Great Outdoors
Mount Diablo
Sacred Irreverence
Mount Kailash, Olympus, Kōya-san, Trikuta. Sitting atop these summits, gods of every major religion have passed knowledge, meditated, or even created the universe. Mount Diablo, once known as Oo’-yum-bel’-le by the Bay Miwok, is no exception.
To the local Native Americans, Oo’-yum-bel’-le was the center of creation. At its highest peak, three gods—the condor Mol’-luk, the falcon Wek’-wek, and the coyote O-let’-te—planned the capture and defeathering of ravens and crows. With their plumage, the gods created all the villages and the people who would become the Bay Miwok. Hundreds of years later, the first Spaniards to come across this same mountain would call it Monte del Diablo, or the “thicket of the devil.”
Despite the cascades of dry yellow grass rolling down the hill, Oo’-yum-bel’-le exuded vitality from the first inch of its trail: the scent of the chaparral grasses, the small red wildflowers sprouting from the base of the rocks, the chirps of the blue jays. With every step up the gravel path, crickets hopped away from my feet. Occasionally, I could spot small lizards scuttling away before blending back into the coarse sand trail, waiting for my next step before scuttling a few feet further.
Between the rolling chaparral hills, the Juniper trail led through thicker shrubbery and forest, streams and rocky outcrops. The sun-battered stone jutting out of the earth was splattered with vibrant lichen of colors absent in museum masterpieces. Dead logs and branches, felled by the wind, provided a safe haven for sunbathing lizards. Small wren and woodpeckers hopped from twig to twig beneath the shade of the brush, singing, while ravens patrolled the skies beyond the mountain, soaring from one minor peak to another.
Excitedly awaiting the summit, I hiked farther up the mountain only to hit a road. Pure asphalt, the dark black stripe marred the mountain slopes. Across the road was the rest of our trail. Unfaltering, I marched onwards until I came upon another road. I checked the map on my phone.
“Hey, Roman, where do you think we go from here?”
There was only one path open to us: the dull gray pavement ahead.
We traversed up the road, evading bikes and cars until we finally reached the summit. The road flattened out, transforming into a parking lot. Past the lot was a short flight of stairs which led to the summit, or more accurately, the Mount Diablo Summit Visitor Center. Inside the center, aligned with the floor, was the real summit.
“The mound of fractured bedrock at your feet is the actual summit of Mount Diablo. The floor of the building was constructed around this point to allow you to stand on top of one of California’s most prominent peaks.”
A peak which once was considered the center of mankind, the perch of Mol’-luk, is now inlaid in cement slabs. The condors and falcons which once ruled the summit have long since disappeared, massacred by colonists. Foreign grasses, now entrenched in the chaparral, mute the once brilliant wildflower spring bloom. Life, which is so prominent throughout the slopes, has been capped in concrete, and the sanctity of Oo’-yum-bel’-le has been savagely jeopardized.
If there is one aspect of the summit which humans did not tarnish, it’s the view. From atop the summit, I could see every settlement along the eastern bay. As I peered off the summit ledge, I could see the peaks of every other mountain and envision Wek’-wek the falcon swooping down from one of the peaks in search of ravens. In spite of the modern contamination, I could still see why the summit was held to be so sacred—the ends of the earth were visible to me from every direction.
For me, this trip was a forty-five-minute drive and a five-hour hike. But for the Bay Miwok, the sacred mountain was a place to be revered and maintained. Not only was it the center of their whole belief system, but it also provided them with their food and materials for shelter. Even though this cycle of harvest and stewardship has ended, and Oo’-yum-bel’-le the land of the Condors is now Mount Diablo, it still retains much of the vibrance which made it sacred to those before us.
Words: Tushar Sondhi
Photos: Roman Inguanzo
