Happy Samhain, all!
I actually brought in the corn a few weeks ago, but didn't get around to a cornographic post until just now.
The thing about keeping seed corn from one year to the next - especially having started with random varieties - is that you never know what you'll get.
Once again, I led one of my expeditions up the San Lorenzo River....
The group meets the river. As usual, click for larger images.
The view ahead.
The thing about hiking in rivers is this: it's easy to trip over a rock, fall down, and get soaked. Staying relatively dry requires great care in locomotion, which makes for slow going.
Alternatively, one can embrace the soak.
I don't think we exceeded this speed limit at any time.
The deep pool at the former Diversion Dam is another of those spots where the swimmers get through a lot faster than the waders.
Still, they'll catch up eventually.
There were a lot of crawdads around, nibbling toes and begging for scraps of tuna sandwiches.
The boulder-strewn rapids are slow going for everyone (except those who cheat by getting out and hopping from dry boulder to dry boulder).
Another embracing-the-soak situation.
Yup, the non-swimming crew is still back there.
More exciting terrain!
Another slog up the rocky rapids.
We had to exercise the full strength of our salmon powers to make our way up this mighty waterfall (click for actual-size image of waterfall).
Another obstacle in our path - but it can't stop the Salmon Hikers!
The Bay Bridge was closed this weekend, but we encountered this Oak Bridge, which appeared to be in good order.
This is practically the last obstacle downstream of the Garden of Eden. Promise!
We finally returned to the carpool point just about 6:00... which, allowing for 2 hours round-trip driving, 15 minutes getting organized, 15 minutes for lunch, and half an hour walking along the railroad tracks, means we must have spent five hours hiking two miles upriver.
It's now evening of the day after, and my legs are finally getting unsore.
Maybe I should do a Samhain hike! ...Aw, but Samhain comes on a Wednesday this year.
OK, so technically this is Saturday, not Friday. The photo, however, is from Thursday morning, when I got out for a quick hike in between rainy days. This averages out to Friday, right?
I did! I did taw a putty tat! Right next to the parking lot at Rancho San Antonio!
Had I been a bit more alert, maybe I would have set the camera to "force flash" mode.
Out with the ZOOG year and in with the ZOOT year! I realize this post is a bit late, but my New Year's Day was busier this year than most.
As usual, I led my 7:45 AM hangover hike. Last year we had exciting weather, with horizontal rain and sleet, and many newly-fallen tree branches obstructing the road back after we were done. This year, we had boring weather: bright, sunny, just a slight breeze, and moderately cold (with only a few patches of frost in evidence).
A view west from the northbound ridge trail in Skyline Ridge OSP shows a fog-filled valley. (As usual, click for a larger image.)
Alpine Pond was un-marred by waterfowl.
The view west from Borel Hill. There's got to be an ocean somewhere under there!
The view east. Can you spot the dirigible hangar hiding in this picture?
I have a tradition, going back a few years, of leading a turkey hunt (strictly catch and release, sorry) at Rancho San Antonio on Thanksgiving morning. There have been turkeys at Rancho for a long time, and they're often out on summer evenings, but they're not generally in evidence on Thanksgiving morning, with all the crowds.
Well, this year we actually saw turkeys!
Yup, real live wild-variety turkeys.
Sorry about the poor light... my camera's built-in flash isn't very powerful. Must have a tritium deficiency.
Mmm... venison. With bay-leaf seasoning. And mushrooms.
I don't seem to have a recipe for woodpecker, though.
This was my first proper hike, with a hill in it, in about three months. We went to the top of the picnic hill, where we had fine views.
Well, I got properly tired, but I also burned off a bit of that excess blood sugar. Now it's time to get some morning exercise... and maybe burn off some of last night's dinner.
I guess everybody is supposed to break a bone as part of growing up... generally on a nice civilized playground close to home, right? And at an early age, when such damage heals quickly?
Well, this past Sunday afternoon, I was out at Arroyo Seco, having a bit of a guided tour of the upper gorge (120 miles from home, maybe 4 miles from the road)....
Nice scenery, as we hiked in along the fire road.
(As usual, click fer bigger.)
OK, so now we're off the fire road, at the end of the trail along the creek, and about to get wet.
Nice creek.
Snake! (But no mushroom, and definitely no badger badger badger.)
