 The Southern California coast is putting on one of nature's most dazzling nighttime shows right now. 

Known as bioluminescence, the phenomenon of glowing aqua-colored waves is caused by microscopic phytoplankton that emit light when agitated to scare off predators. The events are unpredictable, but occur every so often all along the Pacific coast, peaking usually in summer.

The blooms of plankton, called red tides, are associated with surges of nutrients in the water, from runoff for example. They appear reddish brown during the day. At night, the pyrotechnics begin.

This event, according to Michael Latz of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, was first detected in March and is unusually large, extending from Baja California up to Los Angeles. Time may be running out to catch a show: red tides typically last anywhere from several days to a month or more. 

Below, the Sun curated a selection of some of the best photos captured along the coast in recent days by both professional and amateur photographers.

Editor's note: An earlier version of this article inadvertently included a composite photo, meaning is was constructed from two or more images. It has been removed. 

Mike McPhate

The Southern California coast is putting on one of nature's most dazzling nighttime shows right now. 

11 stunning photos of strange neon waves off California's coast

Dotting a rugged slope in the Inyo Mountains are the remains of one of early California’s great engines of prosperity.  

During its 1870s heyday, Cerro Gordo, or "fat hill," was a rollicking silver town of 4,800 people and 1,600 mules, ruled by the six-gun. It generated so much trade that the Los Angeles News editorialized in 1872: Should the link between Los Angeles and the mining town be severed, "we would inevitably collapse."

Like dozens of California ghost towns whose fortunes rose and fell with the mines, Cerro Gordo was all but abandoned by the 1950s, its tin and wooden structures left to decay in the high desert wind. But now it's attracting dreamers once again. 

In 2018, a pair of entrepreneurs sank their life savings into the $1.4 million price for all 300 acres of Cerro Gordo. They've been at work ever since restoring the town and its 22 historic structures, among them a saloon, a church, a general store, and a small theater. 

One of the new owners, Brent Underwood, 32, said the goal is to open Cerro Gordo as a tourist destination, with overnight accommodations in original homes and hotel rooms along with on-site camping. Guests could be welcomed as soon as late summer, pandemic permitting.

In contrast to the look-but-don't-touch historical parks run by the state, such as Bodie, Cerro Gordo will be more immersive, Underwood said. "I'd love to create a place where people could come and really experience the history and stay in the exact buildings that the founder of the city stayed in." 

More than just a ghost town, Cerro Gordo is a magnificent perch. At 8,500 feet, it faces the plunging Death Valley from one side of the property and the soaring peaks of the southern Sierra Nevada from the other.

For quarantine-weary Californians, a place so removed from the ordinary could be a tempting escape.

Last year, Frank Foster, a photographer based in Victor Valley, made several trips out to Cerro Gordo for a photo project. He shared some of his images with the California Sun, below. 

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Entrepreneurs are transforming Cerro Gordo in the mountains east of Owens Valley into a tourist destination with overnight accommodations.

California ghost town famous for riches and rowdiness prepares to welcome guests

On this day in 1906, the motion picture pioneer Harry Miles climbed aboard a San Francisco cable car and cranked a movie camera. The film by the Miles Brothers movie company captured a view of the thoroughfare — bustling with horse-drawn wagons, bicycles, and newfangled automobiles — as it would never be recorded again. That's because just four days later, San Francisco was devastated by the great earthquake of 1906.

Now Denis Shiryaev, a YouTuber known for restoring vintage videos, someone has boosted the resolution of “A Trip Down Market Street” to 4K using image-editing techniques that essentially fill in missing details to heighten the realism of grainy films. The result, embedded below, is remarkable. (For full effect, make sure the playback quality is set to 4K under the gear icon at the bottom right.)

Someone used machine-learning techniques to fill in missing details from classic footage of Market Street.

A 1906 film of San Francisco was "upscaled" to 4K and the result is stunning 

Every few weeks or so, the crackle of musket fire echoes across the golden fields of California as men clad in uniforms of the Union and Confederate armies face off in pretend battles.

Never mind that the state is located more than 150 years and a world away from the main theaters of the conflict: Many Californians, it turns out, are really into the Civil War. About half a dozen groups hold roughly 20 mock battles a year from Half Moon Bay to Huntington Beach and beyond. 

It was the incongruity of it all that caught the eye of Oakland photographer Brandon Tauszik, who spent three years immersed in the world of Civil War reenactments in Northern and Central California. Visually, the settings introduce jarring anachronisms — such as redwoods and sequoias — in a hobby that prizes fidelity to the 1860s South. Politically, Tauszik said, the reenactments tend to be conservative spaces in one of America's bluest states.

"Mostly it's below the surface," he said of the ideological undertone, "but it's just below the surface."

Participants say they are drawn to the events for several reasons — camaraderie, love of history, sartorial escapism — but for many, personal political views play a role. Walk through the parking lot at a Civil War reenactment and find any number of bumpers plastered with NRA, Maga, and "Don't Tread on Me" messages. 

Shawnee Iacono, a Confederate reenactor who grew up in the Central Valley, said she gravitated to the hobby through her love of the South as expressed in romantic depictions such as "Gone With the Wind." Civil War reenactments aim to restore "the truth," Iacono said. For example, she explained, while differences over slavery certainly factored into the war, the average Confederate soldier yearned only for states' rights.

Asked if some reenactors hold genuine admiration for the Confederacy, Iacono balked: "OK, well, when you say Confederacy, you have to give it, I mean, pro-Southern? Because all of this drama's been over a flag."

Reenactment groups call what they do "living history," with a mission to educate the public. But professional historians trace their origins to efforts that began long after the war to valorize the Confederate cause. Crucial to that project has been the erasure of slavery from the story, said James Campbell, a professor of American history at Stanford. 

"And it's far easier to do that," he said, "if you imagine soldiers as embodying a shared heroism, and both sides fighting for valid principles, as opposed to imagining that one side was fighting in defense of the right of human beings to own other human beings." 

But why should reenactment culture resonate with Californians? It's perplexing, Campbell said. But it's not just California. Civil War reenactments are held in places as far flung as Hawaii and England. "It's become a kind of creation story that Americans tell about themselves," Campbell said. "It's a period of time that has been cast in this sepia glow."

Tauszik, the photographer, cited an additional motivation: reenactments seem like good fun. The thrill of living inside a 19th-century tintype has an appeal all of its own, drawing families and spectators. Participants typically camp out under the stars. "It's very romantic," Tauszik said. "There are campfires. The women stay behind during the battles and cook beans and make bread."

The beauty and elaborate detail of the gatherings shine through the photography of Tauszik, who aimed to portray his subjects without judgment or irony. The result, said Campbell, who wrote an accompanying essay with the project, are images that invite "not ridicule but curiosity about people whose commitments might differ from our own."

Tauszik shared some of his photographs with the California Sun. See a selection, below, and more from his project, "Pale Blue Dress," here. 

Many Californians, it turns out, are really into the Civil War.

In California, Civil War reenactors brandish the Southern cause

We’ve been through shutdowns like this before. 

In September of 1918, a global flu pandemic made entry into California. As with the coronavirus, the first cases were detected among travelers — a man who had returned to San Francisco from a trip to Chicago and seamen aboard a vessel that arrived to the harbor in Los Angeles.

What happened over the fall and winter will sound familiar. City officials imposed “stay at home” orders and forced the closure of schools and places of “public amusement.” Court proceedings and church services moved outdoors. Tents, hotels, and large halls served as makeshift hospitals. Panic was everywhere.

As the death toll climbed, measures became more severe, with forced quarantines and mandatory mask ordinances. Cops arrested so-called “mask slackers” by the hundreds.

By the time the pandemic subsided in 1920, at least 50 million people had died worldwide. More than 600,000 of those were Americans, far more than who died in World War I.

In California, outcomes appeared to vary according to the quickness and aggressiveness of the response in the state’s largest cities. Los Angeles lost more than 2,700 souls. The toll in Oakland was about 1,400. In San Francisco, which researchers say acted more slowly, the death rate was substantially higher, leaving more than 3,000 people dead.

