Adobe Falls

Just north of San Diego State University, the runoff shed by some 15 square miles of chaparral-covered hillsides and suburban streets placidly crosses under ten lanes of Interstate 8 west of College Avenue. Then it tumbles, virtually unseen by anyone today, through a narrow little gorge, forming the series of cascades known as Adobe Falls. Decades ago, when San Diego State lay isolated at the city’s eastern fringe and I-8 was but a gleam in some civil engineer’s eye, students and professors trekked down to this formerly idyllic site for picnics. Today the runoff from winter storms still rushes head-long over bedrock slabs and boulders beneath a pleasing array of willows, sycamores, and volunteer palms — but lurid graffiti on the rocks, flotsam-and-jetsam trash along the banks, suds floating on the quiet pools, and the rank odor of a nearby sewer pipeline do not serve to inspire the curious traveler.