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subsurface
Wilderness
2012-2013 Cal Poly Pomona Environmental Design
Cover: Tiernan Doyle Valley of Fire State Park, Clark County, Nevada
collaborators + editors + layout Tiernan Doyle Eric Haley Michael Plansky
Landscape Architecture Grad Landscape Architecture Grad Landscape Architecture Grad
contributors Aaron Angeles Alex Fagnan Sidra Fatima Natasha Harkison Gloria Mah Kelly McCrudden Jana Perser Edna Robidas Noam Saragosti Ashanti Smalls Andrew Wilcox
subsurface Is motivated by inspirational work; Discusses emerging trends and technologies; Responds to contemporary theories and opinions; Seeks to expand the current denitions of Landscape Architecture; Encourages questions and debate within and outside of the Cal Poly community; Examines multiple ethics, including: design, conservation, social justice, capitalism, and more; and Considers how Landscape Architects communicate meaning through the construction of our built environments.
Landscape Architecture Undergrad Landscape Architecture Grad Urban Planning Undergrad Landscape Architecture Undergrad Architecture Undergrad Landscape Architecture Grad Cal Poly Pomona MLA 2012 Landscape Architecture Grad Architectur e Undergrad Cal Poly Pomona MLA 2012 Assoc. Prof. of Landscape Architecture
Letter from the collaborators Wilderness is rooted deep in the history of human consciousness. While the words to describe wilderness differ between civilizations, common ancestries likely experienced a similar fear of the unknown, untamed, uncontrollable lands that lie just beyond the limits of our human experience. For many, it is comforting to inhabit a place that is recognizably orderly, in contrast to the wild chaos of untrammeled places. For others, there is a yearning to explore and know unspoilt valleys and coastlines. While the perception of wilderness may be inherited through one form or another of nature or nurture, the attributes of the landscapes that stimulated the response are largely lost to the busy hands of histor. If wilderness means unaffected by humans, then wilderness is arguably extinct. Plastic has entered the food chain of our wildest oceans, and all sunlight that falls on the earth is filtered through an atmosphere altered by man. Is wilderness no longer an earthly construct? On the contrary, nature does find a way. An untended lawn will rapidly return to a more wild state. Chernobyl hosts packs of coyotes. Wilderness might be reclaiming the margins of the freeway, depending on how you look at it. Must we go find it, or have we not learned to appreciate it under our feet? Definiong wilderness today is difficult, if not impossible. In the following pages, you will find a range of interpretations and musings on what wilderness means to us as environmental designers, and what we should do about it, if anything. This magazine is a collection of responses to the following call for submissions: The Call With this year’s theme in mind: Wilderness, we are looking for submissions that speak to interconnections, the undercurrents, the subtext, the interstices that link and concurrently divide man and nature, the built and the unplanned, the controlled and the wild. Through original graphics and written works we hope to illustrate and narrate a transect of our experience and opinion regarding wilderness.
As environmental design students at Cal Poly Pomona we often struggle with the rise of the Los Angeles region as a megalopolis, and as a proxy for the global force of urbanization. What is happening on the other side of the fence? What is happening inside? As economies fail, population growth spirals out of control, and urban encrustations cover ever increasing amounts of land, more questions arise about the management and usage of natural resources; the effects of technoligically-induced alienation from the natural world; and the ability of communities to rbound from the increasingly devastating effects of climate change. With these and other problems in mind, the theme of Wilderness is a basis from which to explore the fringe interactions of human and non-human civilizations, to re-evaluate undeveloped spaces both mental and physical, and to question the wildernesses that surround and beckon us all.
CONTENTS No Monocultures in the Wild: Critiquing “Control Freak� Design Alex Fagnan
Mystics Gaze Ashanti Smalls
The Lantern Aaron Angeles
....................................................9
..................................................12
Michael Plansky
..................................................13
...................................................28
Gloria Mah
...................................................30
Tanaka House Noam Saragosti
...................................................31
The Wilderness Contradiction
..................................................20
Postmodern Wilderness
..................................................22
Re-Wilding
and the Search for Middle Ground in Conservation Kelley McCrudden
Jana Perser
..................................................15
Making the Edge Tiernan Doyle
...................................................26
Akiyama Retreat House
Reforestation in the Angeles National Forest
Crestline, CA
Eric Haley
When One Encounters Another
Shrubbing It Up: Tiernan Doyle
Hiking for a Year
..................................................24
Eric Haley
...................................................33
Sidra Fatima + Michael Plansky
..............................36
...ὀ τάλαις ἔγω ζώω μοἷραν ἔχων ἀγροϊκωτίκαν ἰμέρρων ἀγόρας ἄκουσαι καρυζομένας ἆΩγεσιλαΐδα και βόλλας τἂ πάτηρ καἲ πάτερος πάτηρ καγγεγήρασ’ ἔχοντες πεδἂ τωνδέων τὢν ἀλλαλοκάκων πολίταν, ἔγωγ’ ἀπὒ τούτων ἀπελήλαμαι φεύγων ἐσχατίαισ, ὠς δ’ Ὀνυμακλέης ἐνθαδ’οἷος ἐοίκησα λυκαιμίαις...
miserable. I live out my time as though it is field labor longing only to hear the noise of my neighbors and the plans and plots of the city that my father and his father’s father had a part of. I was taken from them.
