The Year That . . .

I stopped working. Abruptly.

I cycled more than 2,200 miles, climbing over 70,000 feet, on 85 rides.

I visited Chico for the first time, to enjoy their Wildflower bike event.

I raised money for Best Buddies and biked in the California Challenge (formerly Hearst Castle Challenge), for the 17th consecutive year. I also raised money and rode in the MS Society's Waves to Wine event (for the first time since 2006).

I contibuted my time to six volunteer opportunities, mostly outdoors.

I completed 41 hikes, trekking more than 200 (mostly hilly) miles in regional (and state) parks and preserves.

I shared so many of these adventures with a widening circle of friends, and honored the memory of two that we lost.

I explored the natural world at a deeper level, becoming an enthusiastic member of the global iNaturalist community.

The year that was . . . 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:

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.

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.