If you spend any time on Topanga Canyon Boulevard, you notice it sooner or later.
A pink pig with wings, high on a pole, watching the cars go by.
You drive past once and wonder if you imagined it. The next time, you slow down to check. After a few trips through the canyon, it becomes part of how you give directions.
“Turn left after the flying pig.”
So what is the story behind the flying pigs in Topanga Canyon, and how did they become part of life here?
This is a story about art, a lost shopping center, a feed store, and the way a strange landmark can help define a place.
The first flying pig on Topanga Canyon Boulevard
The flying pig most people know sits on a tall pole on the east side of Topanga Canyon Boulevard, between the 101 and Pacific Coast Highway. Trip and map sites place it near the 1900 block of the boulevard, close to 1942–1960 N Topanga Canyon Blvd, on a steep property that drops toward the road.
Up close, the pig looks simple and handmade. It is round and pink, with a curly tail, dark hooves, and short white wings that stick straight out from its back.
An art listing for “Topanga’s Original Flying Pig” explains that the sculptures are concrete over chicken wire, mounted on poles about fifteen feet tall. The largest version weighs more than 200 pounds and faces the sky with a wide grin.
The artist behind the pig is local carpenter and sculptor Chris Budzin. That same listing notes that he began hanging his big concrete pigs along Topanga Canyon Boulevard around 2010. The canyon road connects the San Fernando Valley to Pacific Coast Highway, so people see his work on daily commutes, weekend drives, and beach trips.
The Los Angeles Explorers Guild wrote about the “Flying Pig of Topanga” and described it as a winged pig taking flight above the twists and turns of the canyon road. They treat it as a destination, not just a yard decoration.
The site Weird California gives a closer look and notes that the pig has changed colors over the years. At one point it was painted black. In more recent photos it appears pink again, perched above the hillside with wings extended.
Roadside art fans at RoadsideArchitecture.com have tracked Budzin’s pieces. They show photos of the Topanga pig and a similar flying pig in Simi Valley, along with other animals he created.
So when you glance up at that pig, you are seeing the most famous member of a small flock of concrete creatures that Budzin placed along Southern California roads.
Do you remember the first time you noticed it, and what kind of day you were having?
How the pig turned into a Topanga landmark
Lots of odd things sit beside roads in California. Most never become true landmarks. This one did.
Trip and travel sites now list the pig as a stop of its own. Roadtrippers calls it the “Flying Pig of Topanga” and suggests adding it to any canyon drive. MapQuest describes it as a quirky roadside attraction that local people use for navigation. If you pass the pink pig with wings on the pole, you know exactly where you are along the boulevard.
Business listings like Manta’s page for Flying Pig of Topanga even treat it like a tiny local operation, complete with address and map pin.
For residents, the pig slipped into daily language. You hear things like:
- “We live just past the pig.”
- “The house is a couple minutes north of the pig.”
- “If you see a flying pig on a pole, you went too far.”
Once a piece of art becomes part of how you give directions, it has crossed into everyday life.
The shopping center that slid away
There is another layer to this story that sits under the pig.
Long before the sculpture rose above the road, this stretch of hillside held a small shopping center called the Topanga Turnout. It stood along the same curve of Topanga Canyon Boulevard, with low buildings and a parking lot tucked into the slope.
The Topanga Historical Society records that David Esser’s Gym for the Mind operated at the Topanga Turnout from 1988 to 1990. The ad calls it “a gym, a bookstore, a vegetable garden, and people to think with,” and lists the address as 1942 N Topanga Canyon Boulevard. It offered weights, books, and a social space in true canyon style.
The Turnout was also home to Topanga Feed Barn, an animal feed and supply store. A 1991 notice in the Topanga Messenger lists a “Pet Vaccine Clinic, Topanga Feed Barn, Topanga Turn-Out, 11:00 a.m. – 1:00 p.m., shots only, Holly E. Scoren, D.V.M.” That line places Topanga Feed Barn at the Turnout and shows how the center supported local animal owners.
Longtime residents remember Rendezvous Café in the center as well. It gave people a place to grab coffee, a simple meal, and a conversation before heading back up into the hills.
For canyon residents, the Turnout worked as a quick stop on the way home and a casual meeting spot on the main road. You could pull in, see neighbors, pick up feed or groceries, check out books, and then head back to your house under the oaks.
That changed during the strong El Niño winter of the late 1990s.
The article “A History of Topanga’s Road Closures” on OneTopanga.com explains that in 1998, a landslide tied to those storms hit the Topanga Turnout. Heavy rains soaked the steep slope above the buildings. Saturated soil and rock gave way and slammed into the little center.
The Topanga Historical Society’s entry for “Topanga Turnout destroyed by floods of 1998” states it clearly. The Turnout became a victim of the El Niño rains of 1998 when a landslide doomed the small shopping center.