Below is a visual look back at the way California responded to the 1918 influenza pandemic, with images retrieved from the digital archives of libraries, museums, and other sources.

Photos of the 1918 flu pandemic in California 

The British artist George Townley creates gorgeous illustrations of Southern California’s architectural gems, work that was highlighted in the California Sun a couple years ago. 

Townley, 23, became enamored of California while attending Cal State San Marcos on a study abroad program a few years back. 

Using a stylus in Photoshop, he created drawings of landmarks such as the Stahl House and Los Angeles Union Station and posted them on social media. They became instant sensations. 

Now Townley is back with a new batch of work that was supposed to comprise his first solo exhibition at Gallery1988 in Los Angeles on April 3. That’s sadly now in limbo as a result of the coronavirus outbreak, but the gallery said the illustrations would at least appear online. 

Townley shared a few drawings with the California Sun. See more of his work at his website, GeorgeTownley.com.

More colorful depictions of Southern California architecture by the British artist George Townley.

Illustrations of Los Angeles in Wes Anderson hues

Sutro Baths, a glass palace of swimming pools to rival those of ancient Rome, opened in San Francisco on this week in 1896. The recreation center was dreamt up by Adolph Sutro, a silver mining magnate and San Francisco mayor who was inspired by the idea that the finer things in life should be available to all — up to a point.

Jim Crow-style racism was rampant in California at the time. So when a black man named John Harris showed up to the baths for a swim on July Fourth, 1897, he was refused, an insult, he later told the S.F. Examiner, that left him feeling "disgraced and degraded."

He brought suit under the Dibble Act, a brand new law that guaranteed Californians "of every color or race whatsoever" entry to places of public accomodation. He won. The jury set aside arguments by the Sutro family that black patrons would offend the sensibilities of whites and awarded Harris $100 in damages.

The penalty was meager, but it proved that anti-bias legislation could prevail in the courts. Other lawsuits were filed challenging discrimination at an opera house in San Diego, a movie theater in Fresno, and a swimming pool in Riverside.

Little is known of John Harris, said Elaine Elinson, a civil rights historian. A voter registration card suggests he was in his 30s. He worked as a waiter. And he had the fortitude not only to challenge one of California's most powerful families, but to invite the backlash of a racist society. The white press taunted him: "A negro is a negro and his color is his misfortune," a newspaper in Santa Rosa wrote. The jury was so appalled that they asked the judge if they could simply ignore the law. (The answer was no.)

"He was definitely incredibly bold and courageous," Elinson said of Harris.

In 1959, the landmark Unruh Civil Rights Act was heralded as California's first civil rights act, serving as a model for other states and the federal Civil Rights Act of 1964. But the legislation, Elinson said, was little more than a modification of the Dibble measure enacted more than 60 years prior and given teeth by Harris and others.

As for the Sutro Baths, it was little chastened by the court loss. John Martini, author of "Sutro's Glass Palace," said the photographic record suggests blacks weren't welcomed into the pools until the 1940s. In time, the complex fell into financial distress then burned to the ground in 1966. The stone and steel remains are now protected within a park along the northwestern edge of San Francisco, like the ruins of some vanished civilization. Truly open to all, it's a popular place for reflection and a reminder of a not-so-ancient past.

Sutro Baths was offered as a lavish gift to San Francisco open to all. But blacks were excluded.

In 1897, a black waiter challenged racism at San Francisco's Sutro Baths — and won 

About 11,700 years ago, the last Ice Age was petering out, woolly mammoths still roamed the earth, and a tenacious little shrub sprouted in the Mojave Desert. Known as King Clone, the plant is still alive today and is regarded as one of the oldest living things on Earth.

A creosote, the desert shrub achieved its longevity through incredible tolerance of drought along with an unusual strategy of self-cloning. From an original plant, the creosote continually reproduces itself in an outward direction, forming a circular colony from the same roots around an ever-growing bare patch at the center.

Expanding at less than a millimeter a year, the ring of King Clone is now 75 feet across.

Yet venture to the tract of desert 40 miles south of Barstow where this marvel of nature resides and you won't find any viewing platforms or tour groups. One of the oldest organisms on the planet is protected by a skimpy wire fence off the side of a narrow dirt road. Instagrammers sometimes walk right inside the perimeter of King Clone to snap pictures.

