Showing posts with label hiking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hiking. Show all posts

February 12, 2024

Running Water

Oh so many years ago, when I was new to the Bay Area, a friend and I ventured to Uvas Canyon County Park in search of waterfalls. [We found none.]
That was likely due to clueless timing—we were probably there during the (dry) summer months. I think we turned back, disappointed, after finding a trail blocked by fallen trees.
Some trees adapt.

When our chief hiking instigator suggested the park for today's hike—for the waterfalls—I knew it was a brilliant idea. Surely they'd be flowing, and maybe the trails wouldn't be too muddy.

Indeed! We met a local who assured us our timing was spot-on: Too soon after a storm and the water would be muddy. Today? Splendid!

Our group has often biked into this park, for the challenge of the climb and to linger over our snacks in a such a lovely place. Parking is limited, so advance reservations are required . . . for those arriving in vehicles. [Today, we carpooled.]
Expecting to spend the day in the forest, I was surprised by the occasional view across the valley—even though we did not climb to the highest point in the park.
For a close-up of Upper Basin Falls, I found sure footing and extended my arm to get a clear shot around that boulder.
We spotted several clusters of Convergent Lady Beetles, an unusual (but natural) phenomenon that I'd not witnessed before. Our world is a wondrous place!
Even though this was prime time for waterfall viewing, we had the park nearly to ourselves—a big perk for weekday hiking. Our clockwise loop led us to the biggest waterfalls near the end, covering about five miles and crossing a wide, rocky stream with no mishaps. Hiking poles, for the win!

January 29, 2024

Butterflies, Birds, Bunnies ... Bobcat?

To the west, a clear view of the valley and the southern reaches of San Francisco Bay.
Turn your back on civilization and admire Mt. Hamilton to the east.
With some hope that we might see a bobcat, I'd suggested today's hike to a friend who is also fond of felines. [No promises, of course.]

It was unseasonably warm; I wished I'd chosen a lighter-weight shirt. We followed the same route I'd enjoyed a few weeks ago. Ground squirrels were plentiful, but I was surprised when my hiking buddy spotted a bunny! Moments after it scampered into the brush, she spied a bobcat sauntering down an adjacent trail (away from us, and the lucky bunny).

Birds provided the soundtrack for our trek. Amidst much twittering, one intermittent call stood out—almost like laughter. Merlin Sound ID, for the win: a California Quail. [ha-HA-ha, ha-HA-ha, ha-HA-ha.]

Keep your eyes, ears, and mind open. Always!

January 17, 2024

Water, Always

I'd suggested an easy, post-lunch stroll up the trail alongside Los Gatos Creek, perhaps turning back before reaching Lexington Reservoir. [I should have known better.] No mud today, I'd insisted.

Leaving the cafe, I wondered if I should have opted for a bottle of water that I could have carried with me ... but we weren't going for a real hike. [Were we?]

I didn't start tracking our “hike” until we left the reservoir, expecting we'd make a direct return on the other side of the creek. [Wouldn't we?]

“Let's go up St. Joseph's Hill,” my companion suggested, seeking a real hike after all. [I should have known.]

I'd only been up here once before, and that was ... more than 20 years ago. [Really?!]

The day was clear(ish). Certainly clearer than two days ago. By the time we finished, we'd covered more than eight miles. With hydration, I would have been happier.

Carry water. Always.

January 15, 2024

Clear as Mud

Traversing mostly exposed terrain, we hoped to find mostly-dry trails.
We found enough mucky clay to cake our boots.

Climbing up toward Coyote Peak, we made good use of our trekking poles and were surprised to cross paths with a sure-footed couple using none—especially given that the dad was toting their baby.

When visibility is limited, focus on what's near. Too early in the season for flowers; rocks, moss, mushrooms, mud ... did I mention, mud?

Not that I'm complaining—hiking in a fleece vest over a lightweight woolen top. In January.

Beautiful in its own way, and beautifully quiet. I completed a six mile loop, with 952 feet of elevation gain.

When we finished, I scraped off as much mud as I could. (And was grateful that I'd developed a habit of swapping boots for street shoes before and after my hikes.) My experienced companions assured me that it would be easier to clean my boots right away, at home; that it would, in fact, be a bigger challenge once the mud dried. [Though, lunch came first!]

January 13, 2024

The Hiking Club

An unusual event popped up on a local events calendar: A short hike led by someone from the county parks department, in conjunction with a visit to the local art museum (NUMU) to view an exhibition (The Hiking Club: A Vocabulary of Yearning). The artist (Linda Simmel) and the curator joined us for the hike and would later lead us through the exhibit, piece by piece, answering questions.

