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!

Comrades, Conversation, and Croissants

Former colleagues and friends proposed that we gather for a comfortable hike; I suggested the Los Gatos Creek Trail. And as ordinary as that might seem, we were surprised to spot turtles and black-crowned night herons in the creek bed! Take nothing for granted, in the Bay Area.

Besides, it was a beautiful day.

Thinking ahead, they'd made lunch reservations—and we were happy to eat (and continue chatting), after ambling close to 4.5 miles.

But what about those croissants? After lunch, we were enticed to visit one more location, for pastries.

What's not to like about any of that?

Three-mile Adventure

Although I've visited the Cherry Springs area of Sierra Azul before, if I have no other plans when the next outing is scheduled, I'm in. Like today.

We started with a little bonus walk through open meadows before moving on to the regular loop. A rafter of turkeys was surprised to see us; a male was strutting his stuff to impress the hens (not the humans).

Along the way we passed a dead tree that was studded with acorns—surely the handiwork (uh, “beakwork?”) of our local acorn woodpeckers.

The first time I did this hike, one of the guys had a curiously large backpack. Larger than anything I'd carry on an all-day hike. He joined us again today; when we reached a section of trail that was blocked, he pulled a hand saw out of that pack. A couple of other hikers were prepared with gloves, and just like that(!) the trail was cleared.

Our group included a couple of teens with their family, and I was impressed that they were just as keen to study the flora and fauna as any of us. As they helped to clear the fallen branches, one was excited when he found a newt. We all got a close look, and the newt got some needed hydration (raindrops from a water bottle) before it was returned to ground level.

Go for a hike! A world of little surprises is there for you to discover.

Spring in Our Steps

The beauty of a place shifts with the seasons; return visits always have something new to offer.

The sky looked threatening, but there was no rain. Even the occasional spot of sunshine!

Signs of spring were popping out, though there were few flowers.

The hills (and trails) are fully exposed in the Sierra Vista Open Space Preserve, making it a popular choice for cool-weather hikes. A spell of dry, warm weather will turn the green grasses to gold, and our attention will shift from fields to forests.

Nine of us hiked 4.6 miles, with yours truly trailing ever behind, chasing flowers. Like this lovely little lupine, sparkling with dew.

Totally worth it.

Waterwheel Creek Trail

Some areas of our local open space preserves are less accessible than others. Preserving the space is the primary goal, and making it available for hikers is not always consistent with that goal.

I've biked up Montebello Road enough times to forget the chained-off, permit-only parking lot I pass near the top. When I found a guided hike up there on MidPen's calendar, I was in.

We didn't see a waterwheel, but perhaps there was one when this area was part of a ranch? We didn't see any water, but a few creeks are shown on maps (feeding down into Stevens Creek).

Our docent explained that we were standing on the North American Plate, gazing across the canyon at a ridge atop the Pacific Plate. [Hello, San Andreas Fault!]

Years ago, some of my colleagues would organize an annual bike ride to watch the sun rise from the top of Black Mountain. Which, of course, entailed climbing Montebello in the dark. Being a slow climber, and not an early bird, I always regretted that I couldn't join them.

Now that I've walked along some of the route that extends from the end of Montebello Road to Black Mountain, I realize that I could manage a good part of it on my road bike. Of course, I'd have to climb Montebello first ... [Still, not for a sunrise.]

Today's hike covered a little more 2.5 miles and opened up a new perspective on the wild lands around me.

Lunch on the Beach

Some of us were eager to break from the usual and explore territory farther afield; we settled on a coastal hike at Wilder Ranch State Park. Knowing this would fill the better part of a day, only five of us were up for it.

There was interest in going the distance to Four Mile Beach; I had a grasp of the best way to map that out, having hiked some of the trails along the bluff just a few months ago.

As if the views aren't spectacular enough, I am always filled with awe to be hiking along the very edge of a continent.

With the beach in sight, our challenge was how to reach it. That trail snaking near the center of the photo looks like the obvious route ... until you discover that it descends rather too steeply. We found a less-treacherous (albeit rocky) alternative, through some brush—but we were comfortable scampering up the steep bit to the main path later.

We'd passed a surfer with her gear (and dog) on the way to the beach; returning, we found her furry friend perched high above the waves, focused on the tiny humans in the water far below.

Two of my hiking buddies braved the trek down to Strawberry Beach, climbing over debris from the winter storms. In the process, my phone slipped out of my pocket; I discovered that almost immediately, due to my photo-snapping habit, and luckily found it. [Important lesson learned.]

As before, there were shorebirds (long-billed curlews, as well as a lone snowy egret).

We were pretty well spent after completing more than eight miles, opting for a direