Beneath the Zuma Moon

A luminous orb catapulted into open sky above Zuma Ridge as we rounded a bend in the Edison road we were following far below the ridge. It was a nearly full moon and it played hide and seek as we wove our way along, losing its light then being awash in it again, the moon appearing to set and rise as if it were caught in a fit of perpetual indecision. This was simply the result of visual hijinks created by the angular topography of Zuma Ridge.

So we’d plunge down a dark tunnel of road, listening with trepidation for the slithering sound of fanged serpents hunting on a balmy evening, or the brisk cadence of a pack of bold hungry coyotes in pursuit of something—our imaginations distorted every trifling night sound. Then round the next bend we’d discover Nature had flipped the switch on her celestial ceiling fixture, that no-batteries-required night light, known in local environs as the Zuma moon.

Night hiking is not for everyone. If you’re not sure-footed during daylight hours, travel by moonlight will likely elevate your lack of grace to a record level of clumsiness. Then again, the requisite slower pace may even up the situation. It’s a different world than the one marathon trainees and potential mountain bike race entrants go clipping through by day, when perhaps the nature of the terrain rather than surrounding scenery is paramount.

We have encountered night cyclists in the Santa Monica Mountains, a rather eerie sight as their disembodied miner’s helmet-type lights are visible trickling down a mountainside then bouncing up a pitch-black trail. For the most part, though, night hiking should be relatively distraction-free by dint of the fact that less people are out and about.

Moonlight can reconfigure a familiar landscape so that it appears unrecognizable, while possibly also revealing more than meets the eye by harsh daylight glare. Massed flowering shrubs like buck brush and lilac resemble tier upon tier of snowdrifts against mountainsides, lending new resonance to the term aglow. Viewed from Zuma Ridge, the ocean exhibits a silvery translucence, with calm ripples etched across the gleaming surface. Along the climbing road to the ridge top, a pair of screech owls is silhouetted on a boulder performing their mating ritual.

Yucca blooms perfume the air, their trusses of globular ivory flowers lit seemingly from within like Chinese lanterns at a festive celebration. Rather than appearing as inky indistinct masses, oak groves are transformed into a filigree of light and dark sequined by stars caught in a crosshatching of branches. At every turn shadows spill, sprawl or recede, ominous or docile depending on an observer’s mood.

One evening, quite besotted by the moon’s bright beams, we plopped down smack in the middle of a segment of the Backbone trail to admire the sculptural contours of Zuma Ridge’s broad flank. Shadows burrowed into every crevice, heightening the sense of viewing a bronze relief. Had Aristide Maillol been here? To craft such voluptuousness out of the landscape’s pliant chaparral skin? No, it was that ol’ Zuma moon casting its searchlight on scenery that usually slumbered in serene seclusion in the dark, its beautiful form unseen, unimagined.

Enrapt, we sat cross-legged, watching this static yet mesmerizing show. So enrapt, in fact, that we were startled out of our wits when two raccoons came waddling down the center of the trail side-by-side as if engrossed in conversation. They hadn’t seen us, either, and nearly blundered right into us. The dog was so dumbfounded she didn’t even have time to react except to back up and sit down abruptly. The raccoons bailed off the trail and could be heard fleeing through a dead sumac, the limbs snapping beneath their weight and sounding like gunfire. Nocturnal critters don’t expect moon-mad humans cluttering up their habitual routes.

For those feeling a bit too timid to venture out after dark, stouthearted docents lead moonlight hikes at sites throughout the Santa Monica Mountains. Call ahead to confirm and make a reservation on any of the following forays.

At 4:45 p.m. Sat., March 11, Mountains Restoration Trust will lead a three-hour “Moonrise and Sunset” hike at Cold Creek Preserve: (818) 591-1701

At 6:30 p.m. Mon., March 13, the William O. Douglas Outdoor Classroom/Mountains Recreation & Conservation Authority will conduct a two-hour “Nearly Full Moon Hike” at Franklin Canyon Ranch: (310) 858-7272

At 5:30 p.m. Tues., March 14, the City of Malibu Parks & Recreation Department will lead a twohour “Full Moon Hike” at Charmlee Wilderness Park. There

Moonlight Hikes is a fee to park. No dogs permitted. (310) 317-1364.

At 7 p.m. Tues., March 14, join the organization TreePeople for a “Full Moon Hike” in Coldwater Canyon Park. There is a fee for the hour and a half-long hike; call (818) 753-4600.

Ongoing: Full moon tours of the historic beachfront Adamson House at 23200 Pacific Coast Hwy., Malibu are offered by the Malibu State Beach Interpretive Association from March through November and include champagne, hors d’oeuvres, a tour of the house and the opportunity to gaze out over moonlit lawns and sands to that luminous orb sparkling on Malibu Lagoon and the placid sea beyond. For fee and reservation details, call (310) 456-8432.

Your night hiking gear should include a flashlight with fresh batteries, warm jacket and footwear you really trust. If you bring along a young child, expect to be toting your little dreamer after a while. Remember to allow your eyes a period of adjustment. Expect a few stumbles and perhaps some bogeyman-type thrills on your first moon dance amid the moon shadows.