Canyoneer Hike | Annie’s Canyon Trail

If you’re never been on a Canyoneer hike then get ready to basically join a bunch of old-timers who actually know how to get out and enjoy life. Our Canyoneer, Andrew, explains the hikes like so:

He’s British so maybe I should’ve put up subtitles for you, but basically what he’s saying is that you simply click the link I posted above, meet up at the meet site, and hike! It’s not rocket science.

Now I know you’re all here for the “strenuous” canyon action and cool sandstone cut-throughs, but what I was really excited about was Andrew telling me about the local FLORA. You know, to get an idea of what all this plant stuff is that my bees are eating, or not eating.

This here is coastal sage habitat or coastal chaparral, but I feel like I see a lot of this stuff around Lake Poway so I wanted to know what kind of stuff grows here so I can go native and not worry about how to coax plants to live if I install them at my house. Maybe if I plant native plants, I can just walk away from them and they will thrive without any work from me! 

Chaparral forests, in case you didn’t know (you didn’t), are shaped by a Mediterranean climate, wildfire, and characterized by drought-adapted scrub plants.  

Andrew showed us this lovely Toyon, or California Holly (sometimes called Hollywood, and incidentally that’s how Hollywood got its name – not some other tawdry way you were imagining). It is native, and it blooms white flowers in the spring/summer followed by red berries in the fall/winter.

Believe it or not, rumor has it that humans can eat these berries because Native Americans used to make jam out of the berries and make a tea for tummy aches out of the leaves. But it is also said that one should not eat the berries “before they are ripe,” lest they emit a defensive, toxic cyanide gas! (Remind me to tell you about the book I am reading about how creepy and smart plants are.) I guess when the berries ripen, the cyanide retracts back into the trunk of the tree, rendering the berries harmless. December is usually a safe time to eat them, when the berries “turn deep orange or red-colored” (though honestly, I feel like they are totally red-colored in these photos.)

I will report back once testing them out on myself. I guess they taste best roasted too, so maybe I’ll roast them and mix with sugar and pectin and eat some on a wedge of cheese. Maybe I will also Google “cyanide poisoning symptoms” and write a note of thanks and goodbye to all who love me in advance.

For the birders out there, they are especially beloved by cedar waxwings, and for me, it turns out that they make “the bones of a bee-friendly garden.” Say no more! Order me a truck of these beauties, stat.

Next we saw this wirey-looking plant. It is Coastal Sagebrush, but it is found well inland up to 3300 feet, which is why we see it from the beaches to all over Poway, which is only about 515 feet above sea level (not counting Mount Woodson which has a total elevation of 2,881 feet, and Iron Mountain, with a total elevation of 2,601 feet).

This plant is native, smells fresh, and is very drought-tolerant. In fact it needs no water at all during the summer. As for its usefulness to bees, however, it appears that a similar shrub known as Rabbitbrush is a better investment, nectar-wise… although you are then just asking for more rabbits to come in and eat it all, because YES, that’s why it’s called “rabbitbrush” – they love to eat it. Rabbitbrush is also drought-tolerant.

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Now for something a little more potent for the witches: Jimson Weed (Datura stramonium), or Angel’s Trumpet. I’m referring to the snakey vine-like growth with broad leaves in the foreground here, which is part of the nightshade family:

The fruit is that little spikey thing near the center of this photograph. It looks like something out of Little Shop of Horrors.

Native Americans would use parts of this plant in a tea during a “coming of age” rituals, causing hallucinogenic trips in teen boys which served to elevate their consciousness. I guess the implication is that girls’ consciousness was already elevated. But since you don’t know what you’re doing, please don’t think you’re going to snip some of this plant for home brews. All parts of this plant are toxic, and ingestion can cause everything from minor dry mouth, tachycardia (fancy word for rapid heartbeat), and hallucinations all they way up to seizures and death from the atropine it contains (which can stop the heart). 

The flower may be toxic to ingest, but it is lovely to look at and has an even lovelier scent. Like most large, white flowers, it does its best pollinating at night – most often by the hawk moth, which is so large and hovers just like a hummingbird that some people think it IS a hummingbird. I have witnessed that mistake and laughed! But there are many reports that bees also love it, and although it’s toxic for human consumption, it does not seem to be toxic to bees, nor does the honey produced by any nectar collected therefrom seem to render the resulting honey dangerous for human consumption. So let your bees have it!

Interesting fact: these flowers open at night and in overcast conditions (as seen on our rainy-day hike, above), but close quickly in the sun. It’s been reported that bees who travel deep inside the flower can get caught by the quickness of the flower closing, and their frustrated buzzing can be heard inside! So macabre.

The next plant I’m presenting to you is really so interesting that I can’t believe I haven’t heard of it before. This is a shrub called Isomeris arborea, AKA the California Cleome or Bladderpod – although our native Kumeyaay name of “Epshash” is a lot more elegant-sounding to me. 

