CHASING DOWN THE MUSE:The wilds of a Laguna childhood revisited

Lagunans are one lucky bunch of people. With a bluebelt to the west and a greenbelt to the east, natural environments surround our community. The extended hours of daylight savings insure that we have ample time after work to enjoy water or hillside pleasures.

Dartmoor Trail beckoned one late afternoon to both prod memories and to stretch my legs. I donned hiking boots, grabbed water, and set out to explore what spring had left to offer.

The trail traverses land that I once considered my personal “backyard.” Cattle roamed this former Irvine property, as well as horsemen who tended the herds.

My father built our second Laguna home on five acres that backed up to this land, now part of Laguna Coast Wilderness Park.

Initially, the city would not grant him a building permit, something about the land being too steep (imagine that in today’s real estate market). The story my father tells is of going onto the property in the dark of night and blowing out the hillside. A bulldozer arrived in the morning to level the earth and create a pad. On return to the city, my father was granted his permit.

It was an idyllic childhood location. The Dunsmore Tract had not yet been built, and we had the hilltop to ourselves. My brother, sister and I ran down dusty trails, leaped over cactus, tripped over rattlesnakes and stayed in the chaparral ‘til way past dark.

Raccoons and deer were our constant companions, along with skunks, stinkbugs, lizards, spiders, possums and an occasional bobcat or mountain lion.

The first time I saw a mountain lion, she was running across our front lawn, chasing one of our small cats. She was huge, with daring elegance and amazing speed.

My cat, of course, was no match for the lion, and the vet bills that ensued are a topic of family discussion some 35 years later. But the memory of the cat lingers, and I long for another glimpse.

Many mornings I would leave for school to the songs of bellowing cattle, as steam poured from their nostrils in the early cool air. Cattle being cattle, it was their job to eventually break through the fence.

I returned from school one day with “Bessie” and “Bosco” chewing on the grasses at the end of our driveway. Horsemen came to retrieve the escapees, apologize, and to mend the barbed wire.

The view from the top of Dartmoor Trail is one of the most spectacular in town, and of course, reminds me of the vistas of my youth. The hills are more thickly dotted with housing, and the roar of traffic grows with each passing day, but the coastline remains as breath-taking as the first time I stood on the land with my father.

Hikers are gifted at the end of the trail with a panoramic vista of the entire Laguna coastline. Viewing benches line the ridge of a large plateau which covers a buried water tank. A bronze plaque identifies landforms and the offshore islands.

To the knowing resident, each cove can be identified from the viewpoint; each beach carries a unique name — and a corresponding set of memories. The intimacy of Laguna’s beaches is a sweet contrast to blank stretches of sand that define other seaside towns.

I turned from the expansive view to explore a bit of the trails that now link the park’s hiking system, which is open on a daily basis. The open space greens have faded to early browns, but wildflower blooms still dot the hillsides.

Gone is the gate that once barred entrance from the rest of the wilderness park, and my feet danced along the quiet trail, eyes wide to the edges of Newport Coast and Mystic Hills. Midweek, it seemed as if I were the only person in the backcountry.

But I was hardly alone. Quail, rabbits, robins, redtails and crows wandered in their territory, as I wandered quietly, as a guest. My eyes caught the tall ears of a young mule deer on a ridge, not more than 10 yards from where I stood. He saw me in the same moment, but did not bound.

I crouched to a squat position and remained still. We held each other’s gaze a full 12 minutes, until bored with me, he turned and began to bounce, rabbit-like, down the trail.

I knew in that moment that I was home again, my backyard wilderness intact and protected.

As I hiked down the hill, admiring again the magnificent panorama, I could see surfers in the distant waters enjoying the last waves of the day. I thought again, how lucky we are to live in such a magical place.