Warners Hot Springs, Anza Borrego, Kumeyaay Indian Village Site

Just returned today from a weekend visit to Warner Springs (homeland of the Cupa Indians) which is on one of the old California roads, between San Diego and Palm Springs, in mountains that aren't too high or too low.....and along the old Butterfield Stage Coach Route, earlier the de Anza Spanish Trail, and for centuries, an ancestral Indian trail for many known and unknown crossings: grooved into the land like butter nestled in the slivers of bread between the air and crust.


the spring where water begins.....

An amazing place. Left Palm Desert late Saturday afternoon, traversing Seven Level Hill, Highway 74, a vertical 4,000 feet in less than 15 minutes, and taking extra care; four lives have been lost in two horrific car accidents up there in the past two weeks. Very sad. I never answer the cell phone and don't even listen to the stereo on this road, not even my NASA deep space healing tone CD, which always soothes. Whisk past Carrizo Road. Movie Star Homes Up Here, hidden from the road.


south towards the Salton Sea....from the hilly roads....with ancient sea level imprinted on the low rocks, in front of the little dam....I have two friends who live on large family date and citrus ranches near there...

Entered a dark cloud zone, and suddenly, the mountain town of Anza, stopped for water and a diet coke - and a sudden whim to buy five various types of candy bars and a pack of starbursts and the movie Borat on DVD - as well as a lighter. Cold, winter weather and people dressed like Montana. Instant winter.

And left on the turn in the town of Aguanga heading south - instead of going to Temecula - past an olive vineyard offering free samples of virgin oil, and into a charming town called Sunshine Summit, where I always stop at Ocean's Burrito Restaurant. And through the thicket called Oak Grove, and past the 1830, adobe hilltop Catholic Church. Warner Springs, with its Olympic size 104 degree hot spring pool, and quaint cabins. Nothing quite like gathering six spaghetti floaties and drifting on my back, watching the occasional plate of stars appearing through moving clouds....nothing like drizzle on the face while neck deep in 10 feet of hot water....and more...

a day trip south through a tiny town called San Felipe....on the old de Anza Historical Trail. Rain has just smashed the mud a little further down, more water on top, it's just downpoured here. Through Earthquake Valley. Stop at a little market for a huge bag of potato chips and a solitary twin-blade razor.


I hike the mile to the pictographs - remnants of puberty rites of young Kumeyaay Indian girls. Similar colors and shapes are also found on rocks near Idyllwild and in Joshua Tree National Park and throughout the Santa Rosa/San Jacinto Monument. A cold wind, scarf from an Indian fashion show in Palm Springs around my head. I'm alone, same spot where in 2008 the cover shot for my poetry chapbook "Dry Waterfall" was taken, when a group of 40 or so hiking men approaches...one photos me. Thanks!


And the ride home....the next day....patchy rain and skies of clear...I've driven to the top of Santa Rosa Mountain before, on a very long dirt road that takes more than an hour to climb. One hot summer day Tarah and I rescued a non English speaking hiker, who'd been abandoned by his friends after an all night party with Tequila on top - with gatorade and directions to the highway to Temecula - a long walk - about 10 more miles, we said.


And back to the low desert again - family of barrel cactus - warm - didn't even rain here while we were gone and the house looks untouched. The dogs wag me in the door.