The Tarantula Hawk at Work

A tarantula hawk, or pepsis wasp, peaceably sips nectar from a milkweed flower. We reportedly have two species in the Santa Monica Mountains, Pepsis formosa and Pepsis thisbe, this is probably P. thisbe. Only the female tarantula hawk is armed with a sting that has been described by biologist Justin Schmidt, creator of the Schmidt Pain Sting Index, as "blinding, shockingly electric, a running hair drier has been dropped in your bubble bath," but the sight of this spectacularly large, orange and blue wasp always inspires awe, although stings are rare—unless you have the misfortune to be a tarantula. All wasp and tarantula photos © 2014 S. Guldimann

 "How, if I know all this, you may ask, could I hound him—shatter him again and again, drive him deeper and deeper into woe? I have no answer, except perhaps this: why should I not?" 

—John Gardener, Grendel

That was the quote that came into my thoughts after seeing a wasp bully a tarantula three times her own size into submission.

A couple of weeks ago, we featured the tarantula hawk on the Malibu Post. Last week, I had an opportunity to witness this delicate, fairy-like wasp subdue and drag away a full-grown tarantula. It was like watching a medieval epic in miniature, or a Japanese monster movie. You don't really expect to encounter Beowulf and Grendel, or Godzilla vs Mothra, in the real world, even in miniature, but there it was.

In the dusty trail at our feet, a hero battled a vast, hairy monster more than three times her size, and just as they are when the same type of archetypal scenario unfolds on the big screen, the sympathies of the human observers were entirely with the kaiju, the giant monster, not the monster slayer.

The fate of being paralyzed with the second most painful insect sting in the world and dragged away to to become an unwilling nursery for wasp larvae was too horrible to contemplate. 

A young hiker hiker participating in the National Park Service's "Creatures of the Night" hike at Rancho Sierra Vista, points to the epic battle between wasp and tarantula taking place practically under the feet of the other hikers.

The wasp tackles the tarantula head-on, poking it with her antennae to get it to rear up and expose its underparts. Female pepsis wasps have been observed going into tarantula burrows and herding the giant spider out into the open. 

The hapless spider is dragged across the trail in the direction the wasp wishes to go. The wasp is equipped with spikes on her legs to help grapple her much larger prey.

The wasp flips the spider over and administers its sting, paralyzing her victim.  

The wasp carts her victim away at an amazing rate of speed, leaving a track in the dust. Somewhere nearby she has a hole or burrow prepared. She may have to drag the spider for as much as 100 feet to reach her destination, once there, she carefully lays her eggs on the spider, stuffs it in the prepared hole and leaves it to become the food source for the next generation of pepsis wasps.

Sorry Godzilla, after seeing the tarantula hawk at work, my money's on the moth. 

Nature is far stranger than fiction.

Suzanne Guldimann
27 August 2014

The Call of the Running Tide

A child dances in the surf at sunset on Zuma Beach. All photos © 2014 S. Guldimann

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

—John Masefield

There’s a sort of restless small breeze in the afternoons now that carries the sound and smell of the sea and whispers autumn is coming, but in most years, the end of August brings not the end of summer but the best beach weather of year. 

It’s the last weekend before the start of school for many, and the beaches are packed today. Impatient travelers crowd the canyon roads or crawl along PCH at 10 mph, seeking a last summer afternoon of sea and sun. 

On Monday, everything will be different. Solitude will descend on beaches that have teemed with summer beachgoers, and once Labor Day is past, even the weekend crush diminishes and the sandpipers and gulls have the beach to themselves again.

A snowy egret forages on a quiet weekday evening at Pirate's Cove.

From September until the middle of October, the sun is out more often than not and the water is warm. By the end of October, the water temperature drops rapidly but the season of sunsets arrives, bringing with it all the birds of passage—species headed to the Southern Hemisphere and winter residents, returning from the north.

For me, this is the best time of the year to explore some of Malibu’s fabled 27 miles of shoreline. It’s amazing how much diversity exists along the Malibu coast—wide sandy beaches facing the open ocean; sheltered, cliff-lined coves where tidepools are full of life; dramatic sea stacks and caves that feel entirely away from civilization; and more urban beaches just a few steps from PCH.

