VASCO CAVES REGIONAL PRESERVE: A Wind-Swept Journey Through Time

Hiking Ancient Terrain and Witnessing Sunset Over Mt. Diablo on the Summer Solstice

A bobcat sits on furry haunches atop a rocky knoll surveying his grassy domain with
casual feline regard, sniffing the air at nothing in particular. On the higher ridge opposite,
a mother coyote and her young pup stop to look around, then scamper down and out of
sight under cover of brush. Overhead, a cloudless cerulean sky buzzes with the avian
antics of prairie falcons, kestrels, red-tailed hawks, and golden eagles. In the valley
below, a herd of deer graze peacefully, while a kit fox paws at the ground and trots away
triumphantly with a meal dangling from her jaws. On a hillside abloom with purple
needlegrass, silver lupine and fiery orange poppies, industrious ground squirrels have dug
out batteries of tunnels, which they share with burrowing owls, lined up like a row of
wise sentinels with eyes sharpened on the lookout for a hapless vole. Somewhere a
mountain lion stalks and lies in wait. Condors, antelopes and grizzly bears might appear.
In the sheltered sanctuary of a guano-splattered rock overhang, a group of Central Valley
Yokuts, or perhaps Delta Miwok, or more local Ohlone native people, gather in ceremony
to paint ancestral symbols, dance the ritual stories of creation, pray to gods and spirits,
and congregate as one to witness the sacred transition of seasons at the longest day of the
year.

Life scenarios such as described above have unfolded for thousands of years at this
special place in far eastern Contra Costa County, near Byron, northeast of Livermore, and
about 40 miles east of Berkeley, in a land that, were it not for a carefully managed
resource plan that allows for occasional visits by human beings, has all but been forgotten
by time and civilization. Here, you can stand alone on a rocky promontory, lost to the
world, eyes closed, and gaze into the infinite beyond, feeling infused with the ancient
vibe of timelessness, at one with the eternal ebb and flow of creation, in synch and
harmony with the undisturbed, natural rhythms of life.

This is a place that literally blows you away! On a naturalist-led guided tour on the final
day of Spring, a group of twenty-two irrepressibly enthusiastic nature lovers brave
unrelenting gusts of 30 mile per hour winds for the unique opportunity to walk among
spectacular sandstone boulders, admire grassy hillsides dotted with venerable Valley oaks
and California Buckeye trees, and take in otherwise off-limits high desert-like vistas
overlooking four of California's nine distinct land forms, providing a stunning visual
reference point for one of the East Bay's, and perhaps one of California's, most unusual
ecosystems and precious natural resources -- the 775 acre Vasco Caves Regional
Preserve.

Open to public tours just since 2005, access was preceded by years of wrangling with
local land owners and finally a deal was struck with the Contra Costa Water District to
help buy and protect the preserve. Indeed, because of the delicate balance of so many rare
and threatened entities, Vasco Caves is a precious resource area deserving of the utmost
protection, with access restricted to anyone not formally signed up with a guide through
the East Bay Regional Park District. It's an ethic of deep respect meant to keep out the
riff-raff and partiers, a conscious effort to preserve and protect the caves from
destruction. (Drawing graffiti and incising initials, images and symbols in the soft
sandstone is vandalism, pure and simple. . .just look at how people over the years have
desecrated the awesome boulders at Mt. Diablo's Rock City.)

The ecological island, surrounded as it is by development, watershed lands, ranch lands,

and vast tracts of wind turbines, exists in its own time and place, left alone all these years
except for the scientifically and well-thought out land management practices to help
restore certain pristine features. One account written by an elderly woman reminisces
about having had the run of the place back in her youthful day – the forties? - when it was
just a big backyard playground and she took everything for granted and now rues modern
times when everything has to be restricted. The appeal, and precisely why it's restricted,
is that isolated specimens of flora and fauna survive here, including rare and endangered
species such as the red-legged frog, tiger salamander, western toad, and the San Joaquin
kit fox. Adding to the aura of mystique worthy of the extra measures to safeguard Vasco
Caves is its status as archaeological treasure trove -- grinding stones and mortar holes
abound, where acorns and buckeye meal were ground; tool-making workshop sites exist,
where occasionally flints and arrowheads and scattered pottery shards can be found; and,
most notably, fragile, barely discernable pictographs decorate walls in tucked away
alcoves, iconic representations of ancient creativity, probably the only surviving or
known examples of Native American rock art in the immediate Bay Area. Archaeologists
have concluded from forensic evidence that people have been active at Vasco ever since
humans have been in California, dating back to about 8,000 to 10,000 years ago.

