La La Land | Exploring the used, abused and often surreal L.A. River

He nods, and after a second says, “So, you have a permit then?” It strikes me as completely absurd that a man living in a streambed that is illegal to even visit is concerned whether or not I have a permit to travel the river. But I assure him that we do, even if it is only half true. He continues squatting on the rock, and tells me his name is Dimitri, that he’s 51, and has been living at this camp for four months and on-and-off by the river for a decade. Despite his name, his accent is plainly American—he mentions a daughter in Sacramento and military service.

In the way of people who meet on water everywhere, he’s especially happy to talk about the river. The authorities don’t seem to mind people living in the river, he says. “It’s safer than the streets. No one bothers us down here.” He’s heard of the city’s plans to revitalize the river. “I think it’s a good thing,” he says, looking up and left, considering his opinion. “But I just hope no one gets pushed out. A lot of people have been living here a long time.”

Dimitri’s island might escape the bulldozers—it sits midway between the Verdugo Wash opportunity site upstream, and the huge Taylor Yard area two miles downstream—but no one from the city has gone on record about accommodating the homeless residents. After all, it’s officially illegal to be in the river in any capacity, and proponents of the plan say that it isn’t the responsibility of a river revitalization plan to solve the city’s homeless problem. Not that there’s full agreement on the plan, even amongst river activists: Melanie Winter, director of The River Project, a local L.A. River advocacy group, likens the city’s plan to Disneyland. She doesn’t like its emphasis on human use at the expense of a more naturally functioning ecosystem. “The only thing the city is interested in is drawing development to the river,” she says flatly. Critics of the plan charge that the master plan will harm Latino communities—the river travels predominantly through low-income ethnic neighborhoods. Neighborhood representatives want soccer fields, not bird habitat, and fear the erosion of community through gentrification and even the loss of their homes through imminent domain.

The reality is that so far, there is little opposition to the plan. Few people, Dimitri included, think the river couldn’t use some help. If real opposition materializes, it will likely happen after specific plans released for individual projects. In the meantime, Dimitri seems most concerned about finishing his bath, so I excuse myself and continue downriver. I’ve gone maybe 100 yards when I see the police helicopter hovering just downstream. A loudspeaker blares: “Get out of the river now!”

IT WOULD PROBABLY BE BETTER FOR THE RIVER if we were arrested. A confrontation with the police would keep the Army Corps’s navigability ruling in the news, and increase public outcry against it. Heather, I know, is ready to argue our rights to be on the river based on California’s Constitution—Article 10 guarantees access to waterways, though it has seldom been challenged in court. George, ever the satirist, has a pair of novelty handcuffs with him. “If the cops try to haul us off the river,” he’d told me earlier, “I’m going to handcuff myself to my kayak. Hopefully, they won’t notice the cuffs are made out of plastic.”

However, I for one, would rather keep paddling. We’re only halfway now, and I’m just into the rhythm of the river—imbued with the curiosity to know what lies downstream, the urge to see around the next bend.

When I arrive at the footbridge that crosses the river below Hyperion Ave, two policemen are studying the film permit. My tripmates are standing next to their kayaks on shore and our film crew’s camera is rolling. After a minute the two officers, thick-chested with bulletproof vests, their radios squawking, walk a few yards away to confer.

“Duckman says he called the cops,” says Melanie, floating just offshore in her kayak. “Then he called me every name he could think of—cow, bitch, whore…” On top of the concrete bank, a thick older man stands with his arms crossed, scowling. A small crowd has gathered on a footbridge that crosses the river above us, rubbernecking the proceedings. A few ducks lurk at the edges of the vegetation.

George is standing patiently on shore, perhaps mustering courage to make a scene. Heather, our expedition firecracker, is still behind us. No one in the group looks to be spoiling for a fight, and I’m hugely relieved when the police return and tell us they will allow us to continue. The permit seems to have done the trick. They give us a quick lecture about being careful, about how they don’t want to have to come rescue us later. You can tell they have more important things to do than fool around with a bunch of nuts kayaking down the barely wade-able Los Angeles River, whatever Duckman may say about wildlife harassment.

In the end, our arrests weren’t required. In July, three weeks after our trip, the EPA superseded the Army Corps ruling. David Beckman, National Resource Defense Council attorney, tells me that the EPA’s action was almost certainly the result of Congressman Waxman’s letter, combined with public outcry sparked by publicity, notably our kayak trip. “The Corps really kicked a hornet’s nest,” he says.

A few months later, Heather’s supervisors would find out about her presence on the trip from a news photo on the Internet and use it as an excuse to try to terminate her. Because it’s illegal to fire a whistleblower, her presence on the trip was the best reason they could find to fire her. Disillusioned with the agency, Heather ultimately negotiated a settlement with the Corps over her job, the terms of which neither side will divulge. She considers the L.A. River effort to be a success. “I think I’d outlived my usefulness as a watchdog at the Corps,” says Heather. “I’m glad to leave with a victory.”

Hopefully, it’s the next step in the river’s recovery. With nearly every rivulet in its watershed hemmed in by human settlement, the Los Angeles River will need all the help it can get. The adoption of the revitalization plan shows there’s a public will, and from what we found, people might just need an example—something to make them start thinking of the river as more than just a flood control facility. As the police walk up the bank to talk Duckman down, and we climb into our boats and launch into the rocky stream, the gathered crowd lets out a cheer, doubtless glad for the little bit of dignity our expedition affords the downtrodden L.A. River.