Autumn brings dramatic sunsets and some of the best best weather of the year.

In 2013, beach access activist Jenny Price garnered media attention for her Our Malibu Beaches app, which features every public access way in Malibu. The app is available here, but visitors—and adventurous locals—don’t need an app to explore the coast; maps of the access ways are available at the Coastal Commission website, and many easements have signs that can be easily spotted from PCH. However, it is helpful to know what to expect when one gets there. Every beach offers something different.

A coastal access sign points the way to a staircase leading to Escondido Beach.

I interviewed Price for the May 21, 2013 issue of the old Malibu Surfside News. She told me that her main goal with the app was to highlight Malibu’s “less accessible” beach easements and to bring attention to what she described as fake driveways, illegal no parking signs, illegal and inaccurate trespassing and private property signs. 

Price said that beachgoers have received citations, threats from security guards and other harassment while using dedicated easements and legal parking.

“People are so tired of that,” she said. “We need to have signs that say ‘this is where you can walk. I see this as a first step.”

It is an important step, but not the first one. The first step was passing the California Coastal Conservation Initiative, Proposition 20, in 1972. Four years later, the state legislature enacted the California Coastal Act, providing the first real protection for 1.5 million acres of coastal land, and 1,100 miles of shoreline, and ensuring the public’s right to access the beach.

The Coastal Conservation Initiative was a grassroots effort. My parents were among the thousands of volunteers who helped gather signatures to place the initiative on the ballot. The image above is the front of one of the original petition forms. It's a reminder that community members can prevail against seemingly insurmountable corporate-driven opposition, if enough people are passionate about passing legislation. The Coastal Act may be far from perfect, but it's the main reason there's still so much open space in Malibu. 

It’s a complicated document, and while everyone who lives in the Coastal Zone, or is interested in protecting our coastal resources, should read it—the entire document is available here, the heart of the act is legislation that protects public beach access and environmentally sensitive coastal habitat. Under the Coastal Act, the public has access to almost the entire California Coast below the mean high tide line. And, in many places where private homes line the beach,  “lateral easements” have been negotiated that allow beachgoers access to dry sand.

The beach side of the "Great Wall of Malibu" is a bewildering mix of lateral (dry sand) easements and fiercely guarded private beach, but the right for the public to use the beach below the mean high tide is part of California State law and applies to every inch of California's 1,100 miles of coastline. Only the military has the authority to prohibit access.

That may not sound like much to people used to having the beach for their backyard, but it was a major victory for public access. Much of New England, including Maine, with all of its famous seascapes and nautical history, does not have coastal access laws, and even historically important public easements can be placed off limit by private landowners, who control the entire intertidal zone down to the mean low tide line. Public access is limited to “fishing, fowling, and navagation.” 

Thanks to the Coastal Act, almost the entire California coast is accessible to the public. Above,  beachgoers take advantage of an extreme autumn low tide to explore the intertidal zone at Leo Carrillo State Park.

It’s true that parts of Malibu have been a longstanding battleground of access issues. One inventive billionaire on Carbon Beach installed fake garage doors to prevent the public from parking in front of the easement on his property; another put a hedge, a wall, an air conditioning unit, and a tennis court on property they agreed to deed as a vertical easement as a condition for receiving a Coastal Development Permit; and the Coastal Commission heard from two Malibu property owners in June who argued that the vertical easements on their properties had "expired," despite the fact the deeds run with the land in perpetuity. But things are things are improving. The Coastal Commission was recently granted the authority to levy fines on obstructive property owners, which may speed the removal of some obstacles.

Sea level rise is bound to complicate the mean high tide issue along house-lined local beaches. In this case, loss of sand appears to have pushed the mean high tide line all the way under the pylons of this Malibu Road house.

Warner Chabot, an environmental consultant and former CEO of the California League of Conservation Voters, said in a press release that of almost 2000 outstanding Coastal Act violations throughout the state, most involve blocking access, removing access signs or posting illegal and unauthorized “no parking” or “no beach access” signs.

