Spring 2026
Words and Photographs by Bryce King
On my first visit to the Carrizo Plain, as a student in 2020, I encountered a hot, dry, vast landscape that stretched deep into the distance. Its gold hills disappeared into the atmospheric haze that merges ground and sky. It was summer, and the plain appeared almost abandoned by nature itself. The plants appeared dead, annihilated by the unrelenting sunlight and heat. There were no animals or movement, save for the slight wavering of dried plant material in a desiccating wind. But as with so many contradictions inherent to nature, a landscape that appears desolate in the summer can produce abundance beyond belief as a result of cooler, wetter winter conditions—just like those we’ve seen in 2026.
The Carrizo Plain is a part of the San Joaquin Desert, which stretches like fingers through the Southern Central Valley and the deep reaches of California’s inner Coast Range. It’s a remnant of a landscape that prevailed before so much of the Central Valley was sliced and diced into farmland and other private property. Known by its historic stewards of the Chumash Tribe as tšɨłkukunɨtš (the Place of the Rabbits), the Carrizo Plain perseveres with a splendor that once characterized this biologically rich region. On Jan. 17, 2001, Carrizo Plain National Monument was established—the culmination of decades of advocacy and collaboration between the federal government and dozens of partners and allies. Today, 25 years later, the 250,000 protected acres of the Carrizo Plain make it the largest continuous native grassland in California. As if to honor its own silver anniversary, the plain has erupted this season in a celebration of flowers the likes of which haven’t been seen in years.
When I became a guest of the rabbits on the Carrizo Plain this March, returning now as a Lead Field Botanist for CNPS, I found myself immersed in a landscape unrecognizable to my former self. The plants that once appeared lifeless to me had merely been resting, waiting for the opportunity to erupt with renewed vitality and strength. Tule elk carefully monitored my movement as pronghorn leaped in the distance. Green rolling hills and the blue waters of Soda Lake blended in harmony. The vitality was always there, waiting for the moment to emerge once again.
Despite the harshness of the summer conditions, life in the plain persists through brutally dry seasons to offer the sight that draws so many visitors to the Carrizo Plain. Once every few years, the great geophysical forces of precipitation, temperature, and chronology all synchronize to perform a grand waltz, shifting in perfect timing to produce the phenomenon many refer to as the superbloom. The result is an explosion of flowers so prolific it defies belief, overwhelms the senses, and humbles one by the power of its display.
We know that people across the state, regardless of background or political affiliation, overwhelmingly value the protection of public lands. These places are part of our shared heritage, and the choices we make today will determine what remains for future generations.
“Places like the Carrizo Plain remind us both of what we’ve lost and all that we still have the opportunity to protect.”
Today, our elected officials have the power to safeguard or sell off these irreplaceable landscapes. Each of us can help defend these lands by reaching out to California’s congressional leaders—both Republican and Democrat—to let them know that protecting public lands matters, that these places deserve responsible stewardship, and that their decisions should reflect the deep connections Californians feel to them.
Going into this photo shoot in early March, I wondered if the valley floor would be blooming. The result was beyond what I ever could have expected. This huge field of common goldfields (Lasthenia gracilis) southwest of Soda Lake is just one of many seemingly unending stretches of color throughout the valley bottom. Many species of Lasthenia are staples of vernal pools and seasonally wet areas. Sometimes, though, the synchronicity of the blooms is not quite right—you have the valley floor going at different times from the surrounding hills. This year, it seems all the actors have stepped up to the stage at once.
There’s a stretch of the Carrizo Plain where, as the valley continues southeast, the valley bottom becomes pocketed into a fascinating array of vernal pool habitats and various microhabitats. As Carrizo Plain has no significant outflows, it’s almost as if the entire valley floor acts as a single massive vernal pool. Munz’s tidy-tips (Layia munzii) is an iconic part of this landscape, being specifically adapted to survive the harsh alkali soils provided by this landscape. I spotted it in the alkali field south of Soda Lake—which, incredibly, was full when I visited in March. Soda Lake is a huge salt flat at certain times of the year, which makes for stunning habitat. Tidy-tips in particular pops out among a range of other vernal pool residents.
When you see a lily, you slam on the brakes. That’s just how it works. This is Frittilaria agrestis—aka ‘stinkbells,’ due to its rather unpleasant odor that is irresistible for its preferred pollinators. It’s one of our native lilies, and it’s the only Frittilaria that’s found in the Carrizo Plain. I came across it high in the Caliente Range, and I was surprised to see it. Fritillaria typically flower early in the season, before many of the species currently on display begin to show color. This indicates the unusually early timing of the current bloom occurring. It was my first time encountering this species, having only been collected a handful of times from the area. I was driving by, and it was on the left side of the road, just sitting there. I got my camera and flash equipment and gave it the photo shoot it deserves.
