By Tina Clark

My first trip to Santa Margarita Lake happened in 2006, the day after my husband interviewed for a job in the area. His boss had hoped that its beauty would entice our family to relocate from southern California. It worked. We wandered the shores spellbound by panoramic views of vibrant blue water and oak studded hillsides. The hawk feathers my toddler found cinched the deal.
We hiked the lake trails numerous times after that, soon with the addition of a sleeping baby in a backpack carrier. Over the years, we discovered countless numbers of coves, hidden jewels that brimmed full with blue water, but the Children’s fishing area was my kids’ favorite. They loved to sway on the wooden bridge of the nearby play structure then scare themselves by rocking on the small wood docks floating in the lake.
In September, 2014, we mountain-biked the lake trails, my nine-year old able to manage on her own and my six-year old on a trailer bike attached to my husband’s. Our favorite play area had changed dramatically. The fishing cove had entirely dried up and the children’s docks had been moved to fill in for a land-bound boat ramp. At Vaca Flat, we watched a flock of birds skim over a field of mud and green grass instead of the blue water of Salsipuedas Bay.
“Dad, the patches look like your grandma’s quilt,” said my youngest child.
“That’s cracked ground from the lake drying out,” he responded. “It’s the driest year we’ve ever had.”
Late fall rains soon arrived and we thought the lake may have filled a bit. But, in January we were proven wrong when we went to test out a recently acquired four-person canoe. The ranger told us the lake had shrunk since our September visit – from 30% capacity to 20%. His words hit home when we couldn’t find the children’s docks. I finally spotted them at the bottom of a steep hillside. I held my breath as I carried my end of the canoe down the precarious slope to their location.
Our concerns lightened as we paddled for hours. The blue of the water grew more magical as the sun lowered in the sky and we gazed at the sundrenched hillsides.
“Mom, it’s like a rainbow!” exclaimed my youngest.
I saw it too, a strange medley— faded ribbons of color wrapped around the base of the hills – white, purple, brown, gold and green.
“Where do the different colors came from?” she asked.
“From the drought,” I explained. “Each band of color represents a different stage of the lake as it dries. I hope the next time we come back there’s still water left.”
“What do you mean?”
“This lake is a reservoir for the City of San Luis Obispo; the people who live there use it to drink and take showers.”
We admired the emerald green head of a passing duck and talked about our earlier sightings of a snowy egret and a heron with its neck stretched like an arrow as it flew across the water.
“What’s going to happen to the birds if the lake disappears?” she asked.  I didn’t have a good answer.
That night I watched her brush her teeth and for the first time I didn’t have to remind her to turn the faucet off.  I cheered inside. She finally understood the meaning of my words.  She heard me! Soon, maybe others will too.

Tina Clark a member of SLO NightWriters, the premier writing organization on the Central Coast of California. She resides in North County and is currently working on her first novel. Photo credit: Dennis Eamon Young