Between the Bay and the Bridge: Ravenswood Open Space Preserve
Tremendous birds and the gritty human world tangled together. On the same board walk over the marsh, I've seen a Belted Kingfisher sit on a rusted pole overlooking a stagnant pond, a Northern Harrier cruise at eye level 6ft away, and a ragged shirtless man wielding an axe. I run here often, and have been fascinated by the confluence of people and nature on show.
The human world surrounds Ravenswood. The bay is cut by an abandoned railway, desolate and decrepit, behind which Dumbarton bridge roars with traffic. On the opposite flank stands a sparkling modern nature center - a capstone marking the spaces regeneration from sand pit to open space preserve. School excursions and volunteering events occur here, and the birds welcome it as base too. Raucous Mockingbirds jink and jive into bushes in Spring and American Kestrels perch on high wires in Winter. Signs of the urban and natural world colliding bubble under the surface: a lady emptying a bag of plastic waste into the creek at the entrance to the center. I don’t know her story, but I jolted a little as I ran passed.
This boundary between nature and humans has edged closer over the years. The old railway line began to populate with tents and bikes. Their inhabitants casually fishing off rusted beams. Ruts in the marsh scrub appeared as people cut a new route to the raised railway. Dogs barked as I ran over the boardwalk, entertaining themselves waiting for their masters return. Intervention efforts have been pretty frequent, with bibbed social workers and sometimes officers talking to the patrons of the railway. Often waiting and monitoring those who have bent over and paused life for whatever reason. Signs threatening fines for dumping appeared. Piles of clothes and plastic and old baby car seats piled up in front of them.
Nature still thrives and gets her way though. The king tides swallow up much of the low lying marsh - making foot passage impossible nearer the bay. The Song Sparrows and Black Phoebes still flit in the salt scrub, and flocks of juvenile and adult White-Crowned Sparrows amass on chain-link fences. Turkey-Vultures loiter on the power pylons, assessing the situation. Just out in the bay, flocks of sanderlings? feed in the wet mud.
Running back one day I was greeted by a mass of caws as crows chased and harassed a Cooper's Hawk into a tree. As I stopped to take in the scene, a man on a beat up single speed cycled passed, turned to me with a huge grin "Dive bombing ain't they!" I ran on, but that comment hit something. It's easy to look at this place and point to the dumping, rogue dogs and occasional weapon brandishing man and feel a deep sense of despair about it all. But quite frankly I'm confused - the birds and the nature are still doing their thing, and for the people this must be their only option.
It's all a little murky. The space has meandered from natural habitat to sand pit back to natural habitat. Now with a stamping of humanity across it from the shiny nature center, the people with nowhere else to go and a runner with a lunch break to fill. For a marsh wedged between the bay and a freeway bridge, perhaps that's perfectly fine.