Given the advertised duration for the event, I knew the “hike” would be a short one. With rain in the forecast, I thought I might be the only person who would show up—and the hosts might wish I'd stayed home, like everyone else.

Ha! More than 20 people turned out. The group met at the museum and chatted over coffee, tea, and pastries before setting out.

Fittingly for a nature outing, we gathered near a different exhibit featuring embroidered renderings of endangered plants (the lost ones: iterations and murmurs, by Liz Harvey).

Rain didn't fall (nor did people fall) as we made our way along a sometimes-muddy, sometimes-uphill stretch of the Flume Trail before retracing our steps to the museum.

A grumpy old man came barreling down the trail and scowled “You can't block the trail!” Our guide rolled his eyes, and someone in the group quietly chuckled “Oh yes we can” as people politely stepped aside.

Our guide had suggested that we imagine the noise of the freeway as the sound of the ocean, instead; which, oddly enough, sort of works. He encouraged us to take in more of the world around us—advice that would certainly have benefited a certain grumpy old man. Our guide even shared a few magnifying glasses for getting a closer look at small things along the trail. Our group was clearly a mix of art lovers and nature lovers, and I was surprised at how engaged everyone was.

What I didn't expect from this event was to be culturally enriched. The artist focused on the techniques used to create the work, insisting that she doesn't work conceptually. But the people around me were adept at teasing out themes that had seemed hidden to the artist herself.

I wasn't the only one who saw a deeper meaning in The Wood, featuring a colorless, transparent outline of a woman in high heels striding toward, and merging with, a vibrant natural landscape.

A poem by Wendell Berry (The Peace of Wild Things) was placed next to one of the works.

For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

January 8, 2024

Hello Kitty

It's rained, on and off, over the past few weeks. It doesn't take much for the grasses to start popping up, turning the hills green.
The day was clear (and chilly). When we started hiking, I was surprised how many ground squirrels were scampering about. No hawks overhead, missing out on an easy feast.

Our group was busy chatting when a ranger caught our attention. “Shhh,” she waved. “Bobcat!” she whispered.

We stopped in our tracks and saw the skulking feline pass through some scrub, and then were lucky enough to watch it after we rounded a bend.

Indifferent to our presence on the trail above, the cat was hunting the rodents. None were in sight there; maybe they knew enough to hunker down in their holes just then.

The ranger had also alerted us to another creature we'd encounter: photographers were on the hunt, and she asked that we not share where we'd seen the cat. She was irritated with them for venturing off the trails. “Mum's the word,” I nodded.

We crossed paths with two small groups. “What are you photographing?“ I asked. “Bobcats!” they replied. “Oh, good luck!” I smiled.

One had the biggest camera lens I'd ever seen, covered with a camouflage pattern. “How much does that weigh?“ I inquired, thinking I would be loath to hike any distance with such a rig. Not understanding my question, he replied “Twenty thousand.” [As in, dollars. Not what I asked but ... whoa.]

We saw another bobcat before we completed our 4.6-mile trek; odds are that the photographers got the shots they sought (far superior to mine). It was a thrill to watch the cats in action, compared with the fleeting glimpses I've caught over the years.

We chose this hike because the trails are exposed, lots of sunshine (and little mud) on a chilly day. The bobcats were an unexpected bonus.

December 26, 2023

Wilder Ranch

Our hike was well-timed, today: we had a spell of sunshine on the coast.
For me, this was a great opportunity to explore new terrain; unlike my hiking buddy, it was my first visit to Wilder Ranch State Park. It often feels like the entire population of Silicon Valley migrates to Santa Cruz most weekends, making it one of the last places I want to be. And although we've had a tradition of hiking on Christmas Day for a few years, this time we opted for the day after.
Harbor seals hauled out to snooze on a sunny, secluded beach. Two memorable creatures were ones we couldn't see: well-hidden frogs, croaking away, and a burrowing owl (spotted by some birders with binoculars and a camera with a very long lens).
We were aware of warnings about high seas and rogue waves. Water puddling high on a cliff is the ocean's “don't stand here” sign. Had I been more savvy, I could have captured the moment when a young couple got completely drenched by the spray from a big wave that slammed into the wall of rock. The look on their faces ... They were good sports, though; she wrung out her long hair and they kept hiking.

The cormorants were unperturbed on their private perch.