As I drove back down from the top of the Caliente Range at night, I passed a big slope full of shredding evening-primrose (Eremothera boothii subsp. decorticans). I saw what looked like a dozen hummingbirds flittering around, but then I immediately remembered: Oh, this is sphinx moth time. They love these primroses. The moths resemble hummingbirds due to their impressive size, and they hover in place while tapping into these flowers. (If you look closely in this photo, you can see the mouth part—the long proboscis—extending from the moth to the flower.) To get the photo, I sought the best-looking patch despite pitch-black conditions on the hill. I affixed a flash hood to the camera and set the focus roughly five feet in front of me. Then I waited—and waited, and waited. I probably sat there for about half an hour. Finally, I heard a moth approaching, wings beating a steady vibration as it went flower–to–flower. My heart started pounding. I closed my eyes, snapped the shutter, and hoped for the best. The moth stopped and came at me, as if to say, “What are you looking at?” It was definitely a lucky shot.
Desert creatures are happy to be out and about when the conditions are good, and it feels as though there might be more activity in Carrizo Plain at night than during the daytime. The moths flitter. The coyotes call. Owls nested right next to where I was staying. We’re so limited in our vision and our existence as humans, but nearly all of the animals on the plain see excellently at night. It wasn’t quite a full moon when I was there, but it was pretty close. After it came up from the east, it was like daylight again. You could see the whole valley. There was a striking hillside next to where I was camping, just flush with hillside daisy (Monolopia lanceolata). I saw the hillside and thought, I want to see and feel and convey what the animals feel.
This was the view of sunrise over a little depressional pocket next to where I camped. It was still surprisingly cold at night, and this field of purple owl’s clover (Castilleja exserta) was frosted with ice. Pretty much as soon as the sun crested over that little hill, the ice melted almost instantly. The plants sparkled with dew in the morning light. It just goes to show how variable this landscape is: You have these beautiful wildflowers covered in frost in the evening, and then, in the daytime, the temperature will rise to the high 80s or 90s. It’s a landscape characterized by the challenges it imposes, and the natural outcomes are magnificent.
In the morning, I dropped down from the Caliente Range and crossed the valley into the Temblors. The shaded pockets of the canyon were going crazy. The shaded pockets of the canyon were bursting with common hillside daisy (Monolopia lanceolata) and tansy leaf phacelia (Phacelia tanacetifolia), creating a beautiful patchwork of gold and purple. I walked up into each one of these canyons, each of which felt like a whole new kind of artwork—infinitely intricate and variable and different. All these little micro–conditions coalescing, becoming visible—and astonishing—when you see them at this scale.
The greatest part of the Carrizo Plain is that each time a superbloom like this happens, the hills are painted in a new way. The palette and brush strokes decided months ahead of time by rain and soil conditions and timing. It’s like a brand-new tapestry every time you visit. If you leave the main valley of the Carrizo Plain and go a little bit east—which is still part of the national monument—that’s where the wildflower action really is. You see brilliant displays of color on the hills, and valleys. Here, you have California goldfields (Lasthenia californica subsp. californica) in a low pocket within the foreground, with Carrizo fiddleneck (Amsinckia tessellata var. gloriosa) occupying the toe slopes. The hills are painted by gold hillside daisy (Monolopia lanceolata), with tansy leaf phacelia (Phacelia tanacetifolia) on the south aspect slopes and forked amsinckia (Amsinckia furcata) on the exposed shale hilltop.
Desert candle (Caulanthis inflatus) is one of my favorite plants and such a unique, characteristic species of the Carrizo Plain. It has a very thin outside wall and a completely hollow stem—so robust, yet so fragile. To me, it’s the iconic species of the Carrizo Plain, even though it is relatively widespread through the Mojave and San Joaquin deserts. It’s charismatic, with bright yellow stems, deep green leaves, and burgundy flowers. This is just an incredible—and contradictory—species that is impossible to ignore when you see it. In that way, desert candle is a microcosm of the Carrizo Plain itself—all these seemingly impossible colors clashing and intermixing, complementary in their chaos.
This is Lemmon’s poppy (Escscholzia lemmonii)—not your standard California poppy (Eschscholzia californica), but a close relative. It has a darker, punchier orange color than the common California poppy, if you can imagine that. In person, their vibrancy almost hurts the eyes, and even small patches on far away slopes are obvious from a distance. It’s a specialist: surviving on the harsh calcareous shale of these hilltops in the Temblor Range, emerging out of gravelly talus substrate with barely any soil underneath it, excelling where everything else seems to struggle. This represents one of the great drivers of diversity in both the Carrizo Plain and California at large, the variable and often inhospitable soils found throughout the state. By specializing to survive on extremely specific soil chemistries and compositions, these species gain a strong competitive advantage in their home turf, at the cost of never being able to leave it.
In the center of the valley floor—one of the lowest points of the Carrizo Plain, the Caliente range stretches before you like the rim of a great tub. Over millennia, rains leech minerals and salts from the mountains that flow into the valley. This water has no escape and slowly evaporates off, consistently increasing the alkalinity of Soda Lake and the valley floor. These harsh conditions are part of why the plain creates these beautiful native plant displays, while other places can get crowded out by weeds. Here, you see Ferris’ goldfields (Lasthenia ferrisiae), a rare species of Lasthenia highly adapted to alkali and salty conditions, along with purple owl’s clover (Castilleja exserta). The smell is absolutely inescapable—a sweet perfume that totally envelops you, a whole valley awash in the fragrance of abundance.
