Still Blooming

The signs are there: the green hills are fading softly to brown.

The trails in Santa Teresa County Park are exposed and best explored during our cooler months (which will soon be behind us, until late fall).

If you know where to look, there are flowers to be found. (And we do know where to look.)

Clear skies, a perfect spring day to share a challenging hike with friends old and new (7.5 miles, about 1,000 feet of elevation gain). Smiles, all around.

Feathering Nests

I was itching for a long bike ride. A long, slow bike ride, playing amateur naturalist along the way. I didn't intend to visit the rookery; it felt too early to find much activity there.

A great blue heron took flight, skimming across the water, when I stopped to snap a photo.

I was hungry by the time I reached Baylands Park, where I settled at a picnic table near the area where a few guys were flying their model aircraft. A perilous activity, given the wind, I thought. “Not if you're a good pilot,” one remarked.

Shorebirds are a reliable sight along the bayside trail. Pondering the route I'd take back home, visions of a fresh fruit tart clinched it. Onward, then, to the rookery!

Some nests were under construction; a few were well-established and occupied.

Big nests for big birds.

And a big ride for this old bird: 46 miles with about 1,300 feet of elevation gain. Powered, in part, by a luscious fruit tart.

In the Eyes of a Child

I'd never really considered spending an entire day (or close to it) at the Monterey Bay Aquarium—until today.

A good friend had family visitors from afar; thinking they would enjoy it, I invited them to join me.

It's fascinating to experience a familiar place from another's perspective. Years ago, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I'd explored galleries I'd never considered after asking friends what they'd like to see. Today I got a pint-sized view of the Aquarium's exhibits, and a solid appreciation for the play-centric areas where children can climb and slide and manipulate child-friendly features. [Kudos to those who designed the exhibits, including their durability.]

The little ones were too young, perhaps; will they remember anything from this day? [I will.]

Fields, Forest, and Flowers

One of our hiking buddies proposed a walk through an open space preserve that was unfamiliar to me: Glenwood.

It seemed that most of our regular hikers were out of town, leaving me to join two who were well-acquainted with this preserve.

Bisected by a busy road, I was surprised to discover how different the two sections were.

Leaving the sunny (inland) side of the Santa Cruz Mountains, I had also been surprised to ride into the fog as I headed toward the coast. The marine layer, of course, kept us cool (but not too chilled).

One hillside was gloriously covered with lupine and owl's clover in peak bloom. We meandered along more than five miles of trails, and yet left some areas unexplored. (Till next time!)

Up for the Count

Around this time of year, for many years, teams have assembled to survey the wildflowers blooming in particular sections of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve. I was excited to learn that I could sign up to help.

While normally we're admonished to stay on the trails, today we could venture afield (in the name of science). Our group included a ranger, a staff botanist, several additional experts and docents, interns, and a couple of people like me (curious amateurs.)

Equipped with little booklets featuring the top 100 flowers found in prior years (grouped by color), we could often figure out what we were seeing. (Tomcat clover, below.)

While the experts handled formal identifications and kept the official tally (for comparison with prior—and future—years), everyone had their eyes peeled for flowers. That's where I could be most helpful.

The ranger had hiked through the area a few days before and spotted a few rarities; would we find them?

We had paused for a closer look at a plant when something caught my eye. I definitely don't remember the name of every plant I've seen, but I have a good chance of realizing when I'm looking at something I've rarely (or never) seen before. I gently lifted the drooping stalk with the tip of my hiking pole. “What's this?” I asked. “You found it!” exclaimed the ranger. (Drops of gold..)

In the company of experts, I learned (as always) a lot—including the presence of tiny blooms underfoot that I would never have noticed. (Field madder, invasive.)

It turned out that we found 114 flowering species (and no, I didn't manage to see every one—around 65, for me).

Next year ... ?

Sea Otter Classic

For many years I've heard the buzz about a huge cycling festival, the Sea Otter Classic, held annually in the Monterey area. But I was not curious enough to go.

Until this year.

The MS Society would have a booth there to promote their Waves to Wine cycling event, and needed volunteers to help staff it. In return, we'd get a free pass. [Sign me up!]

I donned last year's jersey and brought a cycling friend (captain of the team I joined last year) who is afflicted with multiple sclerosis.

While we waited at the entrance gate, I chatted with a guy wearing a Sea Otter-emblazoned jacket. He'd been attending the festival for 30 or more years and told us that it would draw 74,000 people. [Yikes!] On the weekend, the crowds would be so thick that you would just have to go with the flow of bodies (and bikes).

This being Friday, the vibe was more to my liking. A few families, plenty of room for people to meander or even ride their bikes through the exhibit area.

Mountain bikes, mostly. Which is what I expected, and why I'd never felt drawn to this event.