Grendel’s mother, goddess, crone, knowing her wretchedness, she dwelt in the terrible waters the icy streams, since the time when Cain became the murderer of his brother, his father’s son; he was a criminal, baptized in death, fleeing festivity, he rode into the wilderness ...Grendles modor ides, aglӕcwif, yrmþe gemunde, se þe wӕteregesan wunian scolde cealde streamas, siþðan Cain wearð to ecgbanan angan breþer, fӕderenmӕge; he þa fag gewat, morþre gemearcod, mandream fleon, westen warode...
a fugitive in the edges of civilization, there I live alone. a wolf man in the wild
unknown 600-1080
alcaeus 612-560 ἐσχατιαισ’
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the farthest edges of anything; it is the end of the known world, bereft of civilization and inhabited by monsters
westen
desert, wilderness; associated with sunset, sinking, death and desolation, this is a hellish wilderness.
The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature as all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. but, to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
The richest values of wilderness lie not in the days of Daniel Boone, nor even in the present, but rather in the future.
...whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.
william blake 1906 sublime
edmund burke 1904-1907
beginning in the 18th century, artists and philosophers began embracing the emotions of fear and terror as part of the most authenic and strongest experience that a human could have. wilderness landscapes juxtaposed terrible fear with awe inspiring grace; walking the tension between the pole of terror and beauty was the aesthetic of the sublime
aldo leopold 1935
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Images: Kevin Yuan 8
No Monocultures in the Wild: Critiquing “Control-Freak� Design Alex Fagnan
As students and practitioners of landscape design and landscape architecture, we tend to see the work that we do as being heavily influenced by both organic and inorganic features of the natural environment. These features include weather, resource availability, energic inputs, and the existing ecology, along with more tangible, physical elements like plants, animals, and geology. All of this is taken into account when we create or propose a new design, and ideally, the final design is well-suited to the environment in which it is
being installed. It is the use of natural features in constructive ways which should distinguish us from architects, urban planners, and other designers. Further, it is our understanding of the natural world and our aptitude for the use of living, organic materials in designing environments that allow us to better embrace notions like land and natural resource stewardship. And so, as designers in an age of environmental responsibility, we are expected to have a better understanding of the natural world and arguably of biology, ecology, and the
natural processes which guide and form the beautiful organic structures that we make use of in virtually all of our designs. Plants are one of our primary building materials. What sets them apart from the rest is that they are constantly growing, changing, reproducing, and renewing themselves. Our carbon-fixing friends can easily be viewed as the foundation of most ecosystems since they provide the nourishment required to support a diverse palette of life. Moreover, diversity is one of the key ingredients in maintaining a healthy
ecosystem that is capable of supporting an abundance of life over an extended period of time. Plant life has a tendency for visual complexity and organized chaos. There is an order to the natural, wild world around us, even though it is not always easily observed at the surface. Artificially placing order and hierarchy on landscapes through linearity and control leads to immobile and sterile designs that like their biological counterparts will likely fail to survive. Although we may not be able to replicate this order in our designs, the extent to which
we impose a false, linear hierarchy on our surroundings should be reduced. Strictly speaking, a monoculture is the growth of a single crop or organism on agricultural or forest land. Nothing is more disappointing to me than seeing monocultures of plant material in any built environment. Depending on who you talk to, not all monocultures are bad. Crop monoculture, for example, creates greater yields in food production, which is likely necessary in tandem with better infrastructure systems to support the 9
world’s growing populations. But monocultures are still not especially natural and their increased alimentary reward commands a higher price environmentally in the form of fertilizers, herbicides, tilling, and insecticides. It has also been noted that crop monocultures are subject to quicker spread of disease and crop failure, which is largely attributable to limited intraspecific genetic variation and ignorance of complex interspecific interactions. Too much reliance on them has an increased risk of
failure leading to famine and starvation, especially in regional contexts where food distribution is problematic and crop diversity is limited. In much the same way, monocultures in design create a dearth of visual complexity and variability in favor of control and simplicity. When I started studying design formally four years ago, the first landscape architecture project I saw was part of a monument that relied heavily on the symbolic meaning and use of one single species of bamboo.
The upward-reaching canes bursting from the ground plane represented renewal, and solidarity in purpose was illustrated through the repetition of the bamboo canes. The rest of the landscape experience was generated by changes in lighting and hardscape. At another large-scale, urban project, one species of tree used on the site makes up the bulk of the green material used. All of the trees are standards that were grown under highly controlled conditions, and
“My gripe is derived from what I perceive as an excessive amount of control that ignores and depreciates nature’s intrinsic beauty...”
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all of the trees were grown to look like perfect soldiers with matching calipers and branching structures. I’m not entirely sure why this type of controlling behavior is not considered a desperate cry for help. Setting aside any discussion of the symbolism of site materials or visual impact, the greatest critique that I have of this use of trees is the control and dominance over nature that is exercised by the designers to create this wholly artificial, linear, geometric monoculture. I will not argue that the
above designs are not good ones that are appropriate to their context and intent and symbolically communicative. My gripe is derived from what I perceive as an excessive amount of control that ignores and depreciates nature’s intrinsic beauty, value, and complexity in favor of creating a graphically interesting design with high visual impact. And what’s with all the lines? Although I can appreciate the geometry of linear forms and structures in a plan view, the execution
“...or a plant that progagates itself asexually at precise increments, and in only one direction at all times.”
