April Amblings, Part 2

We explored a section of Santa Teresa County Park that was new to me. Not wanting to stress my injured ankle, but also not wanting to skip the hike, I opted to bypass one section of the route. (5.2 miles was enough, for me.) I also thought that, at my slow pace, I might be reunited with the rest of the group along the way.

That didn't happen. They were still way ahead of me, as it turned out. With a couple of folks training for summer backpacking adventures, the pace would have been uncomfortable for me even if I wasn't focused on studying the spring wildflowers. Or other unexpected discoveries, like a clump of freshly-hatched spiders on some blades of grass.

Next up was a leisurely docent-led tour through the area of Bear Creek Redwoods that had been the site of Alma College (and a private estate, before that). Some newly-opened trails in that area afford a view of Lexington Reservoir, to the east.

The route was so short, though, that I crossed over to the other side of the preserve for more of a challenge, finishing with just under four miles. On the way back, I picked up what was probably an old piece of plastic irrigation pipe alongside the trail, for proper disposal at home.

Dismayed about future outings with my weekly hiking buddies, I headed for a preserve I'd been longing to visit: Coyote Ridge. Curious about what I'd find there, I could spend all the time I wanted. [And I did.]

Having plotted the route in advance, I sought to explore the loop in a counter-clockwise direction (to avoid taxing my ankle climbing a steep hill). After checking in with my butterfly pass, I dutifully swept my boots and followed others up the trail. Clockwise.

The vistas were new, though most of the flowers were familiar.

There was abundant grassland, but occasional meadows were dotted with wildflowers. Woodland tidytips were a bright spot on an otherwise gloomy day.

A ranger was idling in the parking lot when I reached the end of my loop; I hadn't noticed that the preserve would close at 4 p.m. I was able to tack on a quick walk along the Overlook Trail and not be the last visitor to exit.

My last notable hike of the month was a return to the Glenwood Open Space Preserve, this time centered on the eastern section.

The pace was friendlier than my last group hike, as we had unfamiliar terrain to negotiate and I wasn't the only one captivated by the wildflowers.

Looking ahead to my own big adventure a month from now, my focus is on hiking rather than biking. Will I really be ready to hike several (hilly) days in a row? And will my ankle have recovered by then?

Flower Power

Like last year, I volunteered for one of the annual wildflower surveys in Sierra Azul. Unlike last year, we found some wildlife, too ...

I rounded a bend to see the rest of the group bunched up on the trail. We were working in a closed area of the preserve, and sometimes find our way blocked by a fallen tree. I knew we had nearly completed our loop, so I was surprised to hear a staff member ask if we were ready to turn around and hike out.

Our obstacle wasn't a tree. Or a rockslide.

It was a standoff with a large rattlesnake, coiled in the middle of the trail.

So, humans, whatcha gonna do? This is my domain.

The aforementioned staff member gently coaxed the reptile to move off the trail (not without rattling in protest), and we edged our way quickly past.

During our lunch break, we'd had a much friendlier wildlife encounter.

Eschewing the abundant blooms, a variable checkerspot found a volunteer's chocolate-coated granola bar more enticing. To the point that she ultimately set it down, the butterfly being in no hurry to flutter away.

We managed to document 119 species in bloom (finding five more than last year). Most were familiar to me, by now; but some were new. Like this lone irisleaf rush I spotted in a meadow. [Yes, that's flowering.]

Or valley tassels.

Friends have been astonished that anyone could find so many different flowering plants, in one place, over the course of a few hours. Then, on a hike, I'll point out something they've walked right past ... like this tiny subterranean clover plant.

Did I see all 119 species? [No. Eighty, give or take.]

No one overlooks our iconic state flower.

April Amblings, Part 1

Flowers keep popping up in the meadow where a controlled burn was carried out last fall in Sierra Azul.

Speaking of burn zones, we (unexpectedly) found the aftermath of a wildfire on a hike in the Sunol Regional Wilderness Preserve. Following a trail through there was another matter. (When I met a couple of rangers later, I suggested some signage—even temporary—would be helpful. They agreed.)

I was excited that our group agreed to hike here, well outside our regular territory; most of us had biked to the visitor center many times. We knew there was much to explore, and it was fun to get a different perspective on the Calaveras Reservoir.

Our group split, with some choosing an extended route. One person stayed with me (more or less), on a shorter 4.2. mile version. With one weight-bearing misstep, I'd recently injured an ankle. Flexing my foot to walk uphill is painful; I'd babied it on a recent bike ride, but it takes a lot of mindfulness. Same with hiking.

What am I to do? Sit at home? [Nah.]

Point the foot to avoid the flex; basically, walk tip-toe.

Choose a shorter route, with less elevation gain. We'd heard that lots of flowers were blooming in Ed Levin County Park. And they were ... mostly invasives. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. It was a lovely day, though, and another 4.2 mile hike for me.

My next hike rewarded me with a special find: a checker lily in full bloom. Up to that point, I'd only found these plants budding or fruiting.

Lest you think it's all about the flowers, trees can be magical, too!

Unless, well ... stay tuned.