Tucked into a valley carved by countless years of erosion, the San Lorenzo River snakes its way down through the Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. As it nears UC Santa Cruz, it slows to a mere crawl, forming a swimming hole aptly named the Garden of Eden. Upon first emerging from the trees a small beach filled with a combination of sand from the rivers rage and the fine silt that covered the trail. Nearly invisible waves of heat rise from the sand, making the background appear to animate. Beyond is the river, glistening and shimmering in the midday sun. The water is clear like glass, beckoning to all that see it to go for a swim on the uncharacteristically warm fall afternoon. But just one touch of the river reveals its icy heart and
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Through the vitreous water, small fish and tadpoles of all varieties meander through the water with no agenda but survival, the linear timeline of a human an utterly alien concept. Anything or anybody that enters the water send the fish scattering in a cluster of panic and disorder before quickly forgetting the danger and going back to everyday life, just out of reach of perceived hazard. The rocks that the fish navigate in their frantic scramble are painted with a thick film of moss forest green moss. While the moss looks inviting, its slimy exterior makes for a treacherous route into the water. Like a predator luring its prey, the moss slyly expedites the entrance into the water of anything unfortunate enough to tread upon it. Once in the water, there is a slight tug of the current, but it is barely noticeable when in tandem with the bone-chilling water. Looking up, just beyond the river is an outcropping of rocks that begin level before exponentially sloping into a seemingly insurmountable cliff face. The surface of the rocks are pockmarked from years of exposure to the elements, but otherwise smooth to the touch. A myriad of grays, both light and dark, covered the surface. On the cliff, small green trees and other vegetation sporadically cling to the rock creating a natural Pollock painting
Through the vitreous water, small fish and tadpoles of all varieties meander through the water with no agenda but survival, the linear timeline of a human an utterly alien concept. Anything or anybody that enters the water send the fish scattering in a cluster of panic and disorder before quickly forgetting the danger and going back to everyday life, just out of reach of perceived hazard. The rocks that the fish navigate in their frantic scramble are painted with a thick film of moss forest green moss. While the moss looks inviting, its slimy exterior makes for a treacherous route into the water. Like a predator luring its prey, the moss slyly expedites the entrance into the water of anything unfortunate enough to tread upon it. Once in the water, there is a slight tug of the current, but it is barely noticeable when in tandem with the bone-chilling water. Looking up, just beyond the river is an outcropping of rocks that begin level before exponentially sloping into a seemingly insurmountable cliff face. The surface of the rocks are pockmarked from years of exposure to the elements, but otherwise smooth to the touch. A myriad of grays, both light and dark, covered the surface. On the cliff, small green trees and other vegetation sporadically cling to the rock creating a natural Pollock painting