Beaches with high density housing are inevitably the site of access issues. This photo shows cheek-to-jowl Malibu Road in the foreground and Corral Beach, with wide stretches of open space, in the background.

In eastern Malibu, Carbon Beach, Malibu Road (the Beach is officially named Amarillo Beach, but no one ever calls it that) and Escondido Beach remain a confusing patchwork of public and private sand—the City of Malibu map shown above details which is which, and Jenny Price’s app is also useful for sorting out where you can sit and were you can’t. Western Malibu, which has many of Los Angeles County’s most beautiful beaches, is much more welcoming, and offers miles of easy to access coastline with ample parking.

One of the Malibu Road vertical easements that are opened at sunrise and locked at sunset.

I admire the determination of activists like Price, but have to confess that many of the hotly contested easements at locations are not my idea of inviting places to spend the day at the beach—access ways are crammed between tightly packed houses, and the only beach at high tide is under the pylons supporting the houses.  Most of these easements are a matter of principle rather than comfort or convenience, and none have restrooms or lifeguards.

I'm not sure why anyone would want to spend the day under a bunch of creosote-soaked pylons, but the beach easements at Malibu Road and the Malibu Colony offer interesting starting points for low tide walks, while Carbon Beach showcases some unusual architecture.

I would much rather watch the sunset at Westward Beach, or prowl the tidepools and rock formations at El Matador Beach and Leo Carrillo State Park—three of the most beautiful beaches anywhere. 

El Matador Beach, with its impressive rock formations, sea caves, and plenty of space is an inviting place to spend the day.

There are a dozen roadside beach options, too: Corral Beach requires a scramble down a small slope, but it's a good beach for swimming and has a lifeguard tower. 

Westward, Zuma, El Matador, El Pescador, La Piedra, Nicholas, and Leo Carrillo beaches  all have pay lots with restroom facilities, but they also offer free parking on PCH. Just don't leave valuables in your car—these are popular locations for smash and grab burglars. These western beaches feature plenty of sand, rugged rock outcroppings and many continuous stretches of uninterrupted public beach that are ideal for long walks. And one can park along PCH almost anywhere north of County Line and south of Point Mugu and find secluded coves and views of open ocean and empty sky.

Leo Carrillo's North Beach, above, and southern section, called Seccos by the surfers, below, have doubled for everything from tropical islands to the coast of England in numerous movies and TV shows. It's easy to see why. 

My favorite beach walk includes the Point Dume Nature Preserve. There's a handful of parking spaces on Cliffside Drive, but the best place to park is at Westward Beach. It's a short walk from the roadside parking to the trailhead at the base of the Dume headlands. The trail leads up the bluff and around the headlands. Sea lions like to sun themselves on the rocks below. In winter, whales pass so close you sometimes hear them breathing before you see them. 

The access stairs to Pirate's Cove would be right at home on a ghost ship—it's rusty and precarious, but well worth the effort to climb down.

On the east side of the point, where the ancient Chumash kept a shine site, a rusty, rickety iron stairs leads from the top of the bluffs down to Pirates’ Cove. There are tidepools to explore here. But it's just as pleasant to sit on the sand and watch the waves roll in. The Point faces due south. It's open sea all the way to Antarctica.  

A surfer heads into the water at Little Dume Cove, east of Point Dume State Beach. High tides can isolate all of the Dume coves. Walkers need to check a reliable tide table before setting off on a long walk on this stretch of coast, or risk getting stranded until the tide turns.

When the tide is low, it’s an easy walk from here all the way to Escondido Beach, but don't go too far and watch the time. Each cove along the shore may be transformed into a desert island when the tide is high.

The coast from the west end of Paradise Cove to Zuma Creek at the far west end of Westward Beach is a designated Marine Protected Area and an area of special biological significance that is home to an astonishing array of bird species and marine and intertidal organisms that range from sea cucumbers and tunicates to dolphins and whales.

No two visits to any beach are ever the same, but it’s always a worthwhile journey. We are fortunate to live in a place where that journey is open to all who feel the elemental call of the running tide.