Photos from that period show damaged buildings, twisted porches, and ground that has shifted under the structures. The hillside pressed forward and the center never reopened. The buildings came down, leaving a scarred slope above the boulevard.
That is the ground the flying pig now looks out over.
If you lived here during the Topanga Turnout years, you may remember a favorite shop, a regular table at the cafe, or a time you lugged home a bag of feed from Topanga Feed Barn. If you moved here later and only know the pig, this history adds another layer to that curve in the road.
The year the flying pig disappeared
Jump ahead to 2020.
In late summer, regular drivers noticed that something looked wrong. The pole still stood beside the road, but the pig on top was gone.
Local outlet Canyon News reported that the sculpture had been stolen in late August. On October 3, 2020, a new pig appeared on the pole. Once again, artist Chris Budzin built the sculpture and reinstalled it, this time with extra reinforcement so it would be much harder to remove.
The story describes how neighbors reacted while the pig was missing. People called and emailed Dan and Lisa Ward, who own the property, to ask what had happened. Some talked about starting a fundraiser to pay for a replacement. In the end, the Wards worked directly with Budzin and brought back the flying pig that fall.
Lisa has shared that the pig feels like a way to give something back to the community. When their family went through a hard period years before, neighbors stepped up to support them. Letting the pig hang over the boulevard turned into a simple way to send a little joy back to everyone who passes through the canyon.
A concrete pig vanished, and the canyon rallied around it. That says a lot about how much this odd landmark has come to mean.
Why a flying pig fits Topanga so well
So why did this pig catch on the way it did? Why not a hawk or a bear?
Part of the reason sits in Topanga’s long connection to art and counterculture. The canyon has drawn painters, musicians, writers, and builders for decades. Homes and driveways often hold murals, handmade signs, mosaics, and sculptures.
A follow-up essay from the Los Angeles Explorers Guild on the Great Wall of Topanga places the flying pig in a wider group of folk pieces that dot the road. In their view, the canyon hills are full of small, personal projects that give the place its character.
The pig also plays with a phrase you already know. When people say something will happen “when pigs fly,” they usually mean never.
Topanga tends to attract people who push back on that idea. Artists come here to try new work. Families choose the canyon when they want daily life to feel more grounded and personal. Small business owners open shops and studios in spots that would never appear in a chain-store plan.
A pig that actually flies over the main road feels like a shared joke about that choice.
When you look up at it, you might ask yourself a simple question. What in your life once felt as unlikely as a flying pig, and now feels normal?
The New Year’s Day legend
Over time, stories grew around the pig.
One of the most popular is a New Year’s Day ritual. A short video on YouTube, titled “The flying Pink Pig ‘New Years’ Legend of Topanga Canyon”, lays it out. If you see the pink flying pig on New Year’s Day, you will have good luck for the rest of that year.
The narrator calls it a Topanga legend and connects it to the “cool hippies” who have lived in the canyon for a long time. There is no plaque or official record. It lives in the way people talk about the place.
You can picture the scene. It is the first morning of the year. The light is soft. The air feels cool. You round the bend, glance up, and there it is on the pole.
Do you catch yourself making a quiet wish in that moment?
Even if you do not base your choices on luck, this small tradition gives you a reason to start the year with a slow drive through the canyon you love.
An earlier “when pigs fly” story in Topanga
The flying pig on the pole is not the first time pigs with wings showed up in Topanga.
The Topanga Historical Society holds a striking photo from the early 1990s. The picture shows a man named John Fowler inside a biker bar called The Snake Pit, holding up a live pig. On the pig’s back, someone tattooed angel wings.
The caption explains that a biker group, likely the Heathens, sent the pig to a legislator as a protest against a new helmet law. Their message was direct. They said they would follow the law “when pigs fly.” The law still went into effect in 1992, but the image of that pig stayed in local memory.
Topanga-focused writing on canyon history has revisited this story and placed it in the context of rougher biker years, outlaw bars, and a strong independent streak in the community.
This episode has no direct tie to Budzin’s sculpture, yet it shows that the “when pigs fly” image has a long history in the canyon. The same phrase that showed up in a biker bar protest later appears as a concrete pig smiling over commuters.
If you know neighbors who lived through those years, have you heard them talk about The Snake Pit, the Heathens, or that tattooed pig?
One pig or many?
Most people talk about “the flying pig” as if there is only one. In reality, there are several related pigs in Budzin’s body of work.
The Artwork Archive listing explains that he began hanging concrete pigs along the Topanga commuter route around 2010. The page describes them as part of a series of large sculptures that turned the canyon road into an informal gallery.
Photo site Fotospot keeps user photos of the Topanga pig from different years. You can see small changes in paint and detail. The main shape stays the same.
