Pirates of the Bulb

This year Mr. Bir Toujour and I came up with the cool idea of hiding tins of presents at this old industrial landfill and then sending our friends clues so they could locate their Christmas treasures. The landfill isn't like a big toxic stinkpit with razor blades and mattress coils sticking up, though--it's a spot off of our shoreline in the SF bay that was used as a dump for construction debris in the 50s through the 80s. The dump became this bulb-shaped protrustion into the bay, almost perversely mimicking "Spiral Jetty" (this one artist made his own landform in the Great Salt Lake, I think, in 1970, but now it's underwater--http://www.spiraljetty.org/).

So anyhow, this dump was eventually overtaken with castoff seeds of non-native vegitation; fennel overran rusty tangles of rebar, blackberry bushes crept over corroded corregated steel. Long-lost mud flats reappeared, and with them aquatic birds.

The Bulb, as it is now called, is a no-man's-land. Nowadays it's a park owned by the city of Albany, but about ten years ago few regular folks ventured out there and a clutch of homeless dudes and ladies made it their own (this is all documented in the film "Bum's Paradise", www.bumsparadise.com) Then a group of artists began gathering on the flanks of the bulb to paint makeshift plywood canvasses and sculpt stray blocks of styrofoam into guardian figures (www.sniff.com). Then a bunch of dog owners came to let their doggies out to play and romp in the stinky surf and thickets of weeds.

Now the Bulb is a part of Eastshore State Park, a protected wetland. They want to kick the dogs off, but years ago they already took care of the bums. Families go there to "hike" and couples ride their bikes over to check out the scenery.

The Bulb is very magnetic and confounding. Mr. Bir Toujour and I first went out there about two years ago in the heat of summer as the sun baked the fennel fronds. We saw the homeless guys' tents in the brambles, the icon-laden Sniff paintings, the enclave of reborn trash we dubbed "Thunderdome". To go out to the Bulb and realize you are standing on 100% trash is a creepy feeling, but it's also heart-warming in a way, seeing how nature and people on the fringes have claimed this thing and made it alive.

Protecting the bulb makes sense, but at the same time it makes no sense at all. I mean, it's a landfill populated with invasive plants--what is there to preserve? Let the dogs run free and let the subterranian trash resurface as art. It's completely the opposite of everything we are supposed to value in public space, which is why it's valuable to those who can sense its significance.

So hiding these treasures out there was a flash of brilliance, I thought. I got some old cookie tins at the junk store and we filled them with cheap little kid toys. We selaed them in plastic bags with duct tape and hid them in a few good spots. Then I planted clues around to Bulb and sent hints on postcards to the treasure-seekers.

My brother and our friend Tony found theirs okay, but our other friends didn't get their postcard until after Christmas. By that time, their treasure had been plundered; all the remained was a Mad Libs pad.

I was shocked, kind of. Someone either found the clues unintentionally or just blundered across the treasure clueless...a threat we'd slightly expected, since the landscape of the Bulb constantly shifts as new works of castoff art are razed and raised. I tried to imagine if I'd keep a stranger's treasure if I found it. For sure I'd open it up and peek inside, but wouldn't you figure it was out there for a reason?

Well, whoever did find it--Pirates of the Bulb, I guess--they don't like Mad Libs. I'm bummed that our friends didn't get their treasure, but in a way I'm pleased to see evidence of people out on the Bulb, exploring and pirating. You pirates, I hope you enjoy your ball game and slimy stretchy plastic body parts and 80s-style spiral slinky bracelets. Maybe I will see you at the Bulb one day.