Ho Ho Ho

Continuing our tradition of a Christmas Day hike, a friend and I headed for some unfamiliar terrain.

I thought the area would be mostly exposed and thus relatively dry. [Wrong on both counts.]

I'm no longer surprised that we're not the only holiday hikers. Though sadly, two boys were tearing up the slick trails on their shiny new electric bikes. [Sigh.]

I was prepared with a route when my friend suggested that we explore the Heintz Open Space Preserve; I'd mapped out a loop some time ago, but it was too short to be interesting for my regular hiking pals. There is scant information online about this preserve (and the adjoining Santa Rosa Open Space Preserve). Trail markers were nearly non-existent; without GPS, we would have been confused (at best) and likely lost.

There is a curious history to this place, part of a former estate given to the town of Los Gatos. An interpretive sign told the story of the property's miniature railroad before we passed the filled-in tunnel entrance.

Past the loop shown as the end of the Vista Trail, we explored a distinct trail that doesn't appear on maps of the area. Not knowing where that would lead, we turned back after a short distance.

We covered a little over three (muddy) miles for my last planned hike of the year, grateful for my hiking poles and for the generous gift of this land.

Infinite Wonders

Couldn't pass up a chance to join docents leading a hike in a closed section of the Sierra Azul Preserve. Although I've joined other hikes in this area, today we would follow an extended (figure-eight) route.

The meadow was already sprouting green after a recent controlled burn, and a fire break that had been plowed along one edge offered a new vantage point.

Thanks to trail-clearing work, we were able to enjoy a path above a steep canyon. Rocks had since tumbled down, in places; keeping this trail open will likely be an ongoing challenge.

The toyon's red berries provide a festive splash of color this time of year.

And just as I was thinking that there is little to discover as winter approaches, a lovely layered fungus set me straight.

We were happy to be hiking at an elevation high enough to rise above the winter smog in the valley. The clouds had shifted by the time we completed our five-mile route, leaving the pond to mirror blue sky rather than gray.

No better way to spend the day!

While the Sun Shines

With my legs complaining during yesterday's hike, I wasn't sure I would want to hike today, and I certainly wasn't up for the longer route planned. I woke up with a mysterious backache. All I did was ... sleep?

But the thing is, we're about to get hammered with some rainy weather.

Our leader chose the loop I led a few months ago, but in the clockwise direction. We paired off: one friend joined me (barely visible in the photo above), and one joined our leader for the extended version. Something for everyone: the fast hikers on the longer route, and the slowpokes on the shorter edition.

Soon the hills will be green again.

Fall Color

Expecting little color in the landscape this time of year, I was surprised to find something bright—a flower that was new to me.

I had explained to my hiking companions that today's trails are reliable for wildflower viewing in the spring; turned out that the serpentine sunflower is also at home in this soil, later in the year.

Cloud cover was building as the day wore on; there was little wildlife to see, perhaps due to the cool temperature. Cattle grazed nearby, separated from the trail by barbed wire. We were treated to the sight of a nursing calf—not a common thing, for us.

As we circled toward the end of our 4.6 mile loop, we passed through an area busy with birds: acorn woodpeckers, California quail, lesser goldfinches. As we climbed the trail that would return us to the parking area, a large bird swooped overhead toward a tree. I couldn't be sure that it perched, or that I could find it, but my camera zoomed and delivered: a red-shouldered hawk.

The presenters at Raptor Fest yesterday had suggested that the area was popular with local raptors, and here was one—reinforcing the importance of preserving contiguous (or near-contiguous) tracts of wild open space.

Hints of History

Today's hike introduced me to a section of Almaden Quicksilver Park that I had not yet explored.

There are a few odd boulders that pop up around this area. Regrettably, I know nothing about geology. This specimen has an impressive fissure, though it didn't appear likely to split anytime soon.

The skies were clear, thanks to some recent windy weather. The trails gave us views of the Santa Cruz Mountains and Mt. Umunhum to the west, and

eastward across the valley to Mt. Hamilton and the Diablo Range.