The “bladderpod” name comes from the seed pods which supposedly resembled bladders to some very unimaginative people who had the gall to christen this plant with that name (saddle it with the name, really); but to me and others, the seedpod more closely resembles delicate paper lanterns floating in the breeze, filled with dry capers – and yes, they are totally edible. 

I found a lovely ethnobotany blog here that is worth checking out if you want to read more about our native connection to these plants, but suffice it to say that our local Native American (the Kumeyaay, etc.) descendants still boil these flowers for four hours to get the bitterness out (you can’t rush perfection! This is like making French Onion Soup and good things come to those who wait), sautee the strained flowers with onion, a dash of salt, and a bit of flour, and wrap it all up in a handmade tortilla as a kind of “Bladderpod taco.” If you think I’m not going to try that as soon as I can get my hands on these flowers again, you’re out of your mind!

FYI ethnobotany is the scientific study of the traditional knowledge and customs of a people concerning plants and their medical, religious, and other uses. It’s just a science-y word for Witchdoctor Stuff and I love it!

Next up is the beautiful Coastal Agave. It is obviously striking and drought-tolerant, and apparently attracts hummingbirds and bees when flowering. But did you know that it’s not just like aloe, and that its juice is actually caustic to the touch? 

There was an uncomfortable moment when the old man – recalling our trip to a Herradura tequila event – wondered aloud at the difference between this kind of agave and the “tequila” kind of agave. I told the guide that he’d better quickly point out the distinction, lest the old man return later with a shovel and wheelbarrow resulting in two missing agave plants!

The truth is that all liquors distilled from any agave plant result in mezcal – and tequila is a mezcal. The difference is that tequila is a commercially “premium” mezcal distilled from the blue agave plant. But don’t sell mezcal short! It is a delicious spirit that can indeed be distilled from these plants. Just remember that harvesting them is no joke, because the spines are wicked sharp and the juice is caustic enough to mandate full skin coverage when working with them.

We made our way toward the elevated sandstone canyon.

It was beautiful to see the sedimentary layers, and imagine the time that each layer represented. Before the hike, the docents were saying that these sandstone formations have been here 12,000+ years. I know that this directly challenges some people’s understanding of the world, but to deny this, you have to deny geology as a science.

You will be presented with an option to get to the top. Either route results in a climb of almost 200 feet, but one is more steep and narrow than the other, and that one is marked, “strenuous.”

I swear I thought that this sign below meant, “No horses,” due to the monstrous size of the creature depicted. It looks horsey, right? Then I wondered what maniac would try to take a horse on this narrow trail? And everyone laughed and assured me that it actually read, “No dogs.”

I then told The Dawg that this was where his hike ended. Kidding!

The passage was incredibly narrow. I guess if you are claustrophobic, this is not the hike for you. The good news is, you can’t really fall, because your own shoulder width will catch you.

The rest of our crew, making it look easy.

I guess it is easy in a way. The walls closing in around you are like a built-in walker.

Here we are nearing the top!

In all honesty, this ladder was unstable and I think it’s because it’s been drilled into sandstone. It’s kind of like hanging a picture on a sand dune by hammering a nail into it, but whatever. I guess I can’t complain because I don’t have a better solution. But feel it shaking back and forth as you climb it and tell me that’s not going to be a disaster one day.

Once you get to the top, you are rewarded with amazing vistas. No big deal but that’s just the Pacific ocean in the background.

Next we headed down toward the water. These inlets are fascinating habitats because the water here is a combination of sea water and freshwater from the inland valleys.

Here Andrew is showing us Lemonade Sumac or Rhus integrifolia, which is pretty spectacular as a native shrub to plant because it is:

• Native
• Evergreen
• Drought-tolerant
• Actually fire retardant, and
• It is an excellent source of nectar for bees.

They say that the honey that bees make – using this nectar – closely resembles clover honey in taste, and everybody likes clover honey! Unless they don’t like honey at all, in which case something is wrong with their tastebuds, sadly.

Next up, we meet my new friend the Prickly Pear Cactus.

I say “new friend” because I still have the tiniest barb from one of them in my thumb from petting one, and also because I’ve become fascinated with how cacti manage to survive in some of the more extreme climates drought-wise, and how they wait until nighttime to open their tiny stomata in order to admit CO2 for photosynthesis, but magically manage to wait until the sun comes up in the morning to actually perform photosynthesis, when the sun is out. Cacti are the only plant that can do this!

All other plants must open their stomata while the sun is out… do you get it? They can’t store CO2 like cacti can. It’s still being studied, exactly how they do it and still pull off this delayed-photosynthesis stunt known as Crassulacean acid metabolism, or CAM photosynthesis. Whatever you want to call it, I call it a sneaky and amazing adaptation.