As you can see, it was a fine day for a hike/float/swim up the creek there.
Then, without warning, while strolling through ankle-deep rapids, I was attacked by a gang of rocks!
They had me outnumbered! One yanked my feet out from under me, another hit me on the left ring finger, while a third hit me on the right little toe!
The afflicted finger seemed to be moving in directions it shouldn't... before it stiffened up and didn't want to move at all. The toe seemed to be in likewise bad shape.
With considerable assistance, I made it downstream to the trail, where my companions came up with a splint for the finger, which by this time really seemed to need one. Then a 3-mile hike back along the fire road to get back to the car....
Then, back to the Bay Area, and a long evening in the emergency department at Kaiser, being pushed to & from the X-ray department in a wheelchair (c'mon, three miles of fire road, and then they're worried about my ability to walk around the hospital?). Diagnosis: a dislocated finger and a broken toe. Home with a splint, and bandage, and a bottle of narcotic painkillers, most of which seem to be going unused (Monday morning, the pain was in the less-nuisance-than-narcotics category).
Today, off to the sports medicine department. The doctor says I won't be doing any hiking for several weeks. I get a less cumbersome splint for the finger, and nothing for the toe (I think a sandal with the toe-strap loosened will be at least as good as one of those clunky post-op shoes). Maybe I'll try milling a slot in an old sandal, so the toe can dangle unbothered.
I now know that my bones aren't unbreakable. Also that last year's sandals no longer have good tread, and that, for exploring Arroyo Seco, a lower-profile flotation device than an inner tube would be better. Maybe a kickboard, or a smallish air mattress.
Typing is still slow & inaccurate, and that's enough of it for now.
Trivial answer: because manholes are round, duh!
Official answer: because with a round hole and round cover, it's impossible for this to happen:
Theory #1: the cover contracted during the bitter cold of the autumn night (45°F) and fell in.
Theory #2: the hole expanded during the blistering heat of the Indian-summer day (72°F) and allowed the cover to fall in.
Theory #3: somebody tried to put a metric grating on an inch-pattern storm drain.
Theory #4: aliens! Aliens did it!
Theory #5: the opening ceremony for the new Indian restaurant on the next block involved trained elephants; while the elephants were rehearsing their inverse-pyramid formation in this parking lot, the bottom elephant was standing on the storm drain cover.
For years, I'd been vaguely aware of a park, or preserve, or something, over by Santa Cruz and going by the name of Pogonip. Having noticed it again on the Wilder Ranch map, I decided it was time to go check it out.
Turnout was light: I only had five takers, one of whom (Bill) had been to Pogonip a few times, some years earlier.
I'd vaguely planned on parking at or near Harvey West Park, with the Rincon Road turnout off Highway 9 as a backup. As it turned out, Harvey West Park is a good starting point, with a fair amount of on-street parking, and restrooms. It also has a group picnic/BBQ facility, which raises possibilities for hike/BBQ activities.
We headed up the trail...
Woodlands (click for larger images).
This little critter was guarding the upper part of the Lookout Trail, where it goes up to the no-parking turnout.
We were well above the layer of fog which hid the ocean.
A glimpse of the distant clubhouse. We'll be returning to this later.
Looks like there may have been some quarrying going on here, long ago.
This horse trough doesn't get cleaned as often as it might. It does stay full, though.
Think this spring just uphill might have something to do with that?
The most ambitious creek crossing of the trip was the runoff from the spring. (Guess it's called the Spring Trail for a reason.) All the serious creeks had bridges; this one, we had to step across.
A scenic spot in the woods, with a vaguely trail-junctiony look to it, partway up the Spring Box Trail.
We didn't see any springboks, but, thanks to Bill, we took a scenic detour to these goldfish inhabiting what might be a spring box.
Ah! Here, just as we meet up with the Lime Kiln Trail, is the old lime kiln.
There appears to have been some quarrying done just uphill of the kiln.
Looks like some students have been attempting to burn some lime of their own.
Heading down through the woods... we begin the return side of the loop, down the Fern Trail.
Old Tomnoddy, all big body, old Tomnoddy can't catch me...
Shortly after this, we encountered a small, dark-gray snake, but I didn't get a picture of it.
This tennis court has seen better days.
As has the clubhouse.
