Gratitude

Oddly, I ended up hiking the same set of trails twice in one week! Clockwise on Monday, counter-clockwise today.

As I waited for my Monday hiking pals at the trailhead, a man hiked out wearing a t-shirt with a message that made me smile:

Grateful

I'm not

Dead

Can't disagree, for sure!

Without a parking lot, cars lined the neighborhood streets. I guess the residents are used to that, because this is clearly a popular trailhead for Almaden Quicksilver County Park—even on a weekday.

We passed a clever bench, but didn't feel a need to rest.

More than 100 years ago, a furnace was built near the Senador mine, used in the process of extracting mercury; the concrete towers still stand.

Our clockwise approach led to good views of the Santa Clara Valley.

I so wanted to walk out on the dam, but our Monday group was eager to keep moving. I was happy to have another opportunity on Sunday; our group conveniently paused nearby, though I was still the outlier—no one else cared to get this perspective on the Guadalupe Reservoir.

Clockwise or counterclockwise, the loop is about 4.8 miles, and not too challenging. I was glad I opted in today, even though I'd hiked the same trails just a few days earlier. Different perspectives, different conversations, and what's not to like about another beautiful fall day?

Trekking Through the Tarweed

Even though I'd already hiked in the Cherry Springs area, I signed up again when a friend was keen to explore it.

The pond was particularly lovely today.

We began our trek up what remains of the road.

The trail, however, had a surprise in store for us.

Passing through the fallen tree was less straightforward than this might appear—it involved a bit of a jump (off some bouncy branches) on the far side. [No hikers were harmed in the process!]

There is some elevation gain on this hike, but the drive up to the pond gave us a head start.

Our guide pointed out “The Rock,” which I'd missed on our first visit. Peeking out beyond the nearby slope and some trees, it does beg for some exploration. Perhaps there will be path to it, one day.

We paused in the shade for a view across the valley. What a privilege it is to be here, in an area that is minimally disturbed. Even so, I found a piece of litter (which of course I picked up and carried out).

There is always something new to learn! Today: woodrat (aka pack rat) nests.

Almost certainly, I've hiked past nests without noticing them—now, I'll keep an eye out! A docent talked about how they're constructed (taking advantage of the terrain, tucked against a rock or a tree). The pups would be sheltered deep within the nest, for protection.

Another question was about the profusion of fall blooms (hayfield tarweed). Why now? Why not during spring, like so many other flowering plants?

Competitive advantage (pollinators).

There is always something new to learn.

Mockingbird Hill

Perhaps it is not unusual that I so often hear mockingbirds when I cruise through Almaden neighborhoods. Seven of us met at an entrance to Almaden Quicksilver County Park that I had not visited until now: Mockingbird Hill. I've often biked past the street that leads to it; I didn't expect such a large parking lot at the trailhead.

Our leader emphasized that we would not be taking the Hacienda Trail. Repeat: We will not be taking the Hacienda Trail. (Evidently it's steep. How steep? I just might have to find out, some other day.)

We made our way to a picnic table in a clearing that looked familiar.

The air was clean and clear, and our route afforded several great vantage points for observing sprawling San José and the Diablo Range across the valley. There were the white domes of Lick Observatory atop Mt. Hamilton; sadly, I have not been up the mountain yet this year. There was a short window of time, between closures for road repairs, when it would have been possible to bike the full distance. I am determined to bike to the top before the weather turns cold, albeit without the lower (closed) section. [Stay tuned.]

Today was a day for hiking, not pedaling. Along the way it's natural for hiking (and conversation) partners to shift around, and I'm enjoying getting to know my pals better. The workout (with views!) was a bonus: 5.5 miles.

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.

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 ...

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.

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.

Turkeys Trot

I set off with a friend (and former colleague) who was game for another hike.

No, that's not us!

Looking for something on the mellow side, with good tree cover on a warm day, I remembered an impromptu choice from last summer—the Zinfandel Trail in the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve. The water level in the Stevens Creek Reservoir was much healthier this year!

We took a bit of an unplanned detour when I steered us left instead of right, but all's well that ends well: We found ourselves flanked by tangled vines of ripening blackberries along the banks of Stevens Creek, and did our part to reduce the spread of this invasive species by plucking and eating an abundance of juicy berries (and their seeds, bwahaha).