And yes, for all you foodies out there, our native Kumeyaay used this cactus for food: this plant is even considered a health food believed to reduce cholesterol and sugar absorption in the intestine. But the Kumeyaay made jam out of the fruit, which sounds pretty fun as opposed to the other toiling they had to do day in and day out just to survive. They did not have your modern conveniences! But they did have delicious jams.

Next we saw a Willow tree. 

Did you know that Willow has natural pain-killing qualities? We know our native Kumeyaay brewed teas with it to relieve pain and fever – a practice known as far back as the fifth century B.C.E. when Greek physician Hippocrates was known to routinely recommended it for that use. 

As we approached the water, we came across this Pickleweed or Salicornia Pacifica. It is called Pickleweed because it’s salty like a pickle without the dill flavoring. You might say, Yuck! And you would pretty much be right. Andrew tricked us into trying this right off the stem, and my first bite I thought, “Not so bad.” My second bite though, I thought: Yuck. It’s kinda fishy and gamey,  if I had to describe it. Which I guess I do, to you.

But what can you expect from a plant that butts up to the marshes? And how does it handle so much salinity, anyway? Apparently it handles salt in two ways:

• Salt is filtered out through the roots by sodium-potassium pumps in the plant’s cell membranes. I know, your brain can’t even process this.
• Any extra salt is then pumped out to storage cells called vacuoles at the tips of the plant’s jointed segments. 

You’ll know that salinity is at its peak when these tips turn red: that’s basically revealing cellular breakdown/death of those cells from excess salt, but it keeps other parts of the plant at a healthy salinity level.

Another plant the Kumeyaay made great use of is the Spiny Rush, or Juncus acutus. It’s a grass-like herb that is native to California. It is sharp and pointy and uses wind to pollinate so the bees don’t care much about it, but the native Kumeyaay were able to make water-tight baskets and shoes out of these long leaves.

Could you make anything so impressive out of it? Nope.

Right about now everyone had brunch on the brain so we picked up the pace. Congrats to the two of you who made it this far into my skeptically-sourced Botany World!

Next I’ll show you some pretty Sages we came across.

Whatever you do, don’t Google “sage” – you’ll fall down a rabbit hole of Wiccan, magik, and voodoo folklore about burning this kind or that for whatever type of negative energy you’re trying to rid yourself of. I just can’t be bothered.

And don’t click on anything with the word “smudging” in the description! Minutes of your life will be wasted. I’m here to give you real-world advice (can you cook it/eat it/plant it/feed it to your bees -it)… so spare me the other uses that sound like they came from Professor Trelawney’s textbook (I won’t dignify these sites with an association with Professor Sprout – she was a legit Head of Herbology!)

Why do I get so excited about Black sage? The leaves are much tinier and less pungent than white sage (used most often in cooking), so maybe it’s the name. Salvia mellifera. Like Apis mellifera. Get it? Oh nevermind.

Yes the bees love it, if you take nothing else away from this lesson. Get me some Black sage please! Here’s White sage or Salvia apiana, which is also just perfectly lovely, and tasty too:

I could’ve just ripped these plants up by the roots with my bare hands and trotted them back to our car, but No – in addition to being rude, it’s also illegal actually. These parks are protected, so don’t let me go putting bad ideas into your very easily-influenced little minds.

Here’s a sad-looking Wild mustard (Brassica juncea), but I feel I must include it because it’s taken over our coastal chaparral so effectively, and the bees love it. Read how to prepare it here.

And check out this Coastal Goldenbush (Isocoma menziesii), which is a perfect plant to maintain on your property because it is native, drought-tolerant, and most importantly: it is a great source of nectar for local bees, particularly because it flowers later than many other native plants, offering nutritional diversity after the nectar flow has slowed in the fall.

Finally, I have heard tons about how much bees love California Buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum). But what the heck is it?

It looks really pretty with little white buds in the spring, but this here was in the fall and they look orangey and dead. No matter! Have confidence that this native shrub will keep on truckin’ in the dirt with little to no effort (or water) from you. Just walk away! And bee prepared for a buzzing all around when springtime comes (see what I did there?)

I leave you with a Cottonwood tree (Populus fremontii), shimmering in the breeze. It was also used medicinally by Native Americans, who also used it to make arrows and even musical instruments.

You will recognize it by how its leaves seem to “shimmer” in the wind. Just beautiful!

Thanks so much for going on this hike with me, and I hope it encourages you to plant some bee-friendly native plants. I am also going on the record here as actively discouraging any bad ideas you may have gotten from reading this post, whether those bad ideas include: trying unripe California Holly berries (No), engaging in recreational hallucinogenic drug experimentation (No), or stealing agave plants to make your own mezcal (No)!

Happy hiking 🙂  xo