We can't be lost; there's the city below us!
Roller coaster, anyone?
One of several pleasant little creeks. We didn't have to use the log; there was a nice new bridge.
On returning to our starting point, we noted that Harvey West Park has a public swimming pool (recreational swimming Sat/Sun 1:30~4:30, $3.25). None of us had come prepared for a post-hike swim, but it's an option for the future (as is a dip in the San Lorenzo River, of course, but some people seem to like their swimming holes heated and chlorinated).
I'd already scheduled this hike for Sunday... using the summer version of the writeup (start at 9 instead of 10, and get through the hot, exposed part first thing in the morning). The weather we actually got was quite pleasant, and I could actually have gotten away with a later start time (which probably would have attracted an even larger mob; I had 20 takers as it was).
We set out from Skyline Ridge...
There's Horseshoe Lake, without its usual population of ducks. There were a few coots about.
Christmas trees! Everyone brought your saws? Cut 'em now and avoid the rush!
At the junction where the Ridge Trail branches off from the tree farm road. A huge green fierce snake bars the way! Guess I shoulda brought the little bird.
(Er... make that "a small stripey timid snake.")
"There is a multi-legged creature crawling on your shoulder."
Approaching the trail junction at Long Ridge. Reaching it, we'll turn left, go up the hill, cross Skyline, and then take the Grizzly Flat Trail down through Upper Stevens Creek park.
It seems to be garter snake season.
Here's that creek.
The crossing doesn't look so daunting from this perspective.
It's a lot easier in late summer than in early spring.
Heading up the Stevens Creek Trail, through Monte Bello.
The pond was still full, but no newts were in evidence. Well, you know what they say about no newts....
I'd listed this as an 8-mile hike. Two people were wearing pedometers, and both of them came up with about 10 miles. The map still shows about 8. Whatever... I got plenty of exercise for one day.
Next weekend's activities are still TBD. Have to see what the weather forecast looks like, and how ambitious I'm feeling, around midweek.
OK, having just posted the photos from the last weekend in August, I'll now get completely caught up on hike reports with these from last the first weekend in September.
This was my second scouting trip to Wilder Ranch, just north of Santa Cruz. The first was in October, in somewhat inclement weather, and I learned that the trail that goes past the enclave of "private property" is in fact skirting a dump.
This time, we had fine weather: clear and sunny, but not too warm. Actually, it was fairly breezy.
We started out at the ranch.
On the way up the south side of the Engelsmans Loop, we had some good views.
This ruin doesn't have any informational signs - just "keep off" signs. Guess I could ask at the visitor center, next time I'm out there.
The lurking predator here didn't offer any information.
Another view of the ruin.
After this, we proceeded up the Old Cabin Trail:
Getting into some forest.
Then, down the Eucalyptus Loop (people were getting a bit tired by this time), and back by the Twin Oaks Trail and the last bit of the Wilder Ridge Loop.
And here's a view on the way back down.
By the time we got back to the cars, we'd hiked 7.6 miles according to one person's pedometer. It was also getting quite windy.
There are a couple of more northerly hikes I want to try, while the weather's still conducive to coastal outings. One's something that includes the Encanted Loop, and the other's a 10- or 12-miler that returns along the cliffs saving a long flat (and downwind) stretch for the end, when people are tired.
Yes, just like everyone else this week, I have photos of people wading.
Mine, though, are different. You see, I have this custom: sometime in mid to late summer, I lead an event known as the "salmon hike." We carpool up to Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park, hike down to the river, and then hike 2 miles up the middle of the river. (That's 14 miles in dog years.) This, as Bill Cosby once remarked, is called Fun.
This year, the salmon hike was on August 27. Yeah, it took me a while to get around to developing the pictures.
Having a waterproof camera purchased for just this sort of activity, I can get some good blackmail pictures, while my hapless followers are powerless to retaliate.
So, we drove up to the Rincon Road turnout on Highway 9, hiked a short distance down the fire road to the river, and...
Hey - that's water! Did the hike description say anything about water?
(As usual, click images to enlarge.)
The water was unexpectedly cold. Also, the air temperature was substantially lower at the park than on this side of the hills, or for that matter along Highway 17.
Now we're making some headway...
Last year, this was a deep pool. This year, the top of the water was at about the same level, but the bottom was much higher... must have gotten silted up during the winter storms, and the silt didn't then finish washing down to the ocean.
