Oh Oh Henry Coe

Here's a climb I haven't done in a while—up, and up, to Henry Coe State Park.

We met our small group in a surprisingly trendy pocket of Morgan Hill. (I suppose I need to get out more.)

This is a challenging, but unremarkable, climb—which accounts for why I rarely choose to do it. At the top, wilderness stretches farther east than the eye can see.

The parking areas were filled, which seemed surprising for a winter's day. (Well, the vehicle parking areas, that is.)

It's not really wildflower season, yet—but a few early poppies had popped near the visitor center.

There was an empty picnic table, under a tree, which seemed like a perfect spot to enjoy my sandwich. Until I realized why it was empty. Under a tree. (Plastered with bird droppings.)

I'd framed a good shot of some lupines in my mind's eye on the way up. Not wanting to pause, I tried to commit a few landmarks to memory. Would I find them on my way back down?

I wasn't enthused about the return path our leader had plotted; my ride buddy was game to follow the alternate route I suggested. We weren't with “the group,” anyway; paces vary on climbs (and descents). We finished with 28 miles, 3,500 feet of climbing, and tired legs.