of these plans is rigid and controlled, with plant material being used in ways that have no relationship to how they exist naturally in the wild. That is unless you happen to come across a seed dispersing bird with obsessive compulsive disorder, who likes to have all of the trees in their forest at precisely 15’ O.C., or a plant that propagates itself asexually at precise increments, and in only one direction at all times. If you ever have the chance to come across these nonexistent, biological wonders then
please let me know. The argument could be made that because we are imposing an artificial aesthetic and design on our environment, the degree of artificiality used in the design itself becomes irrelevant. This is simply not true, and we are failing to complete our work as landscape architects and designers if we are unable to renew some degree of natural functionality or at least give space to nature to renew itself even in our most densely populated urban centers. As designers, we are
responsible for selecting materials that are appropriate to our physical worksite, the more general context, and to the users of the site. Keep in mind that there are over 300,000 plant species, not including the myriad hybrids, naturally-occurring and otherwise, and varietals. Only a fraction of these are grown for landscape use, but nonetheless there is quite a large palette from which to choose. Our designs are not wild or wholly natural, and they never will be, and this is especially the case if we view
ourselves as part of some imaginary dualistic naturehuman scheme. They must meet the needs of our clients, but we should not forget that nature is always a client in our work, and that even our most controlled designs should be tempered with a dose of nature’s chaotic, mysterious, and wild spirit.
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Wilderness Act of 1964 (c) A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which (1) generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man’s work substantially unnoticeable; (2) has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation; (3) has at least five thousand acres of land or is of sufficient size as to make practicable its preservation and use in an unimpaired condition; and (4) may also contain ecological, geological, or other features of scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.
Mystics Gaze Ashanti Smalls
DespisĂŠd, barren terrors unbearable simplicity in solitude stark obsidian mirrors wretchedness absent distraction
Images: Edna Robidas 12
The Lantern The Lantern The Lantern Aaron Angeles Aaron Angeles
That night, we sat around theAngeles fire, Aaron The tales of our elders were passed down. Tales of our hero, tales of thewe beast. That night, sat around the fire, That night, we sat The around fire,elders were passed down. talesthe of our The tales in of aour elders down. Taleswere of ourpassed hero, tales of the beast. We lived castle. Tales of our hero, tales of the beast. It protected us from the realm beyond, the realm of the unknown. lived in a castle. These places wereWe frightening. us from the realm beyond, the realm of the unknown. We lived in inhabited a castle.It protected They were by a beast. These frightening. It protected us from the places realm were beyond, the realm of the unknown. They were inhabited by a beast. These places were frightening. Once in a while the beast would break through the gates. They were inhabited by atook beast. It ravaged throughOnce and feast upon people. in a while the beastour would break through the gates. Sometimes, we learned, thethrough beast was in,feast upon our people. It ravaged andlet took Once a while theSometimes, beast would through the gates. by ourinpeople. we break learned, the beast was let in, It ravaged throughbyand feast upon our people. ourtook people. Sometimes, webuilt learned, the beast The castle was to protect us. was let in, by people. thatThe was built to protect Butour it seemed its castle thick walls of stone wereus. vulnerable. seemed itscame thick walls How long would itBut beituntil the that beast back?of stone were vulnerable. How long would The castle was built to protect us. it be until the beast came back? But it seemed that its thick walls of stone were vulnerable. We will always remember our hero. We will always remember our hero. How long would it be until the beast came He was a great explorer came from theback? realm beyond. He waswho a great explorer who came from the realm beyond. He knew the beastHewell, and us how defeat it. to defeat it. knew thetaught beast well, and to taught us how We will always remember our hero. For the first time, we of the castle. For left the the first walls time, we left the walls of the castle. He was a great explorer who came from the realm beyond. He knew the beast well, and taught us how to defeat it. For the first time, we left the walls of the castle.
He lead us into the darkness with a burning lantern. He leadasushe into the darkness a burningWe lantern. It burned bright illuminated thewith landscape. progressed. It burned bright as he illuminated the landscape. For the first time, we saw this place with our own eyes. We progressed. first time, wewith saw this place with our own eyes. He lead us For intothe the darkness a burning lantern. ItHeburned bright as he illuminated the landscape. progressed. did not carry a sword, his only weapon was theWe lantern. He did not carry a sword, hiswith onlyour weapon was the lantern. For the first time, we saw this place own eyes. One night,One we night, sat down with him, in the we sat down with him,realm in the beyond. realm beyond. Around the light of fireofhe wisdom. Around thethe light thespoke fire hewith spoke with wisdom. He did not carry a sword, his only weapon was the lantern. One wehe satsaid, down him, in the realm beyond. “My night, friends,” “This beast you speak of, does exist. “My friends,” hewith said, “This beast you speak of,not does not exist. Around light ofbeen the fire wisdom. We have herehe forspoke severalwith nights, and still alive. We havethe been here for several nights, and you areyou stillare alive. place brings you much fear.come I haveto come to you showthis youplace this place is safe. This place This brings you much fear. I have show is safe. “My hebeast said,you “This beast you of,the does not exist. of,fear is your fearunknown.” of unknown.” This friends,” beast This you speak of,speak is your ofspeak the We have been here for several nights, and you are still alive. Buthe one day much he disappeared, This place brings you fear. I have come to show you this place is safe. But one day disappeared, and left his lantern behind. This beast you speak of, is your fear of the unknown.” and left his lantern behind. It was his gift to us. It was his gift to us. But one day he disappeared, We keep his spirit with us as we traveled with bravery into the unknown. and left his lantern behind. We keep his spirit with us asinundated we traveled with bravery the unknown. The darkness wias by the light of ourinto curisity. ItThe wasdarkness his gift to us. was inundated bybeyond the light ourofcuriosity. We have advanced far theof walls the castle, into new places. We have learned new things. We have advanced far beyond the walls of the castle, into new places. We spiritnew with uslonger as welive traveled Because we no in fear.with bravery into the unknown. We keep have his learned things. The darkness wias inundated by the lightisofbeyond our curisity. Fear oflonger the unknown, that which us. Because we no live in fear. We have advanced far beyond the walls of the castle, into new places. Fear of the unknown, that which is beyond us. We have learned new things. Because we no longer live in fear. Fear of the unknown, that which is beyond us.
