Sculptor, novelist and rancher Francis "Duke" Sedgwick wanted to preserve this "large area of pristine beauty," he said, to create "a conjunction of learning and land." Indeed, just six months ago when the last parcel of this 5,900-acre ranch, long mired in court battles, was transferred to UCSB, it became the largest of the 33 reserves in the UC system. It is also deemed on of the most important.

One breathtaking look at this great chunk of land and you understand why. Perched on the flanks of Figueroa Mountain, Sedgwick Reserve sweeps down form an elevation of 2,300 feet to 800 feet and contains whole creeks from beginning to end. Tens of thousands of oak trees grow in dense woodlands rarely found on public land. There are also savana and grasslands, coastal sage scrub, streamside eco-systems and unique wildlife and bird corridors.

Tours to Sedgwick, like ours, usually begin with a car-pool ride from the Park and Ride lot on Highway 246 and head to the reserve's locked southgate. After driving a short distance up a paved but bumpy road, we stop at the Dave Anderson Overlook.

Here our group's leader and Sedgwick Reserve manager, Mark Reynolds, introduces us to the area by explaining its geology. (With his wife he has worked with the reserve for three and a half years.)

He points out a lowland agricultural area to the north, Figueroa Creek, and other watershed areas in the uplands. We scan the San Rafael Mountains due north, which include Figueroa Mountain, Ranger Peak and San Rafael Mountain, and the San Ynez Mountains to the south.

"The topography of the preserve is extreme," says Reynolds. "This is what creates the drainages and this is what makes it interesting in natural history."

Both the mountain ranges are rising rapidly, he explains, but the San Rafael Mountains are rising more rapidly. As a result, Reynolds says, "The San Ynez Valley has a southern dip to it to the San Ynez River."

This uplift has caused the Little Pine Fault, which we can discern by deformation in creek drainage and rapid rise in topography of 500 feet, from 1,800 to 2,300 feet.

This side of the fault is less than a million years old, Reynolds tells us, but across the fault line is old sea floor and this is ancient--500 million years old. "When you cross the fault, " he says, "you're going back in time."

Next he notes the diverse vegetation we see: deep alluvial agricultural land, oak savana "like that over there," he points.

"Big valley oaks mixed with grassland--classic coastal California."

Sedgwick also boasts oak woodland (blue and live oaks clustered together), riparian vegetation (willows, sycamore and live oaks along creeks), coastal sage scrub and soft chaparral.

To the north patches of foothill pines grow alone on dry rocky areas; very far to the north we can see expanses of grassland and rocky outcrops of serpentine.

"This is the California state mineral," Reynolds says of the serpentine. "It's formed from decomposition of sea floor rocks that contain nickel and other heavy metals that are toxic to plants. But California flora has adapted to this.

"We have around 5,000 species of plants in California, many of which are found nowhere else because of (their adaptation to) serpentine. Some plants grow both on and off (the serpentine). These are called eco-types. The California poppy is a prime example."

Normally, only springtime tours proceed to the vernal pools, but because of this year's late rains, they are still teeming with life, so we head there. We drive about a mile and hike up a hill and down into a valley.

As we walk, Reynolds describes how to tell oaks apart. Valley oaks have the classic, huge canopies and big trunks, have lobed leaves, deeply furrowed bark and, not surprisingly, they grow in valleys. Blue oak leaves don't have lobes but instead have a waxy coating that give them a blue cast. Blue oaks grow on hillslopes with shallow soils and have striated bark.

"The live oak, " Reynolds says, "is very common in Santa Barbara along Sycamore Canyon. It's evergreen, unlike the valley and the blue. The leaves are dark forest green and pointy. You know them when you step on them barefoot. The live oak can grow in wet areas, hillslopes. They have relatively smooth bark."

The stuff hanging from trees, he says, is not Spanish moss. "This is lace lichen, very common in coastal woodlands of California."

"Does it kill the trees?" someone asks.

Reynolds shakes his head. "It's nuetral, possibly beneficial."

Lichens also act as something of a canary in a coal mine. They need good air quality to grow. The disappearance of this lichen from the L.A. basin was one of the first indications that they had problems with air quality.

"Lots of lichens like we have here means this area gets significant fog, (which it needs) to hydrate, and good air quality," Reynolds says.

We proceed to the vernal pools and it's readily evident that it's been a great year for them. Two or three are still filled with water. The largest is only 50 yards across, but Reynolds describes their importance.

Vernal (springtime only) pools are key to an area's biodiversity; these pools contain several species found no where else in California, such as seed shrimp and clam shrimp. Other species, like frogs and toads, come here to breed.

"In Central and Northern California 90 percent of the vernal pools are gone," says Reynolds, naming development, mosquito abatement as the chief culprits. "People say, 'I can't fish in it, it's just a swamp.'"

From the vernal pools we head toward the Lisque Drainage, which, despite its name has no surface flow. Reynolds talks about UCSB's work here on oak regeneration and other research.

"How do oaks get from acorns to little trees? One problem with the valley oak is that we don't see many little trees. Cattle is one reason, but even where cattle has been removed for 50 years, there are still few little oak trees."

One experiment involves using cages to exclude predators at various levels, from mice to deer. Despite all of the brainpower being thrown at the problem, Reynolds says, "the effects on oak regeneration is still unclear."

Other projects at Sedgwick look at how nitrogen moves through soil in areas that have been grazed.

"There is lots of other soil research going on," says Reynolds.

So much so that they don't have the luxury of being able to allow greater public use. For now, visitors must be accompanied by docents, and stick to existing ranch roads, experiencing about a third of Sedgwick. Interpretive trails are in the works.

Although we can't see it, Reynolds tells us that scientists here are experiencing huge problems with grassland restoration.

"Most of what we see in California is from Europe and Asia--these amber hills are covered with wild oats, which are from Europe. Jim Reichmond's lab is trying to understand what California grassland might have been like by restoring 17 acres here with native grasses. He's also including native gophers to disturb the soils to see how that accounts for the persistence of native grasses.

Next we look at sites of dramatic landslides, many of which occurred this year. "Tom Dunne, Oliver Chadwick and Eric Seabloom have been looking at areas that have had landslides (to figure out) what caused them, how long vegetation takes to recover," says Reynolds.

Buzzing with the morning's food for thought, we eat lunch under the blue oaks in the upper part of Lisque and talk about this unique opportunity created by the partnership of the Sedgwick family, the Land Trust for Santa Barbara County, UCSB and the University of California Natural Reserve System.

"It's fantastic," says Reynolds. "This is such a diverse state and changing so rapidly with growing population. It's very important to understand its biodiversity. And it's timely; once you convert something to highway or housing, you can't bring it back."

Reynolds points out that Sedgwick is not only here for scientists, but for other scholars and artists who appreciate its landscapes on another level.

As we finish out the day at Sedgwick with a drive up Figueroa Mountain, Reynolds says the art community was instrumental in raising the public's awareness of Sedgwick. The Oak Group of painters, in particular, was a "great help in promoting the fragility of these systems."

"The tradition of natural history is filled with people who drew inspiration from the landscape," says Reynolds. John Muir, Gary Snyder and Ray Strong, the dean of Santa Barbara landscape painting and one who painted Sedgwick long ago, come to mind immediately.