Although some folks jumped ahead, the group mostly stayed together.

While it might seem obvious that you shouldn't stray off the trail to explore the crumbling remains of old cabins, warning signs were posted. One included a special note that hantavirus has been found in the park's rodents. That was a warning I'd never encountered, until now; all the more reason to stay clear of old buildings (and always read signs)!

The April Tunnel Trestle still stands, but the years have taken a toll. Without restoration, sections seem likely to collapse. It's an impressive relic, for now.

After hiking six miles I was ready for the sandwich I'd packed. This time of year, the picnic table's well-intentioned pergola cast a shadow on the ground, several feet away. It was surprisingly warm for a November day; four of us made like birds on a fence and perched side-by-side, our backs to the sun.

Now that the mining museum has reopened (though not daily), I should plan a visit. Some rainy day, this winter.

Can't You Read the Signs?

As I pulled on my hiking boots at Bear Creek Redwoods, a couple climbed out of their pickup truck with a small dog. Thinking that dogs weren't welcome at Midpeninsula's open spaces, I was surprised—and figured that I was mistaken.

Yes. And no. (They're welcome at some preserves, but not this one.)

Fog touched the treetops on the hills, but our trail wouldn't climb that high. I was glad when my former teammates suggested this preserve for our hike today; at this time of year, the forest is an especially welcome alternative to the dry hills. One of the guys was hiking with us for the first time ... along with his friendly dog.

Busy chatting, we passed the usual (brown) sign at the trailhead. Do this, don't do that ... Of the many icons and other text on the sign, what caught my eye was the hiker (permitted, of course) and weapons (not allowed). All of us focused on the bright yellow sign, beneath, about mountain lions. I also noticed a temporary sign announcing that the Madrone Knoll trail was closed, but we weren't planning to hike that anyway.

None of us noticed that dogs are, in fact, not permitted. None of the hikers we passed said a word.

But a ranger was lying in wait, his truck tucked into a spot just off the trail. And he was not pleased. Our colleague got a ticket (not a warning) and was sternly told to “leave immediately.” (We were on the return leg, at that point.) The ranger insisted that we had passed 11 “no dogs” signs. [Not really. Paying close attention, we found four or five that we had indeed overlooked; others are likely placed at paths we didn't follow.] Maybe a couple of the small, dog-specfic signs would be more eye-catching if they were, say, black and white?

Lesson learned. Read the signs, always.

Quarrying Biodiversity

I'd been surprised when a friend suggested Saratoga's Quarry Park for a future hike. I've passed it many times, never giving it a closer look. I thought it was just a quirky historic town park.

I had no idea that there we'd find a trailhead for the “Saratoga to the Skyline Trail,” which aligns with the Skyline-to-the-Sea Trail: altogether, 36.6 miles to the Pacific Ocean, per the trail marker.

When my hiking companions charged up the hill at a pace I couldn't sustain, I settled into my own pace. A couple said they often hike here, and others were also familiar with the trail. The sights were new to me, and I was in no hurry.

There were explanatory placards along the way, but I skipped them to avoid falling even farther behind. Even then, one friend turned back to scout for me when they realized I'd been out of sight for a while. They likely assumed I was stopping often to take photos of whatever I fancied, playing amateur naturalist. And although that had not been my intent, that was how my trek turned out once I decided that I couldn't keep up with the group.

Consensus was that an open area with a trail fork to private property was a natural turnaound spot, for a total distance of nearly seven miles, with some 1,200 feet of elevation gain.

Alone with my thoughts, and the sights and sounds of the world around me (Was that a rattlesnake I heard?), I concluded that I'd found my limit. I'm more of a contemplative hiker than an aerobic one, and I need to factor that into future group-hike decisions.

A Trail Less Traveled

Two days ago, I'd introduced a few of my former teammates to an oft-visited section of Almaden Quicksilver County Park that offers a good mix of tree cover, open vistas, and a nice view of the Guadalupe Reservoir. This time of year, I'm less likely to be distracted by the flora and fauna (as the landscape grows ever more dry). We spotted a couple of deer almost immediately, much to everyone's delight.