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Shrubbing It Up:
Reforestation in the Angeles National Forest Tiernan Doyle
It’s 5:30am, cloudy and cold. Curses are raining from the back of our truck as my crewmate finds his boots still wet from yesterday’s hike. We are parked on the side of Highway 2 in the Angeles National Forest, GPSed into position and looking for today’s hiking trail. Even at the elevation of 7,000ft, my view is crowded with slopes to higher ridges. I am standing before a slide of crumbling, reddish mud and granite
. Knowing I can’t see the top, I look upwards anyway, scanning for the best climbing route. As part of the Forest Service’s invasive removal team, we are hiking through the stream beds within the Station Fire burn perimeter, looking for plants that will harm the native ecosystem if left in place. Above me, the soil is thick with Turricula carreyi. This plant, commonly known as poodle dog (it’s kind of fluffy
looking, but I really have no idea…), is a fire follower. Its seeds lie dormant in the ground until a quick, hot burn causes them to germinate. Their growth is prolific for about two years after a fire, and provides valuable erosion control to chaparral environments. Unfortunately for the humans, it also causes severe contact dermatitis, often worse than poison oak. Finally booted up and ready, we start up the slope.
My crewmate has been hospitalized for poodle dog problems before - it can cause his throat to close up- so I go first; breaking off the plant stalks so that he can move through, but leaving the roots behind. We dodge as many as we can to create minimal disturbance, but my coat is soon sticky with sap, leaves, and a smear of flower petals. Scrambling up the slope with soil and rocks falling away from our feet, we finally
reach the ridge panting and sweaty to be greeted by the wide clear swath of a dozer line. Before us, the southern side of the Angeles unfolds into a vast, rippling tapestry of brown and green ecotones. The forest is jumping, bumping and grinding back into life after the fire. It’s hard to imagine flames roaring across these hills just a few years ago, as flourishing plants now cover the once blackened and charred slopes. 15
“Should we really ‘reforest’ the Angeles, or any other unforested wilderness area, with trees that weren’t originally there?”
Up here, the spread and the unpredictability of the fire can be seen in the growth disparities of the vegetation coverage. Dark green and impenetrable, one ridgeline will have been completely untouched, while another one burned to the ground and only now are the first fringes of green poking in to the sunlight. The differences are clearest in the trees, as large black skeletons stab into the sky, an island in a sea of frothy new green leaves. On the ridgeline to my left, fire scarred pines standing in a long, straight line make
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it obvious that these trees were part of a reforestation effort carried out by the Forest Service. As volunteers and hiking crews in the trees for planting, cheat grass and other invasive plants followed on their shoes and the tires of their cars. Though these pines are not invasive, they do not grow naturally on ridges in that formation, and their planting process introduces vegetation that increases the occurrence and fierceness of fires. In this case, when a tree falls, it’s not a matter of asking whether anyone heard
it, but whether it should have been there in the first place. After the Station Fire, several million dollars were donated by citizens in order to help with recovery efforts in the Angeles. The Forest Service gave the grand majority of these funds to a local nonprofit group that focuses on urban forestry. While in theory an excellent partnership, the operation brings to the forefront a massive debate about wildland management: Should we really ‘reforest’ the Angeles, or any other unforested wilderness area, with trees that weren’t
originally there? This issue is part of larger argument about how we interact with and plan for nature; a discussion that is raging among landscape architects, and trickling outwards through the increasing popularity of sustainability and green lifestyles. Human activities have already altered the planet to such an extent that restoration and remediation efforts will never return any landscape to its pristine original form. There is, arguably, little point in even setting this as a goal.
In an urban environment, this debate can only be conducted in shades of gray, and there is no clear winner as natives and non-natives both offer benefits for the diverse and complex demands of a city landscape. In this case, however, as a designated and protected national forest, the Angeles would benefit from a more hands off approach that allows the natural landscape to reassert itself and best preserve ecosystem functionality. Minimally intrusive techniques such as invasive removal with hiking crews allow biologists
first-hand knowledge of the health of the forest, while preserving habitat for rare and endangered species. Introducing non-native trees in an attempt to green-wash a chaparral environment with a cocoon of foliage is a waste of both resources and volunteers and will, in the long run, only damage the local ecosystem by furthering the spread of invasive plants. Sliding carefully down into our assigned canyon, my crewmate and I clutch at
yucca and scrub oak stumps to slow our descent. The plants are more stable than the rocks in these canyons, bearing witness to the fragility of the granite and the tenacity of a well- developed root system. Reaching the streambed, we wade carefully through a small trickle of water that dribbles and pools along a speckled granite bed. Algae trails in green lines on the edges, and it’s hard to see the water under the soft spongy leaves of scarlet
monkey flower. Where the drainage narrows, the plants are crowded so thickly that I can’t see my feet. Under my hands, bees strain into the slender throats of the flowers, leaving only a stinger-clad rump visible against the bright red of the petals. Performing a rock-showering, hikingboot heavy arabesque across the bones of a waterfall, I pick up a stick to check for rattlesnakes under the thick cover of deerweed. Tiny yellow flowers and twines of
green leaves swarm over the ground, cloaking rocks, reptiles and the remnants of ash. Pine trees are nowhere to be seen here, but a treeless forest is thriving.
