My “Water in the West” class, taught by Char Miller, went on a field trip to the Elysian Valley section of the LA River. This experience gave me a deeper understanding of the river I have resented my whole life. My section of the LA River in Long Beach is the most downstream, directly feeding into its delta into the San Pedro Bay. Two summers ago, I rode my bike 7 miles from the 405 Freeway to the river mouth almost every day. I was disappointed at the state it was in. The steep and wide concrete channel was the furthest thing from nature, and it never felt like a river to me. Every pass under a bridge reeked of urine. Dead fish occasionally floated downstream. The delta smelled of oil, a persistent reminder of past oil spills. And it didn’t occur to me when I was younger why my parents wouldn’t let me go down to the beach sometimes, especially after rain. I now understand– the river collects dirt, oil, chemicals, and grime from the streets of LA and dumps it into the beach that I spent my childhood at. In a way, I blame the LA River for dumping its gross contents into my stomping grounds. But, a small section of the river caught my eye every time I passed it and pulled me from my biker crouch to watch it go by– a green section past Willow Street that housed birds, fish, and life. And I feel that this small section planted a seed of hope in me. That this river might be redeemable. Our trip to the Elysian Valley section of the river watered this seed and opened my eyes to what comes before.
Life!
Image by the author, October 2025.
I was surprised by what life we found. Crawfish and herons. Trees and grass. Compared to my past river experiences, this seemed like a foreign river. Why? This section of the river is not fully concretized. As Tilly Hinton explained on our trip, the Army Corps of Engineers could not concretize the bottom of the river because of how high the water table is. No matter how much concrete was poured, the river would not be buried. This has allowed flora to grow in the river’s bed, and subsequently houses fauna to thrive in. Signs of fishermen proved that this river could still sustain humans (recreationally, at least). The river here shows signs of what once was. Animals and plants living in equilibrium. Humans living commensally with the river’s offerings. Beyond the concrete sights and the freeway sounds is a surviving piece of what the river engineers had once “nailed the coffin on”– the river here is less like a corpse but rather an enduring symbol of life and water. Seeing life persist in this section had me reconsider what “alive” means in a city that has thoroughly engineered its environment. Even within a system built to suppress it, nature finds a way to push back. At the same time, this vitality is fragile. The herons and crawfish live within sight of storm drains and freeway overpasses. The water that sustains them still carries the residue of oil, metals, and chemicals washed from the streets above. Life here survives not dependent on human care, but in spite of human neglect. The duality between concrete and life embodies the paradox of the Los Angeles River. It is both an ecological scar and a sanctuary. The green stretches reveal the river’s resilience, but they also expose the city’s history of control against its own landscape.
A sign recognizing the River’s pollution and possible impacts on human health. This notion, that the river is dangerous to interact with, shaped my initial impressions and how I treated it. Reversing this attitude is a major step in empowering people to recognize it as a river and not a lifeless channel.
Image from an LA River X guest host takeover by Jen Greenwood in 2025. Retrieved from Instagram.
I noticed a broom, then a shopping cart. Small pieces of plastic swirling in eddies. I gave second thought to putting my feet in the water. It felt like, in some way, Blake Gumprecht’s account of the river in his book The Los Angeles River: Its Life, Death, and Possible Rebirth. Maybe not as bad as oil and tar pits. But I felt this image of the river as a dumping ground, out of mind and out of sight. A conveyor belt swallowing trash to deposit somewhere else. It made me feel as if this river was dirty compared to the rivers I love so much deep in the backcountry of the Southern Sierras. And to think of the invisible micro-pollution! This reminds me of Jennifer Price’s tenth way of seeing the LA River: “A Tenth Way: As Especially Dangerous to Lose Track Of… Go ahead and ignore your topography, your climate, your hydrology. The air will darken, the mountains will slide into houses, and the lost river will gather toxics and trash” (236). Price shows that the river’s pollution is a reflection of the city – the runoff of our habits and lifestyles. Every oil stain on the freeway and every plastic bottle washed into the channel is part of a feedback loop that links our lives to our waste through the medium of the river. When I saw these pieces of trash, it made me think both of how we neglect this important natural landmark and how we can and should improve our relationship with the river in this way. We are and always will be the river’s “kuuyam” (meaning ‘guest’ in the Tongva language). It is clear that the river’s persistence through its concretization and neglect from its people shows its eternal nature. We are its guests.
My feet in the river, something that I was dubious about, but was surprisingly delighted by! Also, Brooms and Shopping Carts.
Images by the author, October 2025.
A symbol of our invisible presence in the LA River. We tread lightly– our lives intertwined with the river’s, but unconscious of this relationship. We interact with this landscape unaware of the traces we leave behind. Every step, every action, flows downstream. The boots may be empty, but they are worn by those who do not recognize the LA River’s presence.
Image from an LA River X guest host takeover by Izaac Enciso in 2023. Retrieved from Instagram.
Identity: Persistent
Image by the author, October 2025.
Image from an LA River X guest host takeover by Jen Greenwood in 2025. Retrieved from Instagram.
Image by the author, October 2025.
As I was walking through the cool water on slick concrete, I felt smooth stones under my feet. I almost forgot I was standing on concrete. I looked down and found erosion. At the edge of the waterline, there was a split. Although this was the same piece of concrete, one looked homogenous and the other showed large aggregate stones: erosion of the top layer of cement. I found this quite striking. It shows the persistence of the river, running endlessly since its concretization, slowly chipping away at the walls of its cell, sentenced by both the Army Corps of Engineers and Angelenos. It reveals the river’s quiet resistance– the way water continues to work against the structures meant to contain it. Concrete, a symbol of control, cannot hold against the slow patience of a current. And then, I saw something I have never seen before in this river. A switch in current. The concrete channel was built with flood control in mind, to optimize flow and push water downstream as efficiently as possible. But this organic rebellion proves that the river still remembers its shape. The river remembered that it wasn’t meant to flow straight. Rivers ebb and flow, turn and curve. The same water that once carved its valley now eats away its prison walls, hinting at the possibility of renewal. It’s easy to think of the Los Angeles River as a lost cause– too polluted, too engineered, or too urban. But the erosion I saw was proof of something else: that nature is never fully conquered. Beneath the concrete and the grime, the river still breathes.
— Max Pemberton, December 17, 2025
Max Pemberton attends Claremont McKenna College, where he majors in Integrated Sciences and plays catcher for the CMS baseball team. He enjoys spending his free time being active outdoors, especially hiking, biking, backpacking, and surfing. He is especially interested in humanity's role in environmental conservation and likes to write and speak about how individuals and communities can better care for the planet. He is working towards a career in the sciences or environmental studies, where he can combine his academic background, love for the outdoors, and commitment to sustainability.