According to our affable guide, Mike Moran, a naturalist with the East Bay Regional
Park District, "a lot comes together right here at Vasco Caves" - convergences of history,
geology, geography, botany, zoology, ecology, and prehistoric archaeology. Before
setting off, Mike gathers the group together and pulls out two large laminated maps (topo
and linguistic) to spatially orient us and give a short lecture on what to expect. With the
wind whipping ferociously, we duck behind the bus for a respite, and from the looks on
some of the participants’ faces it’s obvious that some did not come prepared for the raw
elements. If it weren't for the raging wind, it would be a spectacularly perfect evening.
Well, it is anyway, despite the wind.

Finally, at about 6:30 pm, with crisp rays of sunlight bathing the eastern views in golden
hues, and casting warm shadowy effects all about, we set off down the trail into this
strange, never before seen world existing just a few hills over from Vasco Road.
Considered one of the most dangerous stretches of highway in the Bay Area, the road was
built as a concession by-way when Los Vaqueros Reservoir was built. It was never meant
for so much traffic (as commuters from two counties use it and drive, cell phones in hand,
like maniacs), and many fatal accidents have resulted mostly from cross-overs. Vasco
Caves also happens to be within view of the somewhat unsightly, somewhat disturbing
bird-killing wind turbines of the Altamont Pass Wind Research Area. And yet,
despite....it's an amazing sensation to be sandwiched in amongst all this and still get the
feeling of being smack dab in truly remote, wind-swept, rugged, ancient territory.

Along the way, at various spots of interest, mostly out of the wind, Mike stops and points
something out -- a tree, a plant, a feature of the landscape, a dead snake, a buckeye,
sheeps’ bones, an old well -- and holds forth knowledgably on everything that makes
Vasco Caves such a one-of-a-kind experience. We learn how grazing management
practices help restore native grasses and increase raptor habitat; about the large nesting
populations of golden eagles and burrowing owls; and have a “wow” moment when Mike
tells us that Yosemite Miwok peoples have stories about the Vasco Caves. “Look around
you,” he exhorts with a sweeping gesture, “what do you see?” He is specifically pointing
to a shallow depression with tule reeds growing in abundance. “How can it be,” he asks,
“that water-loving plants can thrive in such a seemingly arid environment?” Same thing
goes for the big cottonwoods and the 100+ year old Valley oaks, he explains, thirsty trees
which require year-round access to water. The answer, Socratically rendered, turns out to
be a conundrum of geology: the preserve is a very subtle water dependent ecosystem
where plants exist and thrive in harsh conditions owing to ground water that is forced to
the surface from far away by complex subterranean activities that somehow push it to this
area. A real miracle, he says, one of several which make the preserve so special, and
allow so many different species of wildflowers, trees, and large and small fauna to call
this place home. Otherwise, scanning the lay of the land, there don't appear to be any
natural drainages or water flow channels – perhaps a clue as to why no permanent
settlements were established here -- so unseen groundwater, wells, springs and vernal
pools are truly life-giving gifts provided by Mother Nature for her many creatures.

We walk on, the wind just pummeling us - I turn and strut backwards, a locomotor feat
that proves to be a major improvement, but no one else catches the cue, instead trudging
with heads down, and jackets turned up against their faces, causing them to miss out on
so much of the scenery, also making it difficult to follow Mike's ad lib discourses.
Looking about, I'm charmed by animated hillsides swaying with knee-high grasses; tree
tops bending and swooshing to the will and whip of the Aeolian forces. We stop next to a
beautiful outcrop of boulders tinged in chartreuse yellow algae and splotched with
vermillion red lichen patterns, situated in a picturesque hollow like a Georgia O'Keeffe
mirage. We gawk at and snap photos of the fortress-like bulk, while Mike tests out the
group's Rorschach quotient at every turn – see who can spot what in the sculptural
contortions of the wind-carved formations. Someone sees an eagle's beak, another person
spots a manatee, someone else a badger. I see Valley of Fire like elephantine figures and
other fanciful forms. It's easy to understand why native peoples worshipped such rocks
and anthropomorphized them as gods and spirit beings.

We walk on - it's a very leisurely pace we're moving at, covering all told no more than
two or three easy miles - and Mike continues to regale us with tidbits of this and nuggets
of that. We learn about the expansion of native bunchgrass on the hillsides, owing to the
grazing of sheep that eat the non-native foxtail grasses. Mike points to a distant copse of
trees high on a ridge and notes they are the northernmost stand of Palmer Oak, an
uncommon desert mountain species of Quercus generally found at altitudes of between
2300 and 4300 ft. and known for its large acorns and hollylike spiny leaves. At another
outcrop of colorful rocks jumbled in a mass thirty feet tall pockmarked with holes,
solution pockets, and alcoves where cliff swallows make their nests, Mike decides to test
our knowledge of geology....how did these boulders get here? What caused their
existence? Why haven't they eroded to dunes of colorful dust? The answer to these
questions, we find out, is 50 million years ago an ocean covered the Central Valley to the
foothills of the Sierra Nevada and over eons of time, it drained, receded, filled, and dried
up, laid down sediment, and meanwhile the same tectonic forces at work that uplifted and
created nearby Mt. Diablo also worked to thrust up bedrock through malleable sandstone
and push it to the surface, tilting it angularly and moving it along the fault lines. Differing
minerals tended to bind together in what are known as concretions - and the rocks were
thus - uh - set in stone – making them resistant to weathering, and slowing the erosion
process way down. Some of the concretions take on shapes resembling hoodoos,
spheroids, cannonballs, and other odd-looking, whimsical configurations decorating the
rock walls like artistic works of sculpture carved by an unseen creative hand.