Never say never ... over the weekend, lots of people would pass the Bike MS booth and learn about the cause. Maybe some would actually sign up to raise money and ride? But, well, the Sea Otter is mostly about mountain biking.

Our booth was part of the giant trade show, with all the major brands represented: bikes, parts, attire, and all sorts of cycling-related gear. Our mission was to catch the attention of passers-by, hoping to persuade some to sign up for Waves to Wine. Which is a job for which I'm not particularly well-suited, empathizing with those who'd quickly turn their gaze elsewhere when they sensed you were about to approach them. I had better luck when I wandered through the sea of booths, handing a flyer to a woman with a road bike who was sporting a Sierra to the Sea jersey.

I managed to engage with a few guys who paused at our booth and seemed intrigued: hailing from Brazil, Italy, and Spain. Which was consistent with the hype I'd heard about this being the world's biggest cycling festival.

I had a little time to wander; enough to find the Bianchi booth and confirm, for a friend, that they are indeed not making an electrified road bike in the size she needs (43). Enough time to know that I would not come back to brave the crowds and explore the full event on Sunday. [Or, probably, ever.]

Trailing Thoughts

I was planning to bike—not hike—today.

But then I was jarred this morning by the unexpected, and very sad news, that a friend's husband had passed away. I was shaken and distracted; when my first, second, and third route plans were thwarted, I decided that the universe was telling me to stay off the bike.

I made a sandwich, traded biking attire for hiking attire, and headed for a suitably challenging trek—one that I imagined he might have enjoyed.

Up the hill I went, at an especially slow pace: stopping often to examine whatever caught my eye.

I discovered a clearing I don't recall noticing before, and perched on a log to enjoy my lunch. (After ensuring there were no hidden snakes sharing the space.)

I had seen a few elusive butterflies fluttering about, which I knew were Sara Orangetips. Some butterflies will linger on a host plant; others, like these, rarely seem to alight for more than a second. I rounded a bend on the trail and suddenly found a slew of them busy with some yellow flowers. With a little patience, and plenty of blurry misses, I was able to get some decent shots.

I'd figured I'd turn back at the trail junction, but stopped short of that when I considered how much time I'd need to hike back down.

Hiking over 7 miles (round-trip) made my body suitably tired and soothed my soul.

It was a day to appreciate the privilege of being here, to see and hear and feel the world around me.

Take nothing for granted: not one single day.

Flowers, Eclipsed

Rancho Cañada del Oro was on a list of sites recommended for wildflower viewing. I've hiked here before, more than once, though I didn't have vivid memories. [I do now!]

A friend who hikes here regularly gave me a valuable tip to reach a bridge that would cross a seasonally-broad stream at the beginning of our 4.3-mile loop.

We startled a small pack of deer.

I was really impressed with the views. A couple of people had shared that this was their favorite place to hike, and I see why.

The trails passed through open fields as well as below tree cover.

We arrived at a comfortable vista point, complete with a picnic table, at the time for peak viewing of the solar eclipse in our area. (If I had tried, I couldn't have planned it better.)

Well outside the area of totality, we could nonetheless see what we could see: a dark, curved chunk (blotting out less than 30%) slowly creeping from right to left across the bottom of the sun.

And the reason we could see that was thanks to one of our regular hikers, whose well-prepared partner supplied us with a bunch of the proper ISO-compliant safety glasses.

Oh, and there were some flowers, too—like these California golden violets, as yellow as the sun (with their own dark spots).

San Andreas Lake

It's a good time of year to cycle along Cañada Road—hills are green, wildflowers are blooming. My chief cycling buddy agreed, and we met up in Portola Valley. The area is teeming with cyclists on weekends, much to the dismay of some residents. It's advisable to be on one's best behavior when pedaling through the tony towns.

Our timing was such that the locally notorious massive peloton whizzed past before we rolled out.

Returning along Cañada, I passed a guy who appeared much stronger than I. Clearly faster, he sat on my wheel for quite some time (rather than passing me, in turn). I don't offer much of a draft, but ... whatever. And sure enough, at some point he finally pulled around and powered away.

We could have extended our route, but we were content to finish after 23 somewhat hilly miles. Neither one of us has been cycling enough, and we need to fix that.

Fresh Flowers

Flowers, flowers ... where are the flowers?

We expected more flowers than we found, but hiking this 4.6 mile loop in the counter-clockwise direction promised a strong finish (flower-wise). We've hiked these trails before, but this time we started from a different trailhead in the southwest corner of Santa Teresa County Park.

Maybe it's a bit early for the flowers? (Despite all the rain we've had.) The California poppies, however, did not disappoint. Distracted by the dazzling blooms, watch your step along the rocky trail!