Most plants bloom during springtime, but I'd learned that some have found an evolutionary edge by having less competition for pollinators in a later season. The hayfield tarweed is in full bloom now, but something else caught my eye that day. A tiny, delicate flower on spindly stems. Had I seen that before? From the blurry photo I managed to capture, I later learned it was a rare plant. One specimen. A veritable needle-in-a-haystack, for me.

And thus it was that I returned today for a closer look (and a better photo, which I won't share here in the best interests of the plant).

To shorten the loop and mix things up a bit, I decided to introduce myself to a different trail. For a while I thought I might not cross paths with other people; the trail seemed less trodden (and narrow).

Woodland skippers were having a (hay)field day with the tarweed; as usual, I was focused on what I could see nearby. When my gaze wandered uphill, I was surprised to find two pairs of eyes focused on me.

With an early start and having shortened the loop from five miles to two, I was done before the day heated up.

And despite having crossed this bridge on so many hikes, I finally noticed that it's a century old!

A Different Plan

We had a plan. The plan was to hike the Mount Umunhum trail to the summit.

Then someone sparked a wildfire near the southern end of the Guadalupe Reservoir a few days ago, in a remote section of Almaden Quicksilver Park, and the road we needed to reach Mt. Umunhum was closed.

The fire was out, but crews remained nearby. With no certainty about when the road would be open, it was time for an alternate plan. Keeping it (relatively) local, the Kennedy trail would offer a similar uphill workout—a bit steeper, but with the same option to turn back whenever we'd had enough.

It wasn't especially warm, but it was humid (for the Bay Area). “Enough” worked out to be the landmark tree-in-the-middle-of-the-trail, giving us about 1,000 feet of climbing and a total distance of about 4.7 miles.

One of these days I'll make it to the junction with the Priest Rock trail again. One of these days.

A Walk in a Park

It's been quite a while since I visited Alum Rock Park—in part, due to storm-related closures. Today's route was similar to the one we trekked in 2022 during my “summer vacation.”

The (open) trails were passable ... though we found some tricky bits where loose soil tumbles onto trails. There will certainly be more sliding when wet weather returns.

Hikers (and cyclists) yield to horses. Always.

There were historic elements of this park that I failed to notice on my last visit. This land has been a public park for quite some time (more than 150 years).

Puzzled by some of the features, one of my fellow hikers explained that the park's mineral springs were an attraction in the park's early days. And as soon as she shared that, I connected a distinct odor of sulphur with those mineral stains.

Zigzagging up the South Rim Trail, we crossed paths with a gentleman who told us (unsolicited) exactly how many more switchbacks we'd traverse before reaching the top. [Five.]

There was little color to be found this far into the dry season. One hopeful California fuchsia, budding and blazing red, stood out.

We covered about 5.7 miles, some laden with heavy packs as they prepare for a multi-day backpacking adventure. [Not I.]

Serendipity

We chose Bear Creek Redwoods for our hike today because it would be cool(er); we also got an early start.

There's really only one loop here; we decided to follow it clockwise today.

And so it was, toward the end of our hike, that we crossed paths with an avid iNaturalist contributor. His unusual camera gear caught the attention of the avid photographer in our group—who normally doesn't join us for these jaunts.

I shared that he'd find quite a few butterflies ahead (like the two pictured above, a painted lady and a Mylitta crescent, feeding on a bull thistle flower).

He, in turn, led us to a plant that none of us would have noticed, otherwise. From the trail, it seemed nothing more than a fading stalk that had already shed its flowers. I wouldn't have given it a second glance.

An orchid enthusiast among us later identified it as a Platanthera transversa.

And I thought I had a keen eye! [Sigh.] And yes, there's a tiny spider at the top. [Bonus points.]

Forest of Nisene Marks

I hadn't hiked in the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park in ... a very long time. [Two decades.] I decided to head toward the coast in the early afternoon, which gave me a little spare time to go exploring before an early evening get-together.

Our redwood forests are almost fully second-growth, having been heavily logged over a century ago.

