October 11, 2010 § Leave a comment
Like everyone who lives in Beachwood, I encounter an amazing variety of visitors on their way to the Hollywood Sign. The Sign draws a diverse international demographic, including multi-generational familes, busloads of school children, Mormon missionaries, sari-clad Indian women, motorcyclists, aspiring models and TV announcers, guitar-toting musicians, Segway riders, brides and grooms and recent graduates in cap and gown.
The tourists most likely to hike up to the Sign are young Europeans and Asians. Americans–except for student groups–make the trip by car, although they often need to ask–or demand–directions. Until recently, I dutifully told them how to drive as close as possible to the Sign but lately, because of gridlock in the upper Canyon, I’ve been advising drivers to continue to the end of Beachwood Drive, where they can park before continuing on foot. Never mind that the views of the Hollywood Sign are spectacular from the Hollyridge Trail: they always resist.
How different were the two elderly Asian women I once saw heading toward the Sign with the aid of walking sticks. Moving slowly but steadily uphill, they behaved more like pilgrims than tourists. I’m sure it never occurred to them to drive up.
A week ago, as I walked my dog on Beachwood Drive, a car suddenly pulled over just ahead of me. Expecting a request for directions, I slowed down as I approached the passenger’s side. The door flew open; a young woman jumped out and sprinted up the street. From the car came snatches of conversation, perhaps Swedish–I couldn’t tell. The driver spoke in aggrieved tones to his backseat passenger, who responded calmly, waving an immaculate manicured hand. The door stayed open; the front seat passenger had disappeared. Walking on, I spotted her standing around the corner, one hand over her eyes, distraught. She was about 20 and model-slim, in a chic grey dress with a pleated skirt. She wore a scarf and gold jewelry. Although dressing up for pictures at the Hollywood Sign is not unknown, she was by far the most stylish tourist I had seen in the Canyon.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yes, no problem,” she said, waving me away. But she didn’t move.
There was nothing more I could do, so I walked on. It occurred to me then that the experience of the Hollywood Sign is colored by individual perception, and that there are as many perceptions of the Sign as individuals to see it. The possibilities, therefore, are infinite. Whatever the distraught young woman eventually thought of the Hollywood Sign, her recollection of it will be forever colored by whatever it was that made her flee her companions. Like the Hollywood Sign’s iconic power, the reason for her defection remains a mystery.
September 29, 2010 § 1 Comment
The thing about up here was that it didn’t feel like I was in the city anymore….I felt like I was in a national park, in the middle of some great wilderness. –Artist Jesse Vital, in “Under the Hollywood Sign”
On Monday at 12:15pm, the temperature in downtown Los Angeles reached 113 degrees, the highest of any day since record-keeping began in 1877. Here in Beachwood, always slightly cooler because of its higher elevation, the temperature reached 110. In my house, the air conditioner was unable to cool the upstairs below 91 degrees; downstairs, where I work, the atmosphere was somewhat better, around 85 degrees. Though I kept my dog and bird indoors rather than expose them to stroke-inducing heat, I ventured out in my much cooler car to run a few cross-town errands. Traffic was nonexistent due to the temperature, and I got home in record time.
As night fell and temperatures dropped to bearable levels, I gave up on air conditioning and threw open the windows. Helicopters circled overhead, and as the evening wore on I began to wonder if a fire had broken out in Griffith Park. Eventually came word that the helicopters were assisting in a search for a lost hiker. Besides thinking it was the worst possible day for hiking, I wasn’t surprised: hiking accidents are an occasional occurrence in the Park.
It wasn’t until yesterday morning that I learned the hiker was found dead in a ravine in Bronson Canyon, just east of Beachwood. She was Sally Menke, 56, an editor best known for her work on the films of Quentin Tarantino. Despite the heat, she had begun hiking that morning with her dog and a friend, carrying only 16 ounces of water. When Menke decided to cut the hike short, her friend went on without her. It wasn’t until hours later than anyone realized she was missing.
Search-and-rescue teams found Menke’s body just after 2am. Her dog–who miraculously survived–was standing guard.
It’s hard to convey the vastness and wildness of Griffith Park to those whose idea of a park is Central Park or some other man-made green zone. Its size–over 4,200 acres–not only makes it the largest municipal park in the United States but gives it more in common with a county or state park. As the Park’s website makes clear, it is largely wilderness and contains not only deer and coyotes but bobcats and mountain lions.
Its 52 miles of trails are a huge civic resource, allowing residents to enter the natural world without leaving the city. Nevertheless, hikers often underestimate the trails’ dramatically varied elevations and levels of difficulty. In Bronson Canyon, the trail begins easily but becomes increasingly steep and narrow as hikers approach the Hollywood Sign. This isn’t the first time someone has gotten into trouble there. A couple of years ago, helicopters were called in for a pair of hikers, one of whom was injured and needed rescue.
In the wake of this tragedy, one can only hope that hikers will take better precautions in Griffith Park, carrying adequate water and knowing their limits. I know all too well the urge to go hiking on the spur of the moment: because the trails are close by and hiking is commonplace, it’s hard to see it as a risky activity. But everyone, regardless of ability, should understand the dangers of hiking in extreme heat.