Suzanne Guldimann

16 August 2014

An August monsoon transmutes sky and sand into fire opal during sunset at Westward Beach.

The Sting

A honeybee gathers pollen from lavender flowers. Most of Malibu's insects are relatively benign, but summer is peak season for stings and it can be helpful to know what's out there and how to deal with any unfortunate encounters. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

—Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

Around here, shunning the ichneumon, velvet ant, and especially the tarantula hawk might be sound advice, too.

I was on a walk recently with visitors from Colorado. They marveled at how few biting bugs we have in the Santa Monica Mountains. It’s true, mosquitoes and black flies are mercifully few, but we still have quite a few stingers, many of them strange enough to be entirely at home in Wonderland. 

Let’s meet some of them, shall we?

With Scorpio, the largest and brightest of the summer constellations, dominating the night sky, it seems appropriate to start with this celestial creature's terrestrial counterparts. Although we tend to describe them as bugs, scorpions aren't insects, they're arthropods in the family Arachnida. Although there are four scorpion species in the Los Angeles area, the varieties most often found in Malibu are Paruoctonus sylvestrii, the common California scorpion; and Vaejovis spinigerus, the striped-tailed scorpion.

Paruoctonus sylvestrii, the common California scorpion, zeroes in on supper. This was a fairly large specimen—almost two inches long. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

Our scorpions rarely exceed two inches in length, but they are fierce nocturnal predators, able to subdue insects nearly their own size. Fortunately, they aren’t reportedly aggressive towards humans and prefer to avoid confrontation. In fact, although scorpions are common in the Santa Monica Mountains, many residents have never seen one.

The best way to spot these elusive arthropods is at night with an ultraviolet light, because the scorpion’s entire exoskeleton fluoresces under UV light—a recent theory proposed by biologist Douglas Gaffin of the University of Oklahoma suggests the fluorescent pigments may act as a light receptor for the scorpion—an eyeless way of seeing. Here's a link to a 2012 article in New Scientist.

An inexpensive UV flashlight makes it easy to spot scorpions at night. Although, ignorance is perhaps bliss. I was astonished to discover just how many scorpions are out there and I have no intentions of ever sitting on the ground again at night. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

I’ve been on several nighttime scorpion walks in the Santa Monica Mountains and I am astounded to find how many scorpions are out there. The fact that stings are so uncommon is a testament to the shy and retiring nature of these reclusive hunters.

Most stings occur when humans inadvertently disturb scorpion hiding places, including woodpiles and garden furniture. Scorpions have also been know to seek shelter in shoes left out overnight on the doorstep or in the folds of beach towels and other laundry left out to dry.

None of Malibu’s scorpion species are regarded as a dangerous and both the common scorpion and the striped-tail are apparently popular species in the pet trade. Both have a painful sting—victims compare it to a wasp sting—but it only poses a health hazard to individuals with severe allergy to the venom. 

Scorpions are beneficial, eating many times their own weight in insects, so peaceful coexistence—whenever possible—is the best way of dealing with them. Besides, they're all around us, whether we know it or not. 

There's another seldom seen Malibu resident with a painful sting: the soil centipede. This beastie is a type of Strigamia centipede. It's fast moving, lives under rocks and garden pots and will bite anything that it senses is a threat. Soil centipedes are eyeless and don't actually have teeth or stingers—they "bite" their prey—and the hand of any gardener unlucky enough to come in contact with them—with a pair of specialized legs that are used like fangs and connect to venom sacs in the body. It's a painful bite but reportedly not dangerous.

The soil centipede just wants to be left alone. For something that is nearly six inches long and bright red it's remarkably good at keeping out if sight and  moves fast when disturbed. Its first line of defense is to get out of the way, rather than to bite, although it does that with fierce efficiency if it feels threatened. This centipede was under a potted plant, where it was living a (presumably) happy life eating insect larvae. I carefully put the pot back and left it to go about its business. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

Scorpions and centipedes are all very well, but the serious sting awards go to three members of the wasp family. These insects are usually shy and reluctant to sting, but when they do they have a formidable weapon.