Vasco Caves, like nearby Round Valley, Mike tells us, is believed to have been an
ancestral gathering place for tribes from all over the region where people passing through
would come together to trade, meet in council, socialize, have fun, gamble, rest up, and
move on. There is no archaeological evidence of permanent settlements. It's also believed
to have been – and continues to be for their descendants - a harmonic convergence /
Solstice Site, a place that held – and continues to hold - special significance for those
who came - and come - to celebrate and meditate. For the ancient ones whose spiritual
leaders – shamans and medicine men – conducted sacred hunting and harvesting rituals
and healing ceremonies in the shadows of the big rocks and giant oak trees, the caves
held special, mystical meanings, as caves everywhere have, representing as they do
passage to the underworld. Though not technically caverns or grotto type caves, these
wind-carved boulders still must have been treated with the respect accorded any great
cathedral or place of worship. The paintings on the walls, while pretty underwhelming,
but no less remarkable for their very existence, leave open to interpretation the messages
being conveyed – crosses, spirals and bird figures. There is no doubt magico-religious
significance centered around the activity of pictographic art creation – attempts to
symbolically represent and bridge the gap between the spirit and material worlds,
perhaps, or invoke spiritual connections between human and animals to gain an edge in
the mojo of hunting them. Who knows? And how many painted figures and symbols do
we not see, that have been rendered invisible by the ravages of wind and rain? Even years
of cattle grazing, when they would rub up against wall surfaces, could account for their
disappearance and extreme scarcity. We'll never know. Nor will we ever know what the
imputed messages were meant to convey. All we can do is revel in their unknowable
antiquity, muse over their titillating mystery.

The sun was due to set at 8:32 pm, so from the pictographic panel we make our way up
about 100 ft. along a single-track thread of a trail through chaparral and small boulders,
with alpenglow sunlight filtering down on the backdrop of big boulders, lending them an
almost religious aura. It's a beautiful time of evening to be cresting the high point, atop a
75 ft. high bluff, sandwiched between looming Mt. Oso behind us and imposing Mt.
Diablo to the west. We are approaching the vernal pools. Owing to their seasonality, they
are bone dry, but still quite photogenic and interesting geologic features for their shapes
and functions, harboring as they do (when filled with water) assorted amphibious
creatures and Longhorn fairy shrimp, odd little inch long 11-legged crustaceans found
only in a few other locales. During dry periods, the shrimps' eggs, called cysts, go into an
extended hibernation, and are capable of withstanding heat, cold and prolonged
desiccation, before awakening to life with the coming of rains. More miracles of nature.
The absence of notable surface water at Vasco Caves leaves it up to the imagination to
picture these tinajas (shallow depressions in sandstone rocks that collect water) brimming
with and then overflowing with water creating ephemeral gushers cascading down the
sides of the rocks. That would be a sight to behold! Each season brings with it its own
charms and surprises, though, and today, it's a dry and burnt auburn of a Summer Solstice
day, marking one of the most mystical days of the year, celebrated around the globe at
Solstice hot spots by thousands of animistic pagan earth worshippers, and some normal
folk, too, no doubt, gathered together this evening to look, admire, wonder, offer up some
silent prayer or invocation.

As the sun filters behind a huge cumulus cloud, coloring it pale lavender and orange,
Mike elaborates some more on the topic at hand - that Vasco Caves was probably a
Solstice Site for the ancient ones, a place they visited to experience the mystical energy
evoked by the sun's overhead passage from east to its trajectory of setting perfectly in the
west between the twin massifs of sacred Mt. Diablo. . .a time when prayers were heard
and the barriers between the spirit and material world dissolved, facilitating passage into
the great beyond, the nether/otherworld. At a perfectly timed moment, the sun dips below
the horizon, casting Tuyshtak in fiery tones, and, if just for an illusory moment, the crack
between two worlds opens....and I am mesmerized by a sense of timelessness, rebirth,
connectedness, and age-old belongingness to something intimate and personal, but
beyond the ken of human understanding.