Regardless, most of the group skipped the "deep" end.
Waiting at the stream junction.
Most of the group went to the right, which is relatively easy apart from the sawgrass and spiders. The left route looks harder on the ankles (but maybe I'll try that way next time).
Another formerly-deep pool, now shallow with silt.
Typical river.
Whoops! That's getting a bit deep. And did someone mention a snake?
Snake!
I didn't realize they could lurk underwater like this.
Not a very big snake.
The view ahead.
A jumble of boulders, with some locals hanging around.
Hmph. They still haven't replaced the hot tub!
Having a little trouble with our inflatable raft, are we?
Back to scrambling over rocks.
Sensible people get out and walk along the shore at this point.
Did I ever claim to be sensible?
There may not be a proper bridge here, but half a wooden bridge has washed down from somewhere, and that's better than nothing.
Wheeee... glub!
It's not really as exciting as it looks; I was holding the camera lens about 2 inches above the surface. Trouble is, while I was doing that, I wasn't minding my footing. The current caught me, and I snapped this while being swept rapidly backwards.
We're here! Hurray!
The group rejoices as we reach our destination.
Look! It's the light at the end of the tunnel!
While at a client site last week, I noticed the address on this box, and snapped a picture with my handy-dandy PDA:
Are creation roads allowed in science-based industrial parks? Perhaps only in Taiwan?
It's amazing the things that spring up unbidden in one's yard. For one thing, I keep finding nightshade plants out back; I didn't plant them, and I somehow don't believe they mutated from my tomatoes. Of course, there are always the seedlings from the street tree, despite seasonal application of pre-emergent weed killer. (I wish the city would get its trees spayed.)
This year, I've got a crop of these:
Did I plant kitten seeds this spring? I don't think so!
I suppose the seeds might have been carried by birds. Swallows, perhaps.
Or perhaps they're from the Antarctic.
("Kittens don't come from the Antarctic! They come from next door!")
Oh, well - I guess they help keep the rodent population down. But then, so would a nest of rattlesnakes.
Once a year, at the end of June (June 25, this year), Tom Morse leads an innertubing expedition at Cache Creek with the Sierra Singles. This stretch of Cache Creek is used by a couple of commercial whitewater rafting / kyaking operations, who have arranged to have the flow cranked up on summer weekends to provide a thrill for the crowds who ride down on the multi-person inflatables.
This also allows for summer fun for freeloaders who show up with their own boats, or, in our case, inner tubes.
After meeting at 7-bloody-20 AM for check-in, we got our stuff together and carpooled up in the general direction of Sacramento, expecting the clouds to break and the temperature to jump as soon as we got over the hills. Nope... when we got to the mini-mart at 505 and 16, the temperature was barely over 70, and we were getting a bit worried about spending 4 hours or so in the creek.
Up to the take-out point, shuffle cars, gear, and people, and on to the put-in point, which is crowded. At least the big commercial operations have their own parking lots downstream, and run shuttles back and forth, so their customers' cars don't fill up the county lot. Pump up tubes, check gear, one last chance to touch up that sunblock, and...
We meet the water. Turns out it's not too cold, after all! The rafting crowd is gathered on the opposite bank.
(Click for a larger image.)
Our fearless leader is a minimalist. He's also the only one using an actual inner tube, i.e., something that was intended to go inside a truck tire, not made for floating on.
And off we go!
Bye!
I must have had the camera tilted... if the water had really been at this angle, I wouldn't have been messing around with the camera.
Whoops! Collision alert!
Watching the disaster unfold.
Kyakers overboard! Two at once... and this wasn't even rough water!
After lunch, we floated on down to a stretch of rapids with a name: "Mother." As is, "I want my mommy!"? What were those rules, again... oh, yes:
As is my custom, I got out and walked around, as did four other people - one before I'd reached the get-out-and-walk point, and the rest of us as a group (and we got a late start on our walk, as one person had tried to walk around on the wrong side, and had to get back, and there was one straggler caught in an eddy upstream). Everybody else floated down.
That's an impressive stretch of water there. Glad I'm not riding it. Oh, and that's our leader starting down for the second time.
Wheeee!
...oops.
Still got a grip on the tube...
