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San Francisco Chronicle
28-06-2025
- San Francisco Chronicle
A ‘hidden gem' on San Francisco Bay is waiting to be explored
Sometimes, when the world closes in, the best thing to do is to go on a small adventure, perhaps to an island with trees, trails, beaches and wild animals — only a 30-minute ferry boat ride from the heart of the city. The destination is Angel Island State Park on the largest natural island in San Francisco Bay, perfect for a day trip into another world. It's accessible only by boat, so it has that unique feel that comes only to islands, a feeling of isolation. There are picnic areas and trails all over, little glens and benches to take in the spectacular view of San Francisco glittering across the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and Mount Tamalpais. Angel Island is about the same size as Muir Woods National Monument, which draws over a million visitors a year and requires reservations. Angel Island has 200,000 visitors in a good year, so it's seldom crowded. 'Truly a hidden gem,' the state park website says. Casey Dexter-Lee, an interpretive ranger who has worked on Angel Island for 25 years, said more visitors are welcome. 'We ask people to tell their friends about Angel Island,' Dexter-Lee said. 'Tell three more people. It's truly a magical place.'' It's ideal for a quick escape, too. The Golden Gate Ferry runs four weekday round trips from the San Francisco Ferry Building, three on weekends. The Angel Island ferry runs three trips on weekdays in the summertime and six on weekends. The last boat leaves the island at 5 p.m.; there are no overnight accommodations unless you get a camping reservation. 'At night, you practically have the island to yourself,' one camper said. The island is a good place for exploring, too. The ferries land at Ayala Cove, where Spanish sea captain Juan Manuel de Ayala anchored the ship San Carlos in 1775, 250 years ago this August. The San Carlos was the first European ship to enter San Francisco Bay, and Ayala sent his pilot, Jose Canizares, to chart San Francisco Bay. He made the first survey of the bay and a copy of the chart is displayed in the old quarantine building near the ferry landing. The Spanish made contact with local Miwok people who welcomed them to their land. Little did they know what was to come. Ayala's ship was followed by British, Russian and American ships, by Mexican cattle ranchers and by Americans after 1846. The U.S. Army came during the Civil War to build a fort and gun battery on the west side of the island. Much of it is in ruins now, but some of the fort has been preserved. A bigger and better fort was built on the eastern side of the island — Fort McDowell, named for the Civil War general who was in command at Bull Run. Fort McDowell is a huge old concrete garrison, a hospital, a mess hall, a prison, spooky looking, abandoned and empty. If there are ghosts and bitter memories on the island, they are at the Immigration Station, where approximately 300,000 immigrants to the United States were detained between 1910 and 1940. About a third of them were Asian; 100,000 Chinese, 70,000 Japanese, 8,000 south Asian. There were also some Europeans: Russians fleeing the Bolsheviks, Jews escaping Nazis and political refugees without proper documents. It was a place of hope and despair; at Ellis Island in New York, Europeans were welcomed to the United States. At Angel Island, many Asians were turned away because of anti-Asian immigration laws. A sign near the main building describes it: 'Angel Island came to symbolize discrimination and exclusion instead of welcome.'' The immigration station and the barracks where the immigrants lived are a historic site and open to the public. But if Angel Island has its dark stories, it's hard to remember them on a sunny summer's day when people are hiking, riding bikes and eating lunch in the little café. 'I came here to work because it was a place I wanted to be,'' said Sandra Freeman, who is the general manager of the Angel Island Co., which runs the park concessions. 'It's slow on the weekdays, but you should come on the weekends. We'll have music, and we have a new chef. We'll have oysters.'' Weekdays were perfect for Dan Bednarczyk, one of the staff at the Ranch camp, a nonprofit based in Tiburon and Belvedere. He and other staffers were managing a gaggle of kids from San Francisco and Marin out on the island for a day camp. 'I have 142 kids today,' he said. 'We do different things, sometimes kayaking, sometimes hiking, sometimes a fashion show,' he said. 'Today is fishing day. We give them some cheese for bait and there they are.'' Sure enough, the camp staff had kids lined up on the boat dock with poles and hopeful expressions. Did they ever catch anything? Bednarczyk offered the enigmatic smile that is the hallmark of summer camp counselors the world over. 'Fishing teaches patience,'' he said. The children and adults who had spent the day on the island crowded on the boat sailing back to real life, full of tales they'd been told: how Angel Island has deer that come out at night, raccoons that live in the island forests, how a single coyote swam across Raccoon Strait from the Tiburon Peninsula one night in 2017. Then another coyote made the trip, a litter of pups followed and now Angel Island has a coyote population. One of Dexter-Lee's favorite stories is about the seldom seen Angel Island Mole, a mammal that lives underground. These moles — scientifically known as Scapanus latimanus insularis — evolved separately from mainland moles when the sea level rose about 10,000 years ago and the rising waters flooded the valley between what became an island and the Tiburon Peninsula. These island moles are slightly larger and have darker fur than their mainland brethren. 'This is the only place in the world they are found,' she said. That's what I like about Angel Island. It's one of a kind.