“My crewmate and I clutch at yucca and scrub oak stumps to slow our descent.”
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top 50 largest urban areas in the US
wilderness areas within 100 miles of the largest urban areas
The distribution of wild places varies greatly throughout the United States. Despite a recent history rapid population growth, the American West is still relatively wild in comparison with the East Coast. Even Los Angeles with its seemingly endless swath of contiguous sprawl, could consider itself a wild place by these definitions.
Seattle Urbanized Area
Boston Urbanized Area
0
50
100
200 mi
New York City Urbanized Area
Philadelphia Urbanized Area Baltimore-Washington D.C. Urbanized Area
Las Vegas Urbanized Area
New York
(Newark, Long Island)
19.0
(Long Beach, Anaheim)
12.9
Washington D.C. Boston Seattle
(Bellevue, Everett, Tacoma)
49.3
(Towson)
Las Vegas
2.0 5
2390.9
Baltimore
2.7
Los Angeles Urbanized Area
88.8
(Cambridge, Quincy) 3.5
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24.2
(Alexandria, Arlington)
4.6
10 million people
3.1
(Camden, Wilmington)
5.7
15
204.6
Philadelphia
6.0
20
3.8
Los Angeles
3272.8
(Henderson, North Las Vegas)
0
0
1000
2000
3000
acres of wilderness per 1000 people
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Crestline, CA. So close, yet so far away. It’s not on the way to anywhere. Lake Arrowhead? Big Bear? Most have heard of those. But there’s no skiing or fancy shopping in Crestline, just an ecclectic mix of more than 10,000 people living amongst the steep folds and forests in the wild-urban intermix; a world apart, yet less than 1 hour’s drive from Cal Poly Pomona. Ever wonder what’s up here while driving through San Bernardino on
the 210-scanning that coniferlined crest 3500 feet above to the north? What are the people like and how do they live? Come on up with me and discover a strange slice of wilderness. There are natural nooks that wiggle and wind between crannies made of concrete, cars, cabins and fenced yards of castoff possessions. The San Bernardino Mountains are a world of contrasting superlatives;
perhaps the most diverse region in the country for flora, it is the manifestation of an east-west jog in the San Andreas Fault. Speckled with countless resort getaways from the 1920’s that have since been converted to Christian Compounds, the relatively even ridge-line compared with the San Gabriel Range to the west is a 15-minute drive from the regular grid of San Bernardino that spreads like a plaid
skirt from the base of the mountains and across the inland empire. It is now a place where vacation homes have morphed into a low-cost housing community; an island of relative wilderness. The spaghetti-road network that follows the drainage contours in Crestline represents part of a wild-urban interface that has no equal in the United States. It is a hotbox of forest fuels; natives and invasives tangling together from crevices to
ridge-tops, set against the physical ribbons of flammable human construct. With my car in the shop over spring break I walked these ribbons several times for 2 miles from my cabin to town for supplies and for a dose of human activity. Topography, drainages, plant communities and microclimates all become more apparent at a human stride; one foot deliberately in front of the other. The
Crestline, CA Michael Plansky
“...more than 10,000 people living amongst the steep folds and forests in the wild-urban intermix; a world apart, yet less than 1 hour’s drive from Cal Poly Pomona.”
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trodden edges between roads and modest vegetated valleys become the preferred path of travel. Appreciative of nature in my surroundings, but preoccupied with keeping a steady gait, my eye was drawn into the drainage below by the artistic manipulation of natural elements. A sequence of granite rock spires, precariously balanced, presumably set by the hand of anonymous labor
of love, drew my attention into a smaller world of an ephemeral creek bed. Granite abounds in these mountains, representative of the San Andreas Fault’s inexorable uplift and is a common material in dry-stacked and mortared walls. But walls are a predominantly practical application. Somehow our aesthetic appreciation of the way of the wilderness is piqued by a deliberate arrangement of form and
hierarchy. A momentary marriage of habitation and wilderness intellectually organizes the relationship between construct and natural process in the form of a sculptural sequence. It got me to slow down and appreciate what is left in the interstices of urban sameness. Try it yourself in places with more urban dominance. Organizing the wilderness is our nature, but lets temper it with a sensitive, artistic hand!
The pace and vibration of our own organic engines fits well with wilderness while our machines may not.
“Somehow our aesthetic appreciation of the way of the wilderness is piqued by a deliberate arrangement of form and hierarchy.�
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Making the Edge Tiernan Doyle
Legend
biodiversity hotspot
>38000
<107500
population density per square mile
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8 million homeless illegal building creates massive and lethal landslides every year.