The female Netelia ichneumon wasp has a painful sting, used to subdue caterpillars.  It's been described as comparable to the sting of a yellowjacket or a bee. However, this is a beneficial wasp and it is reportedly only aggressive if handled. The Netelia in the photo is a stingless and benign male that somehow ended up in the house. This species is largely nocturnal, and often drawn to porch and garden lights. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

The velvet ant is actually a wingless wasp, and like its distant relative the Netelia it also has an impressively painful sting. Biologist Justin Schmidt, who has been stung by just about everything possible, famously developed a pain scale for insect stings. If the sting of the yellowjacket—the most common and aggressive stinging insect in Malibu and just about everywhere else in North America—is a 2 on the 1-4 Schmidt pain scale, the velvet ant is probably a 3. Children are at the greatest risk for encounters with this wasp, since it's brightly colored, pretty, furry and tempting to touch. Fortunately, allergic reactions are reportedly relatively rare. Like the ichneumon wasp, only the female of the species stings. The male is small, winged and easily mistaken for some sort of inconspicuous fly. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

Of all the Malibu-area bugs that bite or sting, the tarantula hawk—or pepsis wasp—is the queen. This wasp has a sting described by insect biologist and sting pain index creator Justin Schmidt as "Blinding, fierce, shockingly electric. A running hair dryer has been dropped into your bubble bath."  That's enough to make anyone cnidophobic. The wasp in the photo is feeding peacefully on milkweed nectar, and is shown only a little larger than life. Despite that legendarily horrific sting, it's not an aggressive species, but I was glad that I had a telephoto lens and didn't have to get too close. This wasp is usually rather rare in Malibu, since development has increasingly eliminated tarantula habitat, but for some reason, 2014 seems to be a banner year for the species. Most stings happen when the victim accidentally disturbs, steps on, or brushes against a wasp. Wearing gloves while gardening can help prevent unpleasant encounters. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

All three wasps are eye-catching and have vivid coloring, probably intended to warn would-be predators to stay away. It's a warning humans would do well to heed. The Tarantula Hawk has the distinction of being second only to the bullet ant on Schmidt's pain scale. He rates the sting of this wasp as a 4, and adds “…immediate, excruciating pain that simply shuts down one’s ability to do anything, except, perhaps, scream. Mental discipline simply does not work in these situations.” 

This spectacular insect really does prey on tarantulas, which is why it is armed with such a formidable weapon. The female tarantula hawk paralyses the tarantula with her sting and lays her eggs in the unfortunate arachnid, which she will drag to a preselected and prepared hole or burrow, where it will serve as a food source for the next generation of tarantula hawks. And you thought Malibu politics were nasty. 

On a practical note, wearing gloves and shoes while working in the garden can help prevent some encounters with stingers. Many Malibu bee stings happen on the beach, where bees congregate on the wet sand to find salt. A pair of flip flops can help prevent beech bee stings, but some bites and stings are unavoidable—yellowjacket wasps win the award for general orneriness and often appear to sting without provocation, and even in Malibu in the middle of the worst drought in decades, mosquitoes are still out for blood.

Anyone experiencing swelling, hives, breathing problems, or any other sign of a serious allergic reaction from any type of sting should seek immediate emergency medical assistance. Even without a serious allergic reaction, stings can be surprisingly painful and, in some cases, take days to stop hurting or itching.

It's a good idea to keep Benadryl in the first aid kit for sting emergencies. Anyone with sting allergies should make sure they have an up-to-date EpiPen on hand, as well. Here at the Malibu Post we like  "sting ampules."  These are tiny, individual tubes of benzocane that are easy to carry and can be applied to give temporary relief from all kinds of stings. I've never seen them at a store, but Amazon sells a cheap and effective brand).  Cortizone cream, Caladryl lotion and the kind of first aid cleansing spray or wipes with Benzalkonium Chloride and Lidocaine are also  helpful. Ice helps reduce the pain and swelling from most types of sting, although some respond better to heat. In all cases prevention is much preferable to any sting remedy, no matter how efficacious.