Yahoo
06-03-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Healing through song: Culture as medicine
Nika Bartoo-Smith ICT + Underscore Native News This piece was originally reported as part of NPR's 'Next Generation Radio' project and OPB (Oregon Public Broadcasting). 'Hundreds of people have come in this room under addiction and sat there and drummed or sat there and listened to songs and changed,' says Aldo Garcia, whose traditional name is Puxtunxt, gesturing around a room at Painted Horse Recovery where he leads Wellbriety meetings. Garcia is a citizen of the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs, with Assiniboine Sioux, Siletz and Miwok descendancy. 'That's just what this represents today, it's just nurturing to this community.' For Garcia, practicing the Native American Washut faith and learning traditional songs have been a key part of his commitment to sobriety. Now, he helps to share these songs and raise his kids in the Washut faith, through the drumming group he co-founded, PDX WALPTAIKSHA. Every Friday, community members gather in a room at Painted Horse Recovery, adorned with hand drums that hang on the walls, to practice drumming and singing traditional Washut songs. They hold services every Sunday, creating a space of healing and connection. 'There's a heartbeat that comes with the song. There's a story that comes with that song,' Garcia says. 'There's a living portion of that song that's actually with you, that's supporting you.' Garcia currently lives in Beaverton with his three youngest sons. But he grew up on the Warm Springs reservation, raised by his parents and grandparents. At 13, Garcia started drinking alcohol. 'It really was a form of generational trauma,' Garcia says, reflecting on the stories from his grandmother and her experiences as a survivor of the Native American boarding school system. For decades into his adulthood, Garcia lived with substance use disorder. In 2015, that all changed. 'My sobriety journey didn't start until I was 38 years old,' Garcia continues, his tattooed hands holding an eagle feather he wears around his neck. 'That's when I had a choice of losing my kids forever, or actually doing sobriety.' "There's a heartbeat that comes with the song. There's a story that comes with that song, There's a living portion of that song that's actually with you, that's supporting you." — Aldo Garcia (Puxtunxt) Citizen of the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs On New Year's Day in 2015, Garcia got into an accident while intoxicated. A week later, with the encouragement of his community and friends, he decided to become sober. Facing DUI and drug charges, the courts temporarily took away custody of his seven children from Garcia and his now ex-wife. Garcia stayed sober through months of challenges — from court, to fighting for custody, to his house burning down in May 2015, leaving the family of nine living in their car. 'I remember walking out, and it's the same house that I sold drugs in, and it had this dark feeling about it. That darkness of addiction, that darkness of domestic violence, that darkness of being a bad parent, the darkness of how many people came in and out of our home while we sold drugs as we're trying to raise a family,' Garcia recalls, remembering the last time he left his house as he watched it go up in flames. 'I remember just standing at the door as I was leaving, and this feeling of like, man, it's over. Whatever that is, it's over. It no longer holds power over me. And it was this feeling of this, just, release.' That same month, Garcia returned to court once more. He was faced with a decision: try to argue his way out of the DUI, which his lawyer advised, or admit guilt. In that moment, he knew that in order to move forward, he needed to take accountability for his actions. So Garcia pled guilty. Though he faced felony charges, the judge acknowledged his vow of sobriety, and told him she had been following his story via Facebook. She asked him if he had remained sober. He said he had. '[The judge said] You know what? If you remain sober, and you never come back in my court, I'll take that felony away,' Garcia says. 'Just go to treatment if you do it for your family.' On January 8, 2025, Garcia celebrated 10 years sober. Along the way, Garcia turned to faith in a higher power. In 2017, Garcia left the Baptist Church and started reconnecting to the Native American Washut faith, which he remembers his grandmother participating in when he was younger. "My sobriety journey didn't start until I was 38 years old. That's when I had a choice of losing my kids forever, or actually doing sobriety." — Aldo Garcia (Puxtunxt) Citizen of the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs 'Washut is a religion, but Washut, spiritually, in recovery, is having the ability to use those songs in order to build a program around yourself,' Garcia says. Garcia dove into learning — songs, drumming, ceremony — and found connection and healing through community and culture. 'There's a living portion of that song that's actually with you, that's supporting you, with your voice, with the way you present yourself,' Garcia says, describing the healing power of the drums and songs. Garcia began to learn traditional Washut songs alongside his three youngest children. Together, they would sing the songs in bed at night until they got tired, lulled to sleep by the melodies that have been passed down for generations. 'Raising them in this Washut way of life teaches them discipline, teaches them the greater good of being of service,' Garcia says. 'From the beginning, my sons have learned songs with me.' At the start of the coronavirus pandemic, Garcia stepped into a bigger role, becoming a bell ringer, leading ceremonies. In 2022, Garcia brought his drumming to Portland, co-founding PDX WALPTAIKSHA, which translates to PDX Singers. PDX WALPTAIKSHA is a drumming and singing group Gracia co-founded with Tashina Stahi (wy kush), who is Nez Perce and Yakama, and Lydell Suppah (suuthlmai tmna), who is Warm Springs, Grand Ronde and Lakota Sioux. The group meets for weekly meetings, practices and services they call 'body, heart and spirit' at Painted Horse Recovery. They come together in song, connecting to culture as medicine. 'Once I got into the Washut faith and my kids did, it was, 'I'm no longer my own person.' I'm property of the people,' Garcia says. 'I'm property of the people, meaning that if I'm ever asked, I have to say yes, I have to do the best I can in order to be of service to that person that's in need.' 'I'm property of the people, meaning that if I'm ever asked, I have to say yes, I have to do the best I can in order to be of service to that person that's in need.' — Aldo Garcia (Puxtunxt) Citizen of the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs
