Born with a caul and pale-blue eyes, John Burch was always seen as different by his Native American family. He was just 3, he says, when his grandmothers led him up a steep trail to a summit thought to have great mystical power.
In the lore of his people, it was called Lesamo, where the Falcon of ancient legend killed the serpent Teleekatapelta. Craggy and dome-shaped, and often shrouded in fog, the dominant landmark of the Central California beachfront is more widely known as Morro Rock.
Up top sit a stone altar and throne that his grandmothers helped him build, Burch says. And in recent years, on dates prescribed by the heavens, Burch has again climbed the 576-foot-high rock in Morro Bay to practice rituals handed down by elders of his Salinan tribe. He is alone all night in blackness and starlight.
"A perfect hallway of isolation," Burch, 52, calls the spot where he enters an altered state and asks for spiritual guidance. "There's suffering involved. It's cold. It's dark. It's treacherous."
His throne is upholstered in moss and lichen. He says he finishes the night of prayer feeling like he's "floating on air. It's euphoria. It's peace."
The solitary rituals have not fostered much euphoria among environmental groups, however. The top of Morro Rock is a nesting ground for the peregrine falcon, a species once nearly wiped out by DDT poisoning. Normally it is forbidden to hikers and climbers.
Nor has Burch created any peace between the Salinan and Chumash Indians, tribes engaged in a bitter dispute. Each claims Morro Rock as a sacred spot.
The tale is messy and the details seem to differ with the teller. But about three years ago, Burch sought a permit to conduct his rituals atop the state-owned rock and was granted one despite the area being declared a falcon sanctuary.
"It's broadly the policy of the department to allow reasonable requests for religious practices to take place on state park property," says Joe Mette, a district superintendent for the California Department of Parks and Recreation, who approved Burch's request. "He made some fairly compelling arguments. He said biologists go up there--and they handle the eggs. He said, 'I won't be anywhere near the nests.' He didn't intend to harm the birds in any way."
Burch said he has been able to use the permit only two or three times. The rituals are usually conducted during an equinox or solstice. Burch had just finished such a ritual and was descending the rock one foggy morning, he recalls, when he was spotted by a member of the Audubon Society.
