Orange County has earned just renown for caricature extremes. Papers proudly publish political persuasions that could peel the paint off the preacher's Ferrari. Orange County proudly offers some remarkably sophisticated and socially responsible healthcare systems, but it also supports a cosmetic surgery industry that must be draining the pool of California doctors who treat things like bronchitis, boils, and backaches. On the way to the heralded beaches, a driver may pass as many spas as grocery stores. Monotonous khaki structures with red tile roofs drape the lip of every bluff and the crowd the crest of every hillock. The namesake orange trees can now be found mostly as depictions on the labels of herbal body lotions.
So who would think Orange County would also be home to... real salamanders!
Upper Trabuco Canyon snakes through steep hillsides of impenetrable chaparral, studded with gaudy yucca plumes, fragrant black sage, and flamboyant cactus blossoms. In the crease, a precious trickle of clear water flows over granite boulders rounded by the floods of millennia. There, to my giddy amazement, gliding through a shaded pool in late May, four rough skinned newts were attending to the Springtime duties of posterity minded amphibians. I wish them fabulous success.
Toppling a prejudicial stereotype—such as finding salamanders in what NorCal chauvinists (like me) likely regard as an ecological wasteland—is good for us all. I shouldn't have been surprised. Grizzly bears once prowled the Santa Ana Mountains, and condors plied the updrafts. Indian mortars in hard rock tell us that acorns and water were once plentiful. The names of trails conjure images of durable eccentricity, bounding optimism, and episodic thievery. Orange County still boasts some intimidating back country with plenty of rattlesnakes and raptors and a few mountain lions. Rumor holds that handful of Democrats is seeking sanctuary somewhere back in those hills.
Of course, I now realize that lots of people are dedicated to preserving wilderness in Orange County, and that most of these folks consider tea a tasteful beverage rather than a provocation for reckless shouting. I need to introduce them to some Santa Cruz County Salamandres.
Wells Shoemaker MD, Winemaker
So who would think Orange County would also be home to... real salamanders!
Upper Trabuco Canyon snakes through steep hillsides of impenetrable chaparral, studded with gaudy yucca plumes, fragrant black sage, and flamboyant cactus blossoms. In the crease, a precious trickle of clear water flows over granite boulders rounded by the floods of millennia. There, to my giddy amazement, gliding through a shaded pool in late May, four rough skinned newts were attending to the Springtime duties of posterity minded amphibians. I wish them fabulous success.
Toppling a prejudicial stereotype—such as finding salamanders in what NorCal chauvinists (like me) likely regard as an ecological wasteland—is good for us all. I shouldn't have been surprised. Grizzly bears once prowled the Santa Ana Mountains, and condors plied the updrafts. Indian mortars in hard rock tell us that acorns and water were once plentiful. The names of trails conjure images of durable eccentricity, bounding optimism, and episodic thievery. Orange County still boasts some intimidating back country with plenty of rattlesnakes and raptors and a few mountain lions. Rumor holds that handful of Democrats is seeking sanctuary somewhere back in those hills.
Of course, I now realize that lots of people are dedicated to preserving wilderness in Orange County, and that most of these folks consider tea a tasteful beverage rather than a provocation for reckless shouting. I need to introduce them to some Santa Cruz County Salamandres.
Wells Shoemaker MD, Winemaker