To the Tree (and Beyond)

Hiking up (and I do mean UP) the Kennedy Trail on a hot day did not seem like a natural choice, but we gamely followed our leader. The pace was brisk! I guess folks wanted to be done before the day really heated up. [Trust me, it was already hot enough.] I chose to lag behind.

As foretold, I could see the pond at Cherry Springs. And as I trudged along, I realized I had fixed my gaze on slope above the Kennedy Trail, yesterday—wondering, then, at the patches of reddish-brown mixed with green on the hillside.

There had been some chatter before we set out: Would I hike to the trail junction (as I typically do), or to “the tree?” I had no answer for that, not being familiar with the landmark. [Now I am—twinned oaks in the middle of the trail, about three miles up.]

We regrouped in the shade and agreed to continue a little bit farther before turning back, somewhat shy of seven miles when all was said and done. And we were done, indeed.

Cherry Springs

It was a stroke of good fortune that I learned of, and was able to join, today's hike. As we would be visiting a closed area of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve, participation was limited—by reservation only. As the date grew closer and spots remained open, I alerted two cycling friends (who eagerly joined). One, in particular, has biked up the road we'd take to reach our starting point more times than she could count. Having often wondered what lay beyond the locked gate, today we'd all get to explore it!

We carpooled up the hill and began our trek near a pond related to the eponymous spring, which flows perennially.

We learned that a developer had planned to build estate homes on this land over a decade ago, but backed out when the economy soured. Now it's protected: A conservation organization snapped it up when it returned to the market.

Escorted by volunteer docents and one open space district ranger, we learned about the land and (of course) the plants, both native and invasive. [Yes, even here, some invaders have taken root. As I did my best to obliterate some star thistle, I wished I'd added a pair of small clippers to my hiking kit.]

When I mentioned that I planned to hike the Kennedy Trail with some friends tomorrow, one of the docents told me that I would be able see the pond from there.

It was a short loop (about 2 miles)—but exciting to trek in a place where few have gone before us, to be treated to new perspectives in all directions.

Not to mention doing our part to curb the spread of an invasive plant by consuming as many ripe blackberries (and their seeds) as we could tug free, near the pond!

We were reminded that the mission of the open space district is to preserve the land (and thus the health of the ecosystem); their objective is not to make it all available for people to visit, as much as we might like that to be so.

Across the Pond

Yes, I did a moderately strenuous hike yesterday. That's no reason to skip out on my Monday hiking companions!

Well, except for a little problem with my hiking boots. As I approached my car at the end of yesterday's hike, I was dismayed to discover one sole flopping loose. [Hey! These boots are not that old! There is plenty of tread on that Vibram sole!]

A design flaw, perhaps? Rather than being glued in place, the grippy sole was affixed to a rigid plastic undersole by a few plastic pegs—some of which had snapped off. Which meant that, if I were to hike today, it would be in my heavier, cold-weather boots. On a hot day.

So be it.

How many times had I passed the Guadalupe Reservoir, biking along Hicks Road, and wondered what was on the other side? I remember being surprised when I studied a map and realized the hills on the other side were part of Almaden Quicksilver County Park.

I was intrigued when the group settled on a hike in that very section, giving me a new perspective on the dam and Hicks Road. Recalling a crazy guy I'd seen across the reservoir a couple of years ago, I was happy to be part of a group.

We were all happy to be part of a group when we heard a rustling noise, and then a loud crash. A runner who had passed us on the trail turned back to check on us, worried that someone might have been crushed. Somewhere nearby, in the canyon below us, a tree (or large branch) had given way.

I didn't expect we'd hike high enough for a view of Mt. Hamilton—but there you have it!

Six miles on a hot day in heavy boots ... I sure was happy to pull them off when we finished!

Um's the Word

It's mostly shaded, I promised.

Two former teammates gamely joined me for a trek to the top of Mt. Umunhum. On a warm summer Sunday, with the novelty of the place having worn off by now and everyone headed for the beach, I didn't expect parking to be the challenge that it was. Patience paid off, as we waited; not everyone using the Bald Mountain lot was there for a long excursion.

The views from the summit delivered, on such a clear day. I was so busy talking about the history of the place and pointing out familiar valley landmarks that I forgot to snap a few photos at the top. [Ah well, next time.]

Madrones delivered some of that promised shade, too!