The 32nd Street Open Space Preserve is a wonderful place to explore—if you can find it. I set out with my husband one recent afternoon and we drove to one of the several entrance points. We first went to where the GPS map indicated an entrance point on Cedar Avenue between 32nd and 33rd streets. We found the streets, but no access to the trail. From the street bridge we could see the trail meandering through lush green space.
From there, we drove around and around looking for streets with dead-ends, which often serve as entrances to trails. And we did find one, along with an official trail entrance, at 32nd and C Street, complete with a sign and posts on either side to block vehicles. We got our hats and a bottle of water and set down the trail.
Just as it appeared from Cedar Street where we had stood looking down on the trail, it was lush and cool and beautiful. We came upon the biggest eucalyptus tree I think we’ve ever seen. Its trunk was so big that several people could stand around it. We kept walking the trail until it crossed a dry stream bed. The treasure trove of rocks tempted me, especially an unusual lavender-colored one, but it was too large and heavy for me to carry back to the car. We went on for another half mile admiring laurel sumac, lemonade berry, chaparral broom and a California scrub oak tree with a full, beautifully-shaped canopy. Though we could hear the murmurs and high-pitched chirps of birds, we could not find any.
“That is a California Towhee I hear,” I told my husband.
“How can you possibly know what a particular bird sounds like?” He asked, incredulous.
I laughed and said it was the same sort of kind of thing when you recognize a friend’s voice on the phone.
We were both impressed with the quiet of the canyon preserve. The trail double-backed behind people’s back yards. We crossed the dry stream bed a couple more times, and I did finally find a smaller, easier-to-carry rock, a smooth one with light blue, brown and various shades of white. But suddenly we realized we had somehow ventured off the trail we’d been following. We went further and further back the trail trying to find how to cross back to where we’d been. All the while, the sun was lowering in the sky, already making deep shadows in the coastal sage scrub.
Finally, by the humongous eucalyptus tree we spotted a very steep dirt trail leading up to a street, so we took that to the very top. I was very happy we made it to the top, although the trail was slippery and I could have easily fallen without the helping hand of my husband. At the top, we breathed a sigh of relief and looked around, wondering where we were. A man was in his backyard doing errands and he greeted us, asked how we were doing. When we said we were lost and didn’t know our way back to the car, he offered to drive us. It is a very good thing he did. Otherwise, my husband and I would have still been walking around trying to find our car, even after asking Siri for directions.
The man insisted that there were only two entrances to the park, but when we directed him back to where our car was—using Siri once again—he was completely surprised. He’d had no idea about that entrance, even though he lived in the neighborhood.
My husband and I thanked the man profusely and I told him to thank his wife, too, for letting him take the time to help us. Incidentally, that enormous eucalyptus tree we’d seen on the trail happened to be in his backyard. It really does make an excellent landmark.
I’m tempted to go back on my own and look for that one-of-a-kind gorgeous hunk of lavender rock I’d found in the streambed. But I’ll just sit with it, listen to the birds and feel the breeze in the trees while I hold the rock in my hands. Then I’ll put the rock back in the cozy rounded depression where it had made its home in the streambed. And I’ll remember to leave at least half an hour before the sun sets, just in case I get lost again.