7 million homeless illegal settlements are spreading across lands made toxic by mining
caracas | venezuela
johannesburg | south africa
1.5 million homeless the homeless population of India is estimated at 93 million people calcutta | india
2 million homeless slumlords set as many as two fires a month to clear out buildings manila | philippines
As populations continue to grow and cluster into larger and larger urban areas, city construction, resource supply, and infrastructure have not kept pace with demand. The largest population centers are now facing an insupportable influx of citizens, who come seeking new ways of life and new sources of wealth. Although attracted by economic, social and cultural opportunities, many of these immigrants find exploitation and brutal violence awaiting them, as infrastructure and social programming are
not able to support stable livelihoods. Carving out a liminal existence between acceptance in and rejection from the urban environment, many of these people have been pushed to the edges of cities where their settlements have become massive slums. These large ‘housing projects’ are characterized by intense poverty, ad hoc construction, and the lack of basic necessities such as clean water and air, sewer systems, and schools. In addition to a dearth of infrastructure, these areas are also often subject
to severe environmental pollution, exploitation by landlords and extreme hazard threats from fire, flooding, and earthquakes. Besides the humanitarian crises that unmanaged populations bring to the largest cities in the world, the environmental cost is rising as well. Most of the major urban centers are in the highest biodiversity areas of the world. Though humans are now contributing to species diversification because of habitat fragmentation and destruction, many new
species do not have the genetic material or population numbers to survive. Those species that already existed once flourished in the rich melting pot of coastline and edge habitats. With the destruction of these areas and their conversion into urban fringe, the rate of species destruction and endangerment is skyrocketing with the human population numbers. Our city infrastructures and social systems could use a reminder of biodiversity: Why can’t the edges of our
cities be as vibrant as edge habitats once were? If we extend our understanding of what the city is, and how important its edges are, we can find ways to allow human and environmental needs to coexist more harmoniously and weave the urban fabric back to a more complete whole.
“Most of the major uban centers are in the highest biodiversity areas of the world.”
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Re-Wilding
and the Search for Middle Ground in Conservation Kelley McCrudden
Once again, there is unrest in the field of conservation biology. In 2005, a group of reputable scientists unveiled a plan to restore a collection of large animals that disappeared from North America around 13,000 years ago, during the Pleistocene era. Commended by few and harshly opposed by most, this radical idea combines elements of
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restoration ecology, modern conservationism, and ecotourism. Despite its obvious weaknesses, the concept of â&#x20AC;&#x153;re-wildingâ&#x20AC;? provides insight into the many common philosophical disjunctions of the environmental movement. The path to re-wilding begins with the unfortunate acceptance that human action (or inaction) has led
to mass extinction of North American species since the arrival of our early ancestors from Eurasia some 13,000 years ago. Before the late Pleistocene, the distribution of large vertebrate species was fairly balanced across the continents. Since then, North America has seen the greatest decline of large vertebrate species. The demise of ancient horses, big cats, elephants,
and others had a drastic effect on biodiversity, as smaller species became favored. The plan created by Josh Donlan and his colleagues outlined a series of ecosystem manipulations that either a) restore existing species to their previous range or b) use related present-day species as proxies for large extinct vertebrates. The first stage advocates the restoration of
feral horses (Equus caballus), asses (E. asinus), and the Bactrian camels to their prehistoric range. The rewilding of the Bolson tortoise (Geopherus flavomarginatus), North Americaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s largest surviving temperate terrestrial reptile, is well underway with scientists eager to find additional protected sites. The second and much more controversial stage involves
the addition of ancestors of extinct species; some of which include the African Cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus), Asian elephants (Elephas maximus), and Africans (Loxodonta Africana) elephants, and lions (Panthera leo). These animals would be placed on private protected areas throughout the United States. The final stage of Pleistocene re-wilding would entail the creation of “ecological history parks,” expanding across vast financially destitute areas of
the Great Plains. In a world that often portrays ecologists and environmentalists as purveyors of doom and gloom, “rewilding” was presented as an optimistic alternative. Consequently, Pleistocene re-wilding would “change the underlying premise of conservation biology from managing extinctions to actively restoring natural processes.” Currently, Africa and parts of Asia are the only
continents where megafauna are relatively intact. However, loss of many of these species within the century are probable. Rewilding would give North America the opportunity to oversee the protection of megafauna under its own terms and within its own territory. The rewilding concept may not have to be perceived as fantastic pipe dream if its implementation is thoughtfully merged with larger trends and economic
realities. Ecological history parks could not only provide venues for the protection of our continent’s large land mammals but also have the potential to stimulate Midwest economies with an alternative to ranching. The 1.5 million people each year who visit the San Diego Wild Animal Park is a number that surpasses yearly visitation of most national parks. Perhaps this is a good sign? If national parks still offer the remnants of
passive, sublime solitude of wilderness left alone, ecological history parks might offer an opportunity to actively regenerate wilderness while educating the public about conservation. The “cute and fuzzy” creatures roaming these “Pleistocene parks” would certainly be more emotionally endearing to modern humans than the leathery dinosaurs brought back to life by Michael Crichton!
“Rewilding would give North America the opportunity to oversee the protection of megafauna under its own terms and within its own territory.”
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Cal Poly Pomona
Los Angeles Location of hike Travel to hike 0
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Hiking for a Year Eric Haley
The thrill of reaching a peak, the solitude of the woods, and the sweeping perspective over an oceanic horizon. These are all compelling reasons for many people to leave the city, especially those involved in the fields of environmental design. This map represents 26
the actual hikes enjoyed by one class of landscape architecture graduate students, during a oneyear period. Additionally, it represents the distances travelled to reach those destinations. While many of these trips were conceived for reasons other than hiking, these
maps are meant to tell the story of students on the go. The figures shared here are only a fraction of the total traveling that students do. Vehicle miles traveled while commuting to campus, to work, and for errands and entertainment, far outweigh this particular section of travel.
As environmental designers, we should be conscious of the resources that we consume when travelling, even if it is to experience nature. The natural and wild areas that we enjoy are also impacted by our enjoyment. More than half of Californiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s carbon emissions come
from gas-powered automobile travel. When squinting through the haze from atop Mt. Wilson, or searching for Catalina Island on the horizon, consider that the same car that took you to the trailhead also helped to ruin your view.
the numbers: Automobile Travel:
44,374 miles
Airplane Travel:
40,839 miles
Atmospheric CO2 Released:
30.9 tons
Carbon Sequestration: up to 28 acres of forest (about the size of CPPâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s F Lot)
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When One Encounters Another Jana Perser
You know, I’m pondering our fascination with wilderness, or the wild, and it seems to typically be centered on landscapes which have escaped the influence of humans – or the places where humans first encounter that which has, until that point, escaped human contact. This suggests a dichotomy
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between human and nonhuman life, and the conflict that can occur between the two. But what if we shift the context and look within the human species? What wilderness exists? What happens when two cultures, previously unfamiliar with one another, come into contact? How does this scenario relate
to our more commonly held notion of wilderness? Let’s first look back in history. Read accounts of interactions between Spanish explorers and inhabitants of the Americas. Now consider how these historic encounters compare to a battle between today’s Southern California suburban family living in the
foothills of the San Gabriels and the wild edge they are trying to domesticate. The Spaniards imposed their ideas of what civilized humans should believe, and how they should dress and behave. Today’s suburbanites impose their ideas of what a civilized landscape should be, in a place where brush
and mountain lions and wildfires are wont to exist. In both scenarios there are fierce battles, then one side takes the upper hand, order is imposed, and peaceful coexistence follows – for a time, at least. But that peaceful coexistence – do both sides feel equally at peace? Most likely not. One
Image:
Rejected by Rome
Andy Wilcox
“...there are still cultural wildernesses to be explored.” side will always be looking for a chance to strike back while the other constantly bolsters their defenses. While today there are very few cultures that remain in complete isolation, waiting to be “discovered”, there are still cultural wildernesses to be explored. Consider the first time you yourself travelled
beyond the limits of your native culture, and immersed yourself in another. How does that experience compare with being in a “natural” wilderness area? And how do each of those experiences compare with being in your home environment? As we consider these questions, we should also
ask, what is the benefit of experiencing wilderness, whether natural or cultural? As cultures expand, mix, and homogenize, are we losing something? Expanding urban and suburban developments threaten natural wilderness areas, but cultural wildernesses are also threatened through
the process of globalization. Should cultural wilderness experiences be protected just as we protect natural wildernesses? As designers of the built environment we are positioned to directly influence cultural expression, and therefore we have the ability to preserve, highlight,
obscure, or obliterate the culture of a place. We must decide whether to impose our own cultural expression, or to reflect the existing cultural traditions of a place. Whose culture are you expressing?
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BY GLORIA MAH At 3600 feet in elevation, the Akiyama Retreat House is a discrete vacation home overlooking the hillside of Mount Baldy. The house is supported using an exposed steel structure that suspends the living space above the landscape. Because of the undulations in the ground, the relationship between the house and the landscape changes from space to space. From the living room, the house is floating 25 feet on top of the ground. The difference narrows as it gets to the bridged entrance. Two grids, in relation to the frame and the planes, are shifted to create an open space. The skeletal steel structure weaves through the interior and exterior of the building, twisting the traditional image of a modern home.
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BY NOAM SARAGOSTI
The 600 sf house sits on a sloping hill near Mt. Baldy, Ca. It serves as a the sloping landscape. Rather than seeking integration through extroverted formal means, the project seeks to investigate the building to lan-d relation ship by means of surface, texture, and tension. First the ground is carved out to place retaining walls, which together act as a reccessed base for the to be hovering above the landscape. While it is very grounded in the side of contradiction between the ground and the building.
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two sets of perforations that are juxtaposed, one is the pattern of the regularly-spaced round holes, and the other is the abstract shapes of the landscape. The abstract pattern was created by modifying an image of the site until it became less and less legible and more open to interpretation. This technique yields variety and irregularity to contrast with the rigidity of the other pattern. Another useful attribute of this technique is that the shapes can be arranged to produce
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were created out of the abstract pattern vocabulary.