Ah, California! Something is always blooming. As the day's palette filled with shades of gray, the colorful (but sadly, invasive) Cape-Ivy was our sunshine.
I managed to uproot an entire invasive mustard plant, earning “good job!” from an understanding cyclist as he passed. With only a few scattered along the trail, it felt like there's a fair chance of fighting it off.
Retracing our path to the parking lot, we covered a healthy 7.2 miles. A word of thanks to my hiking companion for her indulgence as I snapped so many photos (57 distinct plants and animals and mushrooms, oh my!). Of all, we agreed that the aptly festive Willow Apple Gall Sawfly was the strangest:

December 23, 2023

Nature Lesson

When a friend suggested we hike at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, I hesitated. So soon, again? But this outing (4.4 miles) would be led by docent naturalists and include some terrain I hadn't explored before.

We enjoyed beautiful weather, a break between rain storms. Low clouds dotted the valley, to the east.

When the docents paused next to an impressive mound of sticks, I knew what was coming: a story about the dusky-footed woodrat. This nest was larger than others I've seen; a casual observer might assume it was constructed by a human, or some other mammal certainly larger than a rat.
I've learned so much this year, hiking with docents and engaging with the iNaturalist community. Even though I'd trekked down the Zinfandel Trail just two weeks ago, today I saw things that I'd overlooked. And of course, plants follow their natural cycle throughout the year.

As we hiked down the trail, I spotted some ferns that were freshly sprouting. When I paused to get a photo as we returned, a docent identified it as a Polypody. Taking a closer look, I realized it wasn't a type of fern I'd noticed before (much less, heard of).

That's the thing: To advance from registering “plant,” to “leafy green plant,” to “fern,” to ... Polypody. Yet, there is so much more in this one photo: another leafy plant (California bay laurel) in the background, a bit of mushroom in the lower right corner, and moss carpeting a decaying log.

One step at a time.

December 10, 2023

Just Right

Although we'd hiked just two weeks ago, and my former colleagues weren't expecting to plan a December hike, this date turned out to work well for many of them. Really well. I joined twelve people for a bite-sized hike (4 miles). Several were folks I hadn't seen in many months (or longer).
This hike is not too challenging—neither too long nor too short. The Zinfandel Trail descends gradually toward Stevens Creek, mostly under tree cover, and affords a clear view of the Stevens Creek Reservoir.

When we returned to the historic Picchetti Winery, one of the resident peacocks was perched and preening. [Not something you would expect to encounter on a hike ... unless you've been here before.]

It was a joy to be reunited again! For many years, we were a tight team; some moved on (by choice, or not). Now we hike together, volunteer together: hopefully for many years to come.

November 26, 2023

Revisiting the Redwoods

There were only four of us today, but one had made the trip from San Francisco to trek through the redwood forest with us!
We enjoyed colorful leaves on the valley oaks (and no mist) this time of year.
Someone had a little fun with the sawed end of a fallen tree!

I was surprised when our group was game to extend our planned hike (same loop I'd hiked a few months ago) to continue to the summit. That added quite a bit more uphill (plus 2 miles). We were disappointed not to be rewarded with a scenic view at the top. [Oh well.] Now I know.

I was “rewarded” with blisters on the bottom of both pinky toes. Maybe wool socks aren't the best choice for a long hike?

Daylight was fading and the moon rising as we made our way back to the parking lot. I was surprised when a few people passed us, heading up the trail so late.

We'd made the most of our day (7.4 miles and plenty of good conversation): the gate was closed and the ranger onsite to account for the stragglers.

Those blisters? Totally worth it.

November 12, 2023

Be the Change

I pulled into the parking lot where I would meet my friends, frowning as I passed three large pieces of litter. Well, I would take care of that in short order.

Not wanting to touch the rumpled tshirt, I snagged it with my hiking poles. As I raised the lid on the nearest trash bin, one of the guys who had been loitering near his motorcycle approached with the other two items! I thanked him; he replied “Thank you, it's not even your trash!” I smiled. “I always try to leave a place cleaner than I found it.”

Not having hiked these trails until today, I was surprised to get a glimpse of Monterey Bay (blanketed in fog).

Our trek would have been more peaceful on a weekday, I reckon. It's been years since I've biked up here on a weekend, and now ... I learned that I shouldn't. Sports cars and motorcycles driven by wanna-be racers evidently rule the road, with no enforcement in sight. Roaring engines made it challenging to hear anything else. And I don't think I've seen a discarded beer bottle along a trail—until now.

My companions and beautiful weather made for a good hike (4.7 miles), anyway.

Yes, I carried out (and recycled) that bottle. [But not the Beetle.]

November 10, 2023

San Juan Bautista

I headed south with my chief biking buddy for a non-cycling adventure. Destination: San Juan Bautista.
We took an unplanned detour out Salinas Road and San Juan Grade, having missed the turn for the trailhead we sought for the Juan Bautista De Anza National Historic Trail. My buddy insisted (correctly, it turns out) that we had biked up that road. I had no memory of it, probably because I had been so unnerved by that day's stretch along Crazy Horse Canyon Road. One thing is certain: the road is in no better shape now than it was in 2015.

The trail was popular with local hikers and runners—likely more so now in the cooler weather than the heat of summer, given the lack of tree cover. The hills were golden and the sky was clear.

There were many Gray Buckeyes fluttering about, no doubt searching for some nectar. Very few plants are blooming this late in the season, but there were a couple of fuller's teasels hanging on—and the butterflies found them.
After hiking a little over four miles, we headed into town. We meandered along the main street, but of course no trip here would be complete without a visit to the historic mission. I'll always think of my friend Steve here, who made sure I didn't miss the plaque for El Camino Real back in 2007 when I visited for the first time on a club ride.

New adventures mix with the old, not to be forgotten.

October 17, 2023

Walk and Talk

Are you busy? [No.] Want to go for a walk? [Sure.]

Thus began an impromptu visit to the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve (not a neighborhood stroll).

I've taken in this view from Bald Mountain before, but now I can recognize more than rolling hills and the sprawl of south San Jose: I realized that I could see the Rotary Furnace and nearby structures, below and to the right of the bare rock face in Almaden Quicksilver County Park.
The road to the summit of Mt. Umunhum had been closed when we arrived, but we found it open after our short “hike” and decided to drive up for the view.
I wouldn't have the patience to wait around for the lighting to be “just so,” to catch the afternoon sun briefly turning one narrow ridgeline golden. I just get lucky, sometimes.

There was one more treat in store for us. From the parking lot, we'd walked up the road; to return, we took the stairs. Of all places, we did not expect to meet a snake there!

For the warmth? Best as we could tell, this was a Santa Cruz Gartersnake. (Not dangerous.)

However often you might return to a place, there is always something new to see.

September 24, 2023

Gratitude

Oddly, I ended up hiking the same set of trails twice in one week! Clockwise on Monday, counter-clockwise today.

As I waited for my Monday hiking pals at the trailhead, a man hiked out wearing a t-shirt with a message that made me smile:

Grateful
I'm not
Dead
Can't disagree, for sure!

Without a parking lot, cars lined the neighborhood streets. I guess the residents are used to that, because this is clearly a popular trailhead for Almaden Quicksilver County Park—even on a weekday.

We passed a clever bench, but didn't feel a need to rest.

More than 100 years ago, a furnace was built near the Senador mine, used in the process of extracting mercury; the concrete towers still stand.
Our clockwise approach led to good views of the Santa Clara Valley.
I so wanted to walk out on the dam, but our Monday group was eager to keep moving. I was happy to have another opportunity on Sunday; our group conveniently paused nearby, though I was still the outlier—no one else cared to get this perspective on the Guadalupe Reservoir.
Clockwise or counterclockwise, the loop is about 4.8 miles, and not too challenging. I was glad I opted in today, even though I'd hiked the same trails just a few days earlier. Different perspectives, different conversations, and what's not to like about another beautiful fall day?

September 17, 2023

Trekking Through the Tarweed

Even though I'd already hiked in the Cherry Springs area, I signed up again when a friend was keen to explore it.

The pond was particularly lovely today.

We began our trek up what remains of the road.
The trail, however, had a surprise in store for us.
Passing through the fallen tree was less straightforward than this might appear—it involved a bit of a jump (off some bouncy branches) on the far side. [No hikers were harmed in the process!]
There is some elevation gain on this hike, but the drive up to the pond gave us a head start.
Our guide pointed out “The Rock,” which I'd missed on our first visit. Peeking out beyond the nearby slope and some trees, it does beg for some exploration. Perhaps there will be path to it, one day.
We paused in the shade for a view across the valley. What a privilege it is to be here, in an area that is minimally disturbed. Even so, I found a piece of litter (which of course I picked up and carried out).

There is always something new to learn! Today: woodrat (aka pack rat) nests.

Almost certainly, I've hiked past nests without noticing them—now, I'll keep an eye out! A docent talked about how they're constructed (taking advantage of the terrain, tucked against a rock or a tree). The pups would be sheltered deep within the nest, for protection.

Another question was about the profusion of fall blooms (hayfield tarweed). Why now? Why not during spring, like so many other flowering plants?

Competitive advantage (pollinators).

There is always something new to learn.