Lisa's Lookout

What a difference a weekend makes.

The last time I started a hike from Calero's San Vicente entrance, I had the place to myself. Today? The (large) parking lot was nearly filled ... with mountain bikers.

A friend was co-leading a short group hike, which I realized I could extend to develop a better perspective on the area. My last (short) hike was ... uninspiring.

She and I quickly fell behind, stopping frequently to admire the views and snap photos of wildflowers. We have biked past this area countless times and were amazed at the how beautiful it is from the other side (the park's interior). Especially now, while the hills are still green.

Shortly after the group turned back, an approaching mountain biker slowed to let me know there was a snake ahead, on the trail.

First things first: Is a rattlesnake? (No—it was a harmless Pacific gopher snake.) It was in no hurry to cross the trail, busily flicking its tongue and inching along. Another mountain biker thanked me when I signaled that he should stop, and we waited together for the critter to finish crossing.

Water was cascading into Calero Reservoir; having studied some maps, the source might have been the Almaden-Calero Canal.

The trail turned away from the water, and I soon found myself in grassland studded with trees and wildflowers.

One rocky slope boasted an array of California poppies and buttercup, along with Chia sage.

I paused to watch an Acorn woodpecker, high above me, tapping on a long-dead branch.

And of course I stopped to check out Lisa's Lookout. I imagine that an interpretive sign was once mounted on an adjacent (empty) post, likely to educate us about the trail's namesake (Lisa Killough, whose obituary mentions her role in acquiring this land for the park).

I knew this would be a long hike, and as the trail zigged and zagged I wondered if I'd somehow gone astray. How was it that I had a view of Mt. Umunhum? I shouldn't be headed in that direction. I was reassured, though, to see mountain bikers continuing to stream toward me; I knew they were following the same trail, but in the counter-clockwise direction.

Cattle grazed in a meadow carpeted with yellow blossoms ... surely I would see signs of civilization (i.e., the parking lot) soon?

At last! I took an unintentional shortcut at the end, squeezing through tight gaps next to locked gates. [Evidently not the only one to do so.] I'm pretty sure a trail marker pointed me in that direction. Beautiful birdsong rang out from a treetop: a Western Meadowlark (thanks, Merlin!).

I covered about 9 miles, with maybe 1,400 feet of climbing along the way. More than I expected, in so many ways.