...Get back on that horse...
Safe!
By the time the Chicken Patrol reached the post-Mother gathering point, the rest of the group had apparently sailed without us. So, we last four set out by ourselves.
Not long afterward, the current had carried me well ahead of the other three. I slowed down in this calm patch to try to catch sight of them. Wait... what are those dots in the middle?
Yup, there they are, floating through that patch of rapids.
By this time, we're past the take-out points for all the commercial rent-a-raft operations, so, apart from other small groups, we've got the creek to ourselves.
It's a bit far off for photographing, but this family barge has two dogs aboard. Soon afterward, that eager puppy in the bow was out swimming alongside.
One last look back, in the big calm stretch before the take-out point. The last three are back there somewhere....
Actually, it turns out that one of them (a newcomer) had gotten caught in the last patch of overhanging trees, and separated from her tube; as the others rode to her rescue, one of their tubes got punctured, though it was still afloat when they reached the end.
Another adventure completed without serious injuries: a few scrapes, and plenty of bruises from riding over rocks (I'm being rather careful how I sit today), and there was one apparent case of delayed seasickness, but nothing requiring so much as a Band-Aid.
No, I'm not posting photos of my bruises.
This year, I completely avoided being dumped from my tube! (Though one might argue that bypassing Mother was cheating.) I'm learning some of the tricks (this was my third year), and only got into one of the nasty spots where, it seems, everything on the surface gets dragged through a stretch of overhanging trees and then shot through a sideways standing wave (there are several of these).
Later... much later, after a dinner stop in Winters, and the long drive home... I flopped into bed, closed my eyes, and promptly started having flashbacks, complete with sensations of motion. Whooo!
One last bit of aftermath... I've had a new Product Idea! A new sports gadget to sell to those people with way too much money to spend on gadgets! No details here, but maybe next year I'll have a prototype. As it turns out, is has some technical requirements in common with another product idea I've been playing with, so maybe I'll develop the prototypes in tandem.
Actually, I had multiple product ideas. Here's one that isn't for the big-ticket crowd: innertubes with keels! Well, ballast chambers, anyway. Take one perfectly ordinary nylon-sheathed sport tube; add pockets along the bottom; put ballast (e.g., bismuth shot) in the pockets to make the tube float at the desired height for a given degree of inflation and rider weight. This should add stability, as well as helping smaller riders reach the water to paddle.
Tuesday was the Summer Solstice, and the night of the full Moon, and that was a combination I just couldn't resist.
I'd listed the hike in the regular Sierra Singles newsletter, but didn't send out an e-mail reminder, which may partly explain the small turnout. I started with four followers, one of whom (the one in the red shirt, duh!) dropped out partway up... but then a replacement, who'd arrived late, caught up with us at the top.
It was, as always, a long slog up to the top; took me about an hour and a half, including rest breaks. It wasn't, however, hot, and I managed to reach the top without even emptying the first of my two water bottles.
We reached the top as the Sun was setting:
That's another group gathered on the peak; a bunch more of them filtered in later.
It was quite breezy and fairly cool at the top; my followers were bundled up and griping about the cold, and I even considered putting on the sweatshirt I was carrying.
Alas, apart from the chill, the wind also brought clouds. The small puffy pink-lit clouds that scooted over our place of shelter at sunset were cute, but the big cloud bank that piled up on the eastern horizon was no good: it completely hid the Moon.
So, the place of the Moon's rising being thoroughly obscured, we gave up and headed on down the hill.
Nobody in the group felt compelled to use a flashlight this time; there was still a fair amount of twilight, even half an hour after sunset, in addition to all the stray light from the cities below.
This past weekend's big outing was the standard loop at Big Basin - starting from park HQ, and hiking down the Sunset Trail, down along the falls, and back up the Skyline to the Sea Trail. This counterclockwise route avoids hiking up the exposed portion of the Sunset Trail in the heat of the afternoon, and it was quite a warm day.
There wasn't all that much to photograph that I hadn't captured before, but I did have the little trail camera along, just to prove that Berry Creek Falls is still going strong:
There were 15 of us on that hike... and, most of the way, I was at the downhill end of the group (i.e., fastest going downhill, and slowest going uphill). Those were some fairly fast hikers! During the long slog back up after lunch, though, two of them ran out of steam to the point that I wasn't bringing up the rear anymore.
