Quicksilver

Today's hike was the reason I didn't linger longer in Monterey. Not only had I signed up for a docent-led history hike, I had suggested it for my former team's hike-of-the-month—and seven people turned up! (Plus one more, for our post-hike lunch.)

Our guide led us on a modest hike, framing his narrative across three periods of human activity. First, that of the native Ohlone people—who dusted themselves with the red ore they dug from a cave. Next came the settlers who recognized that ore for what it is (cinnabar) and what it yields (mercury). Finally, to the modern era: environmental work to clean up the toxic aftermath of the mining and restore the land to a more natural state.

When I moved to this area, I have a vague memory of being advised against hiking in this park on warm summer days, to avoid any latent vapors rising from the soil. True? Maybe not. But it is true that the local waterways are clearly posted with warnings not to eat any of the fish (due to high levels of mercury).

I had not realized that there were structures still standing.

Maybe some things are best left undisturbed? Evidently this rotary furnace was used until 1976, which seems ... recent, even though nearly 50 years have passed. As incongruous as it is, it made sense to build it here to process the ore on site rather than transport the raw material elsewhere. (Unfortunatley with little or no awareness of the ensuing contamination.)

Crushed ore was heated to release mercury vapor, which condensed in the system of pipes to be collected in liquid form. One thing that didn't get discussed today was the health impact on those who worked with these substances.

Trees were felled to feed the furnaces. Large, isolated trees likely marked the former sites of workers' homes. I was intrigued by a blooming plant that seemed both familiar, and yet unfamiliar. It turned out to be Spanish broom (invasive). As we were near the area known as “Spanish Camp,” that made sense: residents must have introduced it.

As we retraced our route along Wood Road, our guide revealed that the meadow we crossed was also the result of human activity: a hill had been leveled for soil to cap the area where the contaminated materials had been moved (location undisclosed and off-limits, within the park).

The hike was short on distance (less than four miles) but long on learning: cultural, historical, and chemical (how mercury is used to extract gold).

Point Lobos

Oddly, I have biked past the Point Lobos State Natural Reserve more often than I have visited. My last visit was in January, 2013. Even in winter, the Reserve was over capacity that Saturday; on our bicycles, we had cruised past the line of vehicles waiting for their chance to enter.

On a weekday, with schools back in session, I was surprised to find a few cars ahead of me. I was even more surprised that I passed three parking areas before I found an open space, which thus anchored my hike.

I headed south along the South Shore Trail, to the Bird Island Overlook. Inland, the sky was blue. Toward the sea: gray.

Of course I stopped to capture this view (without realizing how canonical it is). You can see why.

I spied a red wrapper in the brush, and naturally I could not leave it there. I didn't realize that a gentleman in a motorized chair was watching me. “Thank you,” he said. I smiled. “Of course!” In all, I picked up (and properly disposed of) at least six pieces of trash, including a disposable coffee cup (with its plastic lid!) tucked into a rock seam at the water’s edge. [People ...!]

I hunt litter; birds hunt lunch. The first time I passed this Great Blue Heron (trailside), it caught a lizard. Unbothered by the quiet hiker just a few feet away, the bird was fixated on the ground at its feet. Suddenly it dipped its head, shook its rump back and forth, and plucked the reptile from the brush.

Returning along the same trail, I came upon the bird again. When I saw the same behavior, I knew what was about to happen. This time, it speared an unlucky vole—which it swallowed, whole.

I hiked north to the Cypress Grove Trail, fully circling the grove.

I explored more of Point Lobos today than ever before, meandering slowly on a trek of five miles, give or take.

The hunting heron was the clear highlight of my visit to Point Lobos; the snow globe jelly (Modeeria rotunda) was the highlight of this trip's visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Such wondrous things to behold! Get out there and explore the world.

Asilomar State Beach

Not that I need an excuse to visit the Monterey area, but when I decided to attend an event at the Aquarium I opted to spend a couple of days down there. With a new adventure in mind, I scored a State Parks Pass again at my local library and headed south.

This sign made me chuckle. Wile E. Coyote! At home, it's not unusual for neighbors to report coyote sightings, time and again. [Get over it. They live here. And keep your cats indoors.]

As it was a clear evening, it dawned on me [ha] that I could catch the sunset.

Why not? I was near the beach at Asilomar.

And so the sun set on another day.

Redwoods in the Mist

I was only vaguely aware of the Bear Creek Redwoods Open Space Preserve, still harboring a belief that it was a closed area. And this year it was closed—temporarily—until a few weeks ago. Heavy damage from last winter's storms (to Bear Creek Road, as well as in the Preserve) had finally been addressed.

My friends had hiked here many times in prior years; evidently it's been open to the public since 2019.

I scouted the parking lot last week. My friends had warned me that parking could be an issue, even on a weekday with schools back in session. There were only a couple of vehicles, but it was later in the day. Would we find the lot empty, because people weren't yet aware that the Preserve had re-opened? Or would it be packed with hikers eager for access after months of closure?

As it turned out, we nearly had the place to ourselves. And it was magical, today.

The fog thickenend and swirled around us, the higher we climbed. We followed the Alma Trail to the Redwood Springs Trail, completing a loop of some 5.3 miles. Given the fog, we opted not to extend our route to the Bear Creek Summit.

Save that for next time ...