On RoadsideArchitecture.com, older images show the pig in different shades. The page also highlights a similar flying pig in Simi Valley. Both pieces are credited to Budzin.
So the pig you see today may not be the exact same piece of concrete that stood on that pole in 2004 or 2010. It may be a replacement or a repainted version. Either way, the look stays steady. Pink body. White wings. Curly tail. Snout aimed at the sky.
That steady outline keeps the meaning intact, even when the details change.
“When Pigs Fly” in local art and events
The flying pig did not stay only on the roadside. It moved into gallery shows and community events too.
In 2021, Topanga Canyon Gallery opened its new location at 137 S Topanga Canyon Blvd. Its first show in the new space was a group exhibition called “When Pigs Fly.” Topanga New Times described the show as playful and tied it directly to the creative spirit of the canyon.
The following year, Topanga New Times covered Topanga’s first art crawl and noted that the gallery was hosting its second annual “When Pigs Fly” show. The article described it as an all-media group exhibition, with music and food out on the deck under the trees.
The gallery’s social posts, including a short video on Facebook, highlight sculptures, paintings, and other works that play with the flying pig theme.
So the image you see on the pole now appears in invitations, postcards, and gallery walls. It has become shorthand for a certain kind of Topanga creativity.
Have you been to a local show and spotted a pig with wings on a canvas or sculpture? Now you know where that image might trace back to.
What the flying pigs say about life in Topanga
If you are thinking about buying or selling a home in Topanga, you might ask what all of this has to do with real estate.
You cannot live in a sculpture. That part is true. Yet the story behind the flying pigs tells you a lot about what it feels like to live in this canyon.
1. They break up the commute
For many residents, the drive along Topanga Canyon Boulevard is part of daily life. School drop-offs, grocery runs, work commutes, and beach days all happen on the same road.
A pink pig with wings gives that routine a small lift. When you spot it, you know you are moving through a place with its own sense of humor and identity. Sites like Roadtrippers and MapQuest urge visitors to watch for it, but locals feel that nudge every week.
Think about your current routine. Are there small markers that tell you you are almost home? How would it feel to add a flying pig to that list?
2. They show a community that makes room for quirks
Topanga is not a cookie-cutter neighborhood. Houses come in many shapes and ages. Yards hold gardens, sculptures, surfboards, and goats. People build studios in back corners and hang art on fences.
The way residents reacted when the pig disappeared in 2020 speaks volumes. Neighbors reached out to the owners, shared concern, and celebrated when the pig came back to the pole. That kind of response shows a community that cares about its odd details.
If you are thinking about moving here, it helps to ask yourself if you enjoy places where quirks are part of the charm.
3. They give everyone a shared story
Shared stories help people feel connected, even if they do not know each other by name.
The flying pig is one of those stories in Topanga. Parents tell their kids the New Year’s luck legend. Hikers and riders use the pig as a landmark when they give directions. Artists use it as a symbol in their work. Real estate agents, including us at Topanga Properties, often describe homes as “north of the pig” or “ten minutes below the pig” because locals understand exactly what that means.
When you move in and start using those same phrases, you are not just buying a property. You are stepping into a story that the canyon has been telling for years.
Visiting the flying pig
If you want to see the pig for yourself, you do not need a special tour or ticket.
Trip guides like TripHobo, Manta, and Weird California all point to the same general stretch on Topanga Canyon Boulevard. The pig stands on the east side of the road between the 101 and Pacific Coast Highway, near the old Topanga Turnout site.
The easiest plan is to build a simple canyon day around it. You might:
- Start with coffee or breakfast in the village
- Drive the boulevard and watch the hillside for the pig on its pole
- Add a hike in Topanga State Park
- Stop at a gallery or local shop on the way back
If you already live here, you may have a quieter ritual. A quick glance up at the pig when you pass. A wave from kids in the back seat. A small feeling of “I’m back” as you roll by.
What is your flying-pig story?
If you ask ten longtime residents about the flying pigs of Topanga, you will hear ten different versions.
One person will talk about artist Chris Budzin and his concrete sculptures along the road. Another will focus on the New Year’s legend and the YouTube video. Someone else will tell you about the tattooed protest pig from The Snake Pit in the early 1990s. Another will remember the Topanga Turnout shopping center, the Gym for the Mind, the feed store, and the day the hillside slid. Many will bring up the summer when the pig vanished in 2020 and how happy they felt when it came back.
Under all those stories, you can see a few shared themes. People here care about art in daily life. They remember their history. They respond when something they love feels at risk. They are willing to let something as strange as a flying pig stand in for the spirit of their canyon.
Next time you drive along Topanga Canyon Boulevard and see that pink pig with wings above the road, you can ask yourself a simple question.
What does this flying pig mean to you, and how does that shape the way you picture your own life in Topanga?