Good scenery, plenty of shade, and about all the exercise I could handle in one day... and, at the end, we stopped at the park store for ice cream bars, to undo some of the effects of all that exercise.
The weekend's hiking started out with a Friday evening hike around Thornewood Open Space Preserve: about 4 miles, much of it technically just outside the preserve boundary, on trails in varying states of maintenance (mudslides, fallen trees, and all manner of fun). Somewhere along the way, I stepped wrong and tweaked my right knee in a way that usually only happens when I've been sitting at my desk for a while and then stand up wrong - on which occasions, taking my weight off it for a couple of hours seems to be the right thing to do. In this case, though, I had about 2 miles of sometimes rough terrain between me and sitting down; this didn't seem to do good things for it.
Saturday, I had one of my Four Preserves hikes scheduled - I lead this about twice a year, typically. Up to Page Mill and Skyline, turn left, park at Skyline Ridge, and loop counterclockwise through Monte Bello, Coal Creek, Russian Ridge, and Skyline Ridge. About 7 miles, with moderate hills. In the morning, my knee was still bothering me, but not enough to call off the hike, nor to wimp out and get somebody else to lead it in my place.
The group having gathered at the appointed time, we headed up to Skyline, and commenced hiking. The trail heading down into Monte Bello turned out to be muddy and slippery (the second day in a row that I maybe should have been wearing my mud boots instead of sandals), but the rest of the route was in good shape.
It was nice hiking weather - overcast, but with clear views in most directions, and not too warm.
As it turned out, the first long uphill slog was just what my knee needed. Not exactly a miracle cure, but it was bothering me a lot less by the top of the hill.
Naturally, I had a camera along on this one.
Click for larger images.
View from partway up that first hill.
OK, so the view to the north wasn't all that clear. I think there's a city in there somewhere.
Ah... clear view all the way out to the ocean!
The hike being over, I proceeded home, and then headed off to what was supposed to be the ERPS annual meeting, to see how many people I still recognized (not having been active in the group for a few years). As it turned out, there wasn't a quorum of officers, so no official meeting took place, though those of us who did turn up had a rather nice backyard BBQ, before attempting to answer the age-old question, "How many rocket scientists does it take to assemble a children's play set?"
Time to process that backlog of photos from the weekend....
Saturday morning, there was a nice low tide, so I'd decided to have a tidepooling expedition (to Pillar Point this time, instead of the main entrance to Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, up at Moss Beach). I dropped it into the main Sierra Singles schedule for May, but didn't announce it on the e-mail list.
Apparently any people who might have been inclined to go weren't looking in the May schedule for April 30th events; I didn't have any takers. I went anyway.
It was a gray day, but fairly warm, and not windy. The tide was well out, as expected.
(Click any photo to see a larger version.)
I headed down the main trail from the parking turnout at Pillar Point. This got me to a rather small patch of rocks, with cormorants perching at the far end.
I'd somehow had the notion that it was possible to stroll from here to the larger patch of rocks north of the point. Heck, maybe it was possible, a few years ago, or when the tide was lower. Anyway, not wishing to backtrack, I just explored the readily accessible area.
Yup, there are some nice tidepools here, all right.
Cormorant standing guard.
More of 'em, out at the far end. Harbor seals in the foreground.
Awww... harbor seals on the rocks.
First starfish of the day.
There were many sea urchins out there.
Also, quite a few great big sea anemones.
A bit further out, the tidepools are paved with bits of shells.
Piddock! This'n doesn't appear to be alive.
Unidentified Feathery Object.
Whale vertebra. Species and position in spinal column unidentified.
Mixed urchins and anemones.
C'mon up!
Ah, that's better!
By this time, the tide was starting to come in.
Clumps and clumps of greenish squidgy things... guess these are small anemones, closed despite being underwater.
This started out as a simple photo of an unidentified red thing down a hole in the rock. On closer examination, the red thing appears to be an anemone of some sort.
After cropping, though... whose eye is this???
Anyway, so much for Saturday at the coast.
Saturday evening, I went to a filksing at Kanef's place - official start time was 4:00, but, being a filksing, it couldn't get properly started until sunset. I noted the transition out of oyster season (Walpurgisnacht has an "r" in it; Bealtaine doesn't; now we're out of oyster season until the next month with an Arrr! in it).