The beautiful and deadly tarantula hawk embodies the dichotomy of the insect world: they share our world—or, rather, we share their world, since there are a lot more of them than there are of us, but often they inspire fear because they appear strange or have the ability to defend themselves with powerful chemical weapons. Most stinging "bugs" are beneficial and serve an important function in the local ecosystem. Learning to coexist is important, and offers us a look at a world as weird and alien as anything in fiction, and sometimes also a glimpse of something rare and surprisingly beautiful.


Suzanne Guldimann
29 July 2014

The Escher Paradox

Two regular tetrahedrons, piercing each other, float through space as a planetoid. The light-coloured one is inhabited by human beings who have completely transformed their region into a complex of houses, bridges and roads. The darker tetrahedron has remained in its natural state, with rocks, on which plants and prehistoric animals live. The two bodies fit together to make a whole but they have no knowledge of each other.

—M.C. Escher, Double Planetoid, 1949

Right now, Escher's Double Planetoid seems an apt metaphor for Malibu. Only here, the developers are not only aware of the natural resources in the undeveloped side, but covet that land and seek to pave it over, transforming what is left of the natural world into strip malls—high end, pretentious strip malls with stratospheric rents, but still generic development full of the same ubiquitous chain stores that are invading scenic and historic communities around the world, from Florence, Italy to Rockport, Maine.

The Malibu Village Shopping Center just sold to an out-of-state real estate investment company for an estimated $150 million, up from $30 million, the last time it changed hands. That's a lot of money to recoup. Wagers are already being made about how many of the existing tenants, including the movie theater, will be able to afford to stay when the time comes to renew their leases. 

Malibu residents, less than enthused about the mall-ification of Malibu and concerned that the fast-tracking of the Civic Center sewer will generate a building frenzy, have been fighting back for years, but have gained little traction with city officials. In 2006 a concerted effort began to create a formula retail ordinance and give voters an opportunity to weigh in on large-scale commercial development, not only in the Civic Center but throughout Malibu, putting the decision making power for big projects in the hands of the voters. 

The Civic Center area is the central battlefield in the commercial development war in Malibu. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

It's been an agonizingly slow process, and according to the grassroots organization Preserve Malibu, more than 50 chains have opened or signed leases during that eight-year period, but that's nothing compared to the potential maximum build-out of the Civic Center area once the sewer system is in place. Over a million square feet of commercial development is possible. 

Preserve Malibu created this infographic to show the size and location of potential future development in the Civic Center area of Malibu. Critics have objected to the inclusion of the Pepperdine projects, because the university is not within the city. However, the people of Malibu and Malibu's infrastructure, especially Pacific Coast Highway, have to absorb the impact from the development and no one can argue that it isn't cumulative. 

The past three years of the push for an ordinance have been worthy of anything Irish satirist Jonathan Swift could have concocted for his Lilliputians. In the latest round, city staff proposed that the election be postponed until April 2016 because the petition didn't include the words "special election." However,  the Your Malibu, Your Decision Act, which would require developers to seek voter approval for any project bigger than 20,000 square feet and also limit chain stores, has finally been approved by the Malibu City Council for the November 2014 ballot. The Malibu Post took a look at the act back in March, when the signature-gathering effort was announced.

That approval to place the initiative on the November came grudgingly, reluctantly and even angrily from some on the dais, but it was given, after almost two hours of public testimony, by four of the council members. In the words of Councilmenber Laura Rosenthal, "The Initiative absolutely has to be on the November ballot, whether I'm for it or against it."

The fifth council member, Joan House, expressed the opinion that the measure should be postponed until April 2016 to provide more time to study it, despite the fact it met all of the legal requirements to be placed on the November ballot, and the city attorney and consultants could find no legal cause to postpone the vote.

The council then voted unanimously to approve their own ordinance, which is similar to the ballot initiative but only applies to the Civic Center, not the rest of the community, and can be altered at any time. If the ballot initiative passes, it will supersede the city ordinance, and cannot be altered except by another election.

