InBerkeley

A recent tweet from Kcecelia got me curious about a place she had referred to as the Berkeley Bulb, which I had never heard of before even though I’ve lived in this area now for 26 years.  Googling the phrase turned up a few references to it, but it turned out that most didn’t really provide much information. Finally, I discovered this article on SFGate from four years ago.

It wasn’t the Berkeley Bulb, but the Albany Bulb. I must have driven right by this place hundreds of times over the years, never thinking there was much out there besides a parking lot for the racetrack. While I watched them dumping trash at the Berkeley Marina and then turn it into Cesar Chavez Park, I had no idea that another dumping ground nearby had met a similar, though less refined, fate.

Most people who drive out to the western end of Buchanan St. do so to take their dogs to frolic at the nearby beach just behind one of the large parking lots belonging to Golden Gate Fields. But a few hardy souls venture further out by foot on an elevated dirt path along an isthmus until, about a 1/2 mile away, they reach what in a former life had been a dumping ground for construction and other waste materials.

This is the Albany Bulb, a small spit of man-made land jutting out into the bay between the racetrack and Costco. I wouldn’t exactly call it pretty, although the views of the bay are wonderful, but it is certainly attractive in its own way.

At first, walking there didn’t feel much different from other wildlife areas I’ve hiked before, except maybe for the palm trees I spotted and a few remnants of re-bar sticking out of the earth here and there.  I read that garden waste was also dumped here over the years, which probably explains the strange mixture of plant life found here.  But as I entered the Bulb proper, I soon discovered this place was something else.  Taking paths at random, I soon stumbled upon “Mad Mark’s” castle, now covered with colorful graffiti, and the place started to take on more of the feel of a post-apocalyptic, Mad Max back lot.

Turning down another nearby trail revealed someone’s campground, which resembled the backyard scene where the kidnapped Jaycee Dugard was recently found, and seemed to be more or less a permanent residence.

Heading over the the north side of the Bulb, I hung a left onto another trail by a large tree that took me to a large, flat area surrounded by all manner of twisted metal and wood that appeared to have been used for bonfires or perhaps pagan rituals.  Standing there, the place was quite eery, even in the bright sunlight, and somewhat otherworldly. It was hard to believe I wasn’t out in the wilderness somewhere, except for the sound of the traffic on I-80. One could easily imagine the place being used as the set for some science fiction thriller, although they’d have to mat out the homes on the Berkeley hills in the background.

I walked back out to the main trail and continuing my hike to the north side of the Bulb, passing some trail-side artwork — painted metal, painted rocks — until rounding a bend where the trail descends to the beach I suddenly saw it standing there at the end of the trail, arms reaching out toward me, head thrust upward, a massive sculpture of wood and metal, the large figure of a woman perched by the shoreline. I had seen photos of it on the Internet, but they didn’t prepare me for impact this amazing piece of art projects. It dominates the landscape, and seems to be pleading to me, but pleading for what?

The entire shoreline is scattered with sculpture and painting, mostly wood and metal, but also some plastic foam that must have washed ashore at some point. Some of the metal sculptures appeared to have originally been designed to move with the wind, but were by now too rusted to move freely anymore. They stood there like silent sentinels peering out across the bay towards Albany.

I’ll return to the Bulb again. There are still several trails there I haven’t followed, places I still want to explore in greater detail. I understand that at low tide it’s even possible to completely circumnavigate the peninsula. I could spend several more hours out there.

But next time I may not come alone.

Mark Haas Art, General, In the wild, Nature, Recreation