On my last visit, we explored some trails in the upper section of the park; today I parked near the entrance station and wandered through some of the lower section. My intended route didn't pan out when I couldn't find the continuation of the Terrace trail on the opposite side of Aptos Creek, but I still enjoyed my time in the redwood groves.

Share the Trail

We often visit Almaden Quicksilver County Park. The location is convenient for many of the folks in our group, and we have a couple of reliable, not-too-strenuous hiking loops.

As the hot spell continues, we've roused ourselves for an earlier start (to be done before we bake).

Last week, on our most familiar loop, a hiker ahead of us alerted us to a coyote. A woman behind us was pushing a small dog in a stroller, and we were all concerned for their welfare. Circle the wagons. A few us hung back to form a group with her.

The coyote showed no interest, trotting through the tall grass in search of proper prey.

We hiked a different (longer) loop this week, and a surprise was in store near the end.

An animal merged onto the trail ahead of our group. From a distance, I guessed “coyote” ... it had pointy ears, but didn't have a bushy tail. Then I saw it walk like a cat: bobcat! It stayed on the trail, periodically turning to look at us.

This is a nice trail, why not use it? Those two-legged creatures are keeping their distance. Maybe they're stalking me, but I could easily outrun them.

Revisiting Saratoga Gap

The weather was warm, several key folks from our group were traveling, and it seemed clear there would be no hike today unless I organized one. [So I did.]

How about ... something “new” to this group, outside the regular rotation. Something shady. [Or, mostly so.]

Saratoga Gap! A few months ago, my former teammates introduced me to a loop that could fit the bill today.

Success! Three people came along and enjoyed the route, which was definitely more peaceful on a weekday. Consensus: “Would do again!”

A fairly easy hike, we covered 4.6 miles at a good pace, finishing with plenty of time for everyone to continue on to their afternoon commitments.

When I got home, I was surprised at how sweaty I was. Wait, I know this feeling: it's humid! Remnants of a tropical storm brushed the Bay Area, even delivering a thunderclap and brief downpour. (Luckily, not enough to soak the hiking boots I'd left outside to dry.)

A Shady Canyon

My former teammates and friends were ready for another hike, but apprehensive about the heat. Uvas Canyon came to mind, and when I was able to secure a parking pass we were in!

I'd suggested that we rendezvous at another park along the way, and I would transport the group from there. While I waited, a perky little gopher kept popping up nearby—and I managed to capture a few shots.

I knew we'd have plenty of cool shade.

Summer is nigh, so I was less confident we'd see the park's famous waterfalls.

I didn't tell them about the stream crossing in advance ... but they were intrepid and sure-footed explorers. Some even more than I!

I'd encouraged them to bring lunches, which I'd stashed in a cooler while we hiked. I shared some brownies, others shared strawberries, and we lingered over lunch and conversation longer than we spent hiking the trails.

A good time was had by all!

New Views

An opportunity for early-morning access to the Aquarium on Saturday was a good excuse to spend a long weekend in the Monterey Area. [Not that I need an excuse ...] I invited a couple of friends to join me, and my chief biking buddy was happy to head down early enough on Friday to go exploring.

A little research had turned up an unfamiliar state park: Garrapata. How could I have biked past this park on so many rides down the coast, and not seen it? Well, there's no parking lot (and no admission fee); I studied the map to understand where to park along the roadside and hoped we'd find a spot.

In a word: Wow!

I expected coastal views. I didn't expect brilliant flowers. I'm already looking forward to another visit—next spring, if not sooner.

We didn't complete the loop I'd planned along the coastal bluff, heading back across the highway to explore a bit of the inland canyon instead.

Then we headed for another park, away from the fog and into the sunshine: Garland Ranch Regional Park.

Of the potential hikes I'd mapped out, the waterfall loop beckoned. It was a good challenge, and in the counter-clockwise direction we would reach the waterfall toward the end.

I bet it's impressive when the water is flowing; it was barely a trickle now. But I did spot a flower I'd forgotten having seen before (prettyface). Evidently it caught my eye back then, too!