House may have been the lone dissenting vote on the council regarding the ballot initiative, but she had company from developer interests during public comment. The Malibu Chamber of Commerce, Malibu Association of Realtors and several developer lobbyists predicted lawsuits, doom and destruction if the initiative passes.

That just about sums up the fears of the developer interests opposed to the Your Malibu, Your Decision ballot initiative. 

It's not a surprise that these groups oppose the measure, although one wonders what the Realtors have to gain when development clogs Pacific Coast Highway to the point that living in Malibu is no longer desirable or even feasible. However, these groups and the lobbyists who represent them are protecting their own interests and have every right to do that. What is troubling is the paternalist mindset that continues to govern this lobby. There's an attitude that the public isn't qualified or sufficiently educated to understand what's happening. 

This isn't new. It's the same old modernist manifesto that drove the post WWII onslaught of unchecked development in California. It's also the mindset that, in the 19th century, believed that "rain follows the plow," and embraced manifest destiny. 

Even some of the language used to deride the ballot initiative dates from an earlier era. One real estate agent described the initiative as a “dog’s breakfast.” The last time the Malibu Post encountered that particular insult was in an Agatha Christie murder mystery, c. 1933. 

Activists in a 1989 Malibu Times photo protest Los Angeles County Supervisor Deane Dana, whose paternalistic attitude toward Malibu and determination to protect development interests instead of natural resources and the needs of the residents fueled the cityhood movement.

This paternalistic, expansionist mindset is increasingly anachronistic in a postmodern era when the realization that resources are limited and dwindling has finally sunk in to all but the thickest skulls. 

But that doesn't change the fact that the 4000-5000 people who actually live in Malibu year-round, and vote, and have views on what Malibu's future should be are frequently treated like recalcitrant children. 

In Malibu that paternalism has led to some spectacularly awful land use decisions. Many of these date from the era immediately preceding cityhood, and thanks to fiercely protective residents and environmental activists, some of the worst projects have been derailed but not all.

"Stores and offices for lease," a sign reads on Pacific Coast Highway in this photo from the Pepperdine University Digital Archive. The car appears to be a 1955 Studebaker, which probably dates the scene to the late 1950s. This stretch of PCH is roughly the same location as the photo below.

The fight over the fate of the Civic Center isn't the only development debate in the community. Ugly, ill conceived  development lines PCH east of the Civic Center. For nearly six miles, from Santa Monica to the Civic Center, a solid wall of houses, apartments and unlovely office buildings line the highway, providing a continuous wall that lines both sides of the road and mars even the few remaining glimpses of the ocean. This isn't what visitors and residents come here to see, which is why the ballot initiative, unlike the city formula retail ordinance passed the same night the council approved the ballot measure for the November election, includes all commercially zoned property in the city.

This is what the vast majority of visitors and residents come to Malibu to experience. Malibu's  beach and mountain resources are exceptional and the city is located entirely within the boundaries of the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area. Intensive commercial development doesn't belong here any more than it belongs in Yosemite or any other national park. Photo © 2014 S. Guldimann

Here’s an example of that paternalistic attitude from an article in the June 28, 1989 Los Angeles Times:

For the past 31 years, diners at the Malibu Colony Coffee Shop could count on a decent portion of pancakes, eggs, sausages and star sightings.

It was the local hangout where major movie deals were made over doughnuts and, at lunch, mechanics shared the same Formica counter with the mega-rich.

But this week, the cafe will close to make room for a new mall in a move that many residents bitterly complain is part of a new Malibu--more upscale and less down-to-earth.

"I guess this is progress," lamented owner Natalie Brown, who has run the coffee shop with her husband, Herb, for the past decade. "But a lot of people consider it a huge loss. This place is a Malibu landmark. This place is Malibu."

This is the only photo of the exterior of the Malibu Colony Coffee Shop I could find. It's from a news story about a car crashing into the drug store adjacent to the Colony Coffee Shop. The distinctive oval building was designed by pioneer African American architect Paul Williams in 1957, and torn down by the owner of the shopping center in 1989 out of sheer garden variety pigheadedness and what can only be described in hindsight as a colossal lack of vision.