I left the filksing around 10:15 or so, but by that time was rather overcaffeinated, and didn't get to sleep until around midnight, which led me to cancel my annual alarm for 1 May @ 0330, forgetting any notion of watching the Morris dancers out at Concretehenge.
The Morris dancers were apparently successful; by the time I got going in the morning, the Sun was up, and it was looking like quite a nice day. So, off to the repeat of my Easter wldflower hunt at Edgewood!
Yup, the flowers are awake, all right!
When we stopped for lunch at the main picnic area, this rare melanitic pygmy mountain lion was on the prowl, stalking small children.
This was billed as a 4-mile, moderately easy hike. Since it didn't seem to be actually raining, and it seemed like a good time to visit the wildflowers over at Sunol, I decided to go.
The globe lilies were out in force (especialy along the road leading into the park).
As usual, click for larger images.
Chinese houses.
Wind poppy?
Lupines! We're rich!
Ithuriel's spear.
Clover of some sort - I'd been wanting to call it tomcat clover, but it isn't. There seem to be many clovers that look like this.
OK, now this is tomcat clover.
View from near a hilltop.
Hello, food!
At this point, we took an unplanned scenic detour down the wrong side of this ridge, turning the 4-mile hike into something more like 6 or 7 miles.
Now, if we hadn't taken that detour, we wouldn't have seen this red flower!
... nor its family.
Yeah, the wind around here gets so strong sometimes, it'll blow acorns around, and smash 'em into the sides of trees like this... eh? What's that you say? Woodpeckers?
Blue-eyed grass.
Unidentified spikey flower.
The creek sure was full - we've had quite a rainy season, and there was a bit of rain just yesterday. We didn't pass by Little Yosemite to watch the water cascading over the rocks; have to do that next month sometime, maybe on a hot day when the foot-cooling opportunity will be welcome.
What, another 8-mile-or-so hike, with hills, the day after Pinnacles?
Well, yes. Normally I lead the Coe hike on the first weekend day after the vernal equinox. This year, the equinox came in the wee hours of a Sunday morning; alas, no-one bothered to tell the weather, so my March 20th hike had much rain and few wildflowers, and we turned back early.
After seeing the flowers at Pacheco last weekend, I figured this was the right time to try Coe again. I had five takers (two fewer than on the rainy equinox, go figure).
I guess the rest of the world had noticed the fine spring weather; it was overflow-parking time again, adding a bonus mile going from and to the overflow lot. Up on the unprotected ridge, it was cool and windy, but once we got downwind of the ridge it was fine hiking weather.
A fine clear day.
As usual, click for larger images.
One of the other hikers identified this as a female acorn woodpecker.
Yes, it was flower season, though the globe lilies are more of a later-spring flower - we passed a lot of these that weren't open yet.
Apparently this is gilia, not to be confused with blue dicks.
The irises were definitely in season.
Shooting stars, on the other hand, were past their time. There were a few clumps with flowers still on them, but most had gone to seed.
A checker lily.
The first time I encountered clematis, a few years back, I ducked - the foliage looks, at first glance, a bit poison-oaky. The flowers, though, are distinctive.
Ah, and here's the fabled Frog Lake. Many's the time I've passed the Flat Frog Trail, but this was the first time I actually followed it.
We didn't see any frogs, flat or otherwise (maybe they aren't out at midday?), but there were many bluegills and some bass. Something was feeding on near-surface bugs around these plants.
An isolated white blue-eyed grass. If it's an albino, shouldn't it have pink eyes? All the rest of the blue-eyed grass we saw was the usual purplish color.
Fun fact: botanically speaking, owl's clover isn't a clover at all, but a figwort.
Ornithologically, it's not an owl, but a finch.
This hillside appears a bit pigotilled.
About this time, I realized that the chocolate truffles in my pack might attract the unwelcome attentions of a chocolate boar, if there happened to be any around.
One last lonely little fungus. It's amazing how fast things dry out once the spring rains stop.
Blue dicks, not to be confused with gilia.
A nice mini-waterfall on the way up the Fish Trail. I was lagging far behind the group by this point, as the trail was (predictably enough) decidedly uphill, and I'd used up most of my uphill for the weekend going up the first trail Saturday.
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