sky and rejoin him. I think I would have stayed there longer with him to watch and see what happened, but it was getting dark and cold and I knew I had to get back to my car before the gates closed.

One foot in front of the other, across the wooden trail and the sickly green water. A bicyclist perched on a bench, lost in thought. He barely looked up when I said hello. His mood was heavy and somber. I felt an urge to stop and stand there with him, bearing witness to whatever misery had settled upon him. But it was clear he wished to be left alone, so I walked on through the muck, finally winding my way out of the slough and coming upon several orange poppies, next to which a sign read, "California State Flower." My stomach and legs ached.

There are still wild places left in this silicon valley, in the strangest places sometimes. I am in awe that such beauty still exists, even next to a sewage treatment plant. This is the unlikely landscape in which we live; where toxic muck and ghost towns converge in wildlife sanctuaries.