More than 2000 people signed a petition opposing the demolition plan. That letter of protest ran as a full-page ad in the Malibu Surfside News. 

"The atmosphere, spirit and history of the Colony Coffee Shop cannot be duplicated," the ad stated. "It has been more than a concrete and glass building. It has held a special place in our hearts."

Roy Crummer, who owned the shopping center and was behind the plan to tear down the building, ran an ad of his own the following week, stating:

"People say I'm being cold-hearted about the building, but I've got more memories than most about it. Hell, my father built it."

"Unlike the coffee shop's many patrons, who I feel are thinking with their hearts and stomachs, I am going to make this decision like a doctor, with compassion, but with objectivity. I definitely want to retain the unique character of Malibu. . . . but I want the town to have a world class restaurant, a first class coffee shop, and a local health and juice bar."

A doctor, eh? Is it too late to sue for malpractice?

Crummer tore down an architectural landmark to make way for his generic shopping center. When the “world class restaurant” finally arrived, it didn’t last long. The space that housed Granita has been empty for almost 10 years.

The building designed by legendary Black architect Paul Williams that was sacrificed was part of Malibu’s cultural heritage and can never be replaced. 

One of the most poignant speakers at the July 14 City Council meeting was John Evans, co-owner of Diesel Bookstore, which is being driven out of the Civic Center area for a second time due to stratospheric rents and decreasing foot traffic. 

“I'm speaking out. Others are constrained not to speak out," Evans said. "Tenants have to stay silent. Real estate agents and developers threatened the city with lawsuits to stop any restrictions on their profiteering, under the flag of freedom of the markets... Anyone that believes there is anything related to the free market in this discussion is either silly or self-serving, and usually the latter.”

The space that Diesel is being forced to leave was home for almost 20 years to my parents' gallery. They were the original tenants and opened in an era when the owner and all of the other shopping center tenants were local residents. 

This is the space soon to be vacated by Diesel Bookstore. Long before it was Diesel, it was home to my parents' gallery. This photo was taken in 1978, when the Malibu Country Shops building was just going up. That's my mom standing in front, planning what it would be like when it was complete. 

A holiday ad from the 1980s shows the center's tenants, including the author and her parents. In those days, shops like Malibu Books and Company, Tops Gallery, the Godmother were owned and operated by Malibu residents and employed local people. This kind of environment is an endangered animal not just in Malibu. Globalization and commercialization is happening all over the world, but that doesn't mean we have to put up with multinational corporations and hedge funds taking over the town, and we don't have to permit excessive development that is not in line with the City of Malibu's vision and mission statements. That's why community activists are working so hard to pass the Your Malibu, Your Decision Act. It may not be perfect, but proponents of the measure see it as a crucial tool that can be used to stem a tide that has the potential to become a tsunami of commercialism if left unchecked.

In Escher's Double Planetoid there is balance. The inhabitants of the two tetrahedrons live separate existences unaware that the other but the two sides still combine to form one world. In Malibu, we have the awareness but not the balance. Right now, one side threatens to irrevocably overwhelm the other.

I don't know what the answer is, but I do know the residents of Malibu want a say in it, and I also know that the half a million people who flocked to Malibu over the 4th of July weekend didn't come for shopping opportunities and chain stores. They came, in the words of the Malibu Vision Statement, because "Malibu is a unique land and marine environment," and we, the residents, are still committed to "sacrifice urban and suburban conveniences in order to protect that environment and lifestyle and to preserve unaltered natural resources for present and future generations." 

This is the City of Malibu's mission statement, inscribed larger than life in the foyer at city hall. It's not supposed to be just a wall decoration like those vinyl decals of inspirational words or Winnie-the-Pooh that they sell at Target, it is this city's core value and raison d'être.

The Malibu Vision Statement is written in three-inch letters all over the wall of City Hall. Maybe it's time that some of our city officials and the developers who regard the city as their personal cash cow took a moment to read and reflect on that.

There are many things in Malibu that cannot be bought, or sold, or replaced when they have been destroyed.  Not at any price.

Suzanne Guldimann

21 July 2014