Discovered in the early 1970s, the plant was protected by the state in 1993 within the King Clone Ecological Reserve. But aside from niche scientists and lovers of the desert, the site has failed to arouse much public interest. Asked why, Jim Cornett, a desert biologist, cited the star power of California's other ancients, the bristlecone and giant sequoia. "We're kind of funny," he said. "If something is taller than we are, we start to get impressed."

King Clone isn't just stubby. It's downright scraggly. If sequoias seem to prop up heaven itself, the lowly creosote looks more dead than alive. Still, King Clone likely has many more years ahead of it. There's of course no way to confidently predict when the plant might finally meet its end. "But in theory," Cornett said, "it would go on living indefinitely."

A lowly shrub in the Mojave Desert has been alive since the last Ice Age.

One of earth's oldest living things lurks unheralded in the California desert

The General Sherman, a giant sequoia in California's southern Sierra Nevada, is as wide as a three-lane highway, nearly as tall as the Statue of Liberty, and older than Christ. It's the champion of big trees, recognized as such for decades by American Forests, a nonprofit that has been ranking the world's biggest trees since 1940. 

Yet, according to some tree experts, Sherman's top ranking should come with an asterisk. It all depends on how you define biggest.

Sherman doesn't rise nearly as high as the world's tallest trees, but it maintains impressive girth in its upper reaches. For that reason, according to Stephen C. Sillett, a leading redwood expert at Humboldt State University, it's the undisputed champ in total biomass, estimated at 52,500 cubic feet — enough to fill about 20 typical swimming pools. 

But for many big tree connoisseurs, including American Forests, the more compelling measurement of size uses a point system that considers height, circumference, and average crown spread. By that score, Sherman is almost certainly surpassed by several of its cousins in the redwood forests of the North Coast, said Matt Ritter, a tree expert at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. "And most people who are in the know, know that to be the case," he added.

Take Grogan's Fault, first documented by tree hunters Mario Vaden and Chris Atkins in 2014. Bushwhacking through dense growth within the Redwood State and National Parks, the pair was awestruck as the colossus came into view. "Finally, we got down to measuring," Vaden said, "and we're going, 'Oh, man, this isn't only as big as the largest coast redwoods. This is larger than anything found.' Its dimensions get so extreme it's just hard to soak it in."

According to their measurements, Grogan's Fault is 86 feet around, beating Sherman by about a foot. It also rises more than 35 feet higher. And there are other coast redwoods known to elite tree hunters that are said to rival Grogan's Fault. 

But good luck finding them. Past experience has made many tree discoverers hesitant to disclose locations or to nominate potential record holders to American Forests. In 2007, for example, hints emerged about the location of the Grove of Titans, a fabled stand of gargantuan redwoods in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. As visitors descended on the area, it started to resemble the "L.A. freeway system," a park superintendent said.

So the General Sherman remains No. 1. For ordinary visitors, the scoring of the very biggest trees should be of little matter anyway, said Ritter. "We're talking about small differences here," he said. "You can't tell them apart. You look at it and you're like, 'That's a big f— tree.'"

Elite big tree hunters are making new discoveries in the teeming redwood forests of Northern California.

The secret colossal trees of California's North Coast

California is a land of white sand beaches and glistening granite peaks, but also of incinerated forests and dessicated hillsides. It's this second California that has drawn the eye of the Thomas Heinser.

For five years or so, the German-born, San Francisco-based photographer has made a study of the state's scarred landscapes.

His images, shot from the open side of a helicopter, focus on the after-effects of drought, wildfire, and human profit. The works, he said, amount to a warning about our environmental future, even as they insist on beauty. 

Bathed in the faint glow of sunrise and lacking any horizon, the pictures look like they could be abstract paintings in a museum. "That's the only way I feel like I can show it," Heinser said. "I am a photographer foremost."

Heinser shared a series of his photos, below, with the California Sun.

Thomas Heinser's aerial photographs of California's scarred landscapes look like abstract paintings.