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Image: Natasha Harkison 32
The Wilderness Contradiction Eric Haley
It was the first weekend of the quarter and we decided to head to the mountains for an overnight backpacking trip before the homework piled up. Growing up in Seattle, I picked up the habit of squeezing in a backpacking trip during every school break. I was hooked after my first trip to the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, about an hour drive east of Seattle. Needless to say, spring break in the Pacific Northwest doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t yield the most favorable weather conditions, but that never stopped me. Jeff and I waded through 6 inches of rain over 4 days along the Olympic Coast late one March, then a year later,
returned to the peninsula for a snowy three-day adventure in the Hoh Rainforest. Now, I live in Southern California and the scenery is a bit different. However, I was pleasantly surprised when the smog cleared to find a ten-thousand-foot peak seemingly within shouting distance of my place in Pomona. The maps showed several wilderness areas within a few dozen miles of my house, even though I live almost in the geographic center of the second largest census area in the nation. They needed to be explored. The whole idea of wilderness, in my opinion,
means an escape from civilization; a place that is free from the pressures of the urban environment. However, that is hardly the experience as it actually happens. Many wilderness areas require hours of automobile travel to reach the trailhead, criss-crossing contrails turn the sky to plaid, and urban haze obscures panoramic views. But, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll take what I can get. The weekend trip began with an hour-and-a-half drive to the trailhead, where we added another vehicle to the already busy parking lot. We laced up our boots, applied sunscreen, and donned our packs, eager to get away. And
we were quickly rewarded. Our chosen route included only a couple of miles of actual trail before dropping into the bottom of a river canyon, then proceeded as a wade/ scramble for the next 12 or 13 miles. It was hot and dry in the late Southern California summer, but the riverine route provided just the microclimate we were searching for. Nobody else could be seen. A few sporadic boot prints provided evidence of human life, but they were far outnumbered by the tracks of deer, raccoon, and countless birds. After four miles of walking downstream, four miles from the nearest
trail, the feeling of the wilderness reached its apex. You know, that sublime awe that comes over you when time both slows down and speeds up at once. At least I hope you know, because it is pretty much amazing. The rigors of hourly scheduling fade from consciousness and the clock on your cellphone no longer matters. At the same time, an inquisitive eye brings geologic time into view, and evolutionary adaptations can be inferred from the interplay of terrain, climate and biota. We had reached a cathedralic destination smack in the middle of the 33
designated wilderness area, without knowing we were looking for it. The blue-gray and white striped canyon walls had climbed to vertical and crept right up to the river’s edges, intrepid bursts of yucca clinging to the cliff-face like fireworks in a photograph. Devon was momentarily overcome by the grandeur of our surroundings and let out a celebratory yawp into the canyon air at the top of his lungs, echoing back to our ears and no one else’s. So we thought.
A shrill “hoooo!” quickly sounded from a wooded terrace just upstream behind us. We looked at each other, startled, confirming that the sound came from a human. Then to our amazement, a small monochrome man popped up from inside the grove of big-cone spruce, dirty-blond dreadlocks emerging from all sides of his face and head, the same color as his dusty khaki jumpsuit and leathery sun-baked skin. “Do you want to come see my pipes?” he hollered to us
over the steady rush of the boulder-filled river. “This will make a good story,” Devon said to me, and we climbed up the terrace bank, our confidence in our safety bolstered by the fact that we outnumbered him two-to-one. In the middle of the gravelly bench, surrounded by a ring of evergreen trees, this strange little man had built a home. It resembled an igloo in form, made from bleached driftwood, and covered with needly bows. Dave, as he
“A shrill “hoooo!” quickly sounded from a wooded terrace just upstream behind us.”
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introduced himself, explained how he transplanted yucca from the footprint of his hut to the perimeter, incorporating their spines into the low barrier wall which lined the maze-like foyer to his frontdoor: “To keep the bears out!” He pulled out several hand-carved wooden pipes, some of them polished to a shine, and others still in progress. He told us how he would periodically venture down into the city, sell the pipes, and buy food and more wood (which came on a boat
from Africa), returning to the canyon to whittle and sand throughout the icy winter. He produced a pill bottle containing a roll of photographs. Seventeen years ago he began his stay in the mountains, prospecting for gold. Some of the photos showed nuggets as big as a quarter that he had mined out of secret locations deep in the tributary canyons. He claimed to have pulled a total of twenty-five pounds of gold out of the wilderness area before switching to
“..nuggets as big as a quarter...”
“I felt an absurd momentary jealousy that he could live this Walden Pond life.”
woodworking many years ago. I found myself identifying with Dave’s desire to get away from the city, after all that’s exactly what we were trying to do ourselves at that very moment. He told us of the culture of gold prospecting that existed several miles downstream: too many drugs and too much treachery, leading him to the decision to give up prospecting and move even farther into the wilderness. Technically, the maximum allowable stay in the area is 21 days during a single year, but Dave had built himself
a home. I felt an absurd momentary jealousy that he could live this Walden Pond life. However, his wilderness experience depended on the proximity of his solitude to the Los Angeles megalopolis, illustrative of the wilderness contradiction that troubles me. We parted ways and resumed our trek downstream. Signs of civilization quickly increased, rusted remnants of antique mining operations, discarded beer cans, and cracked PVC buckets began to retell Dave’s human history of the canyon. The next morning
we stumbled accidentally through a campsite occupied by a group of men with a bong and a crackpipe. Soon, every convolution of the canyon housed a homemade mining operation: holes pockmarked the riverbanks, stashes of gear awaited the return of their owners, and the smell of fresh-cooked bacon wafted by. Then we left the wilderness area. My relationship with wilderness is conflicted. On one hand, I absolutely love to be there, I pack-it-in, pack-itout, and do my best to leave no trace. But ultimately, I am
just another human disrupting already stressed ecosystems with my presence. It’s probably better off just left alone.
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Image: Kevin Yuan
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subsurface online issue 1 issue 2 issue 3 issue 4 issue 5
http://issuu.com/threshold/docs/subsurface_issue1 http://issuu.com/manifold/docs/manifold http://issuu.com/subsurface/docs/subsurface_2010 http://issuu.com/subsurface/docs/2011_issue4 http://issuu.com/subsurface_2012-13/docs/issue5