B is for Bob

The last time I saw Bob, he needled me (as he was wont to do) about retiring. Little did we imagine that the door would close on my professional life four days later, or that he would be gone in less than four months.

Bob had retired before I'd met him, and he was a poster child for early retirement. From my perspective, he was unambiguously making the most of his time on this planet.

It was a fluke that our paths crossed. Back in 2005, I started chatting with three cyclists at a rest stop during the I Care Classic. I'd been tailing them, as we were riding at a similar pace. The very next week, I was surprised to find them at the Foothill Century and we exchanged contact information. Thanks to those encounters, I was drawn into a circle of East Bay cycling friends that included Bob's wife.

In 2011, Bob and Pat persuaded me to join them on one of their frequent European cycling tours. We summited the Stelvio, Gavia, and Mortirolo passes in the Italian Alps, and I was hooked. I would go on to share more adventures with them in Austria, France, Germany, Italy, Liechtenstein, and Switzerland.

Before we gathered to pay tribute to Bob today, a group assembled to honor his memory with a bike ride. (I'll note that the route, intentionally or not, traced the outline of the letter B.)

There was a thread in the stories people told at our celebration of Bob's life: “I'm not sure Bob liked me, but ... ” was the common lead-in to some thoughtful or kind thing that Bob had done. He could be gruff, but ... yes, he liked you.

Bob's brother shared a sentiment that hit home: Your life isn't about how much time you live, it's about how you live your time.

You lived your time well Bob, and you deserved more of it. We miss you.

Rancho San Antonio

As close as it is, I had never hiked in Rancho San Antonio. Many years ago I'd biked through on the road, on group rides, which gave me a limited (distorted) perspective on what the park might have to offer. [Besides too many people.]

Unlike other county parks, admission is free—which likely contributes to its popularity. Even on a weekday, with schools back in session, we carpooled to improve our chances of finding parking spaces. Conveniently bordered by residential neighborhoods, evidently many people will drop in for a quick jog.

Near the little farm area, a curious cycle-mobile was hitched to a bike rack. (Front wheel drive.)

Technically, most of the acreage is the Rancho San Antonio Open Space Preserve, adjacent to the county park; and there's much more of it than I'd imagined.

We climbed high enough to enjoy a view clear across the valley to Moffett Field, San Francisco Bay, and beyond.

Three of us kicked back at a picnic table for more conversation (and, our lunch) after completing our loop. Having traversed more than six miles, I covered a bit more ground stalking and chasing a determined squirrel that expected a handout. Why forage when all those park visitors feed you?

Time to learn that this visitor is not like the others ...

Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park

I've made good use of the county parks pass I bought this year; by removing the friction of paying per visit, I have found myself eager to visit more of our parks. But a state parks pass? I just wouldn't use that often enough to break even.

Yet, I haven't been to a state park in years. We are blessed with so many beautiful places to hike that the price of admission discouraged me.

Then I learned that my library card allows me to borrow a pass that gives me free entry to most California State Parks. What a deal!

I've hiked in the Fall Creek section of Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park several times, but never gave any thought to visiting the main part of the park. Why not, today?

I didn't find an explanation for these carefully-arranged piles of sticks.

The redwood grove, near the visitor center, is the main attraction. One family included a backpack-wearing little girl whose demeanor suggested a scientist/naturalist/park ranger in the making. (Unlike the rest of her peers, who were mostly running around.)

Beyond the old growth trees of the grove, vestiges of logging remind us of what we have lost. Luckily, the CZU fires of 2020 spared this area; I still have not mustered the courage to approach Big Basin.

I made my way to the Observation Deck, where (in addition to the great views) I found a picnic table to enjoy my lunch. This turned out to be an unexpected bird-watching spot: a drinking fountain with a small reservoir of water attracted a robin and a goldfinch while I was there.

The deck offered a clear view in all directions, high enough to see the Pacific (no marine layer, today).

Happy to escape the heat on the other side of the hill, I spent the day meandering slowly along a route I'd mapped out (six miles, more or less). I chose well.

Feel the Bernal

It was warmer than I thought it would be. The first hill was harder than I thought it would be. I will skip the second hill, I thought.

But I've been pedaling too much within my comfort zone, rarely climbing any hills.

I'd cooled down by the time I reached the base of Bernal. [Just ... do it.]

There was the evidence of a recent controlled burn in Santa Teresa County Park, and a slight breeze at the picnic table where I paused to enjoy my snack (in the shade).

I uprooted some invasive star thistle and picked up many pieces of litter. [People. There is a trash can. Right. There.]

Twenty-nine miles and some 1,200 feet of climbing. (I took the flat route home.)

Many Shades of Green

At some point I learned that county residents get free admission to the the Hakone Estate and Gardens, once a month. I marked the dates on my calendar; today, I decided, was the day.

I remember visiting only once before, arriving on the back of a tandem bicycle—maybe 20 years ago. [We walked up the steep driveway.]

Unfortunately it was not a place for quiet contemplation today, with a group of children scampering about. They were mostly interested in the koi, though.

I explored every path, high and low. By the time I made it to the bamboo garden, I had that calm, rustling space mostly to myself.

I was surprised by the towering redwoods on the slopes above the traditional features of a Japanese garden. On a warm day, I appreciated the cool shade they offered.

Invasive species, like bull thistle, are making incursions on the margins. Managing these gardens seems like a daunting endeavor.

I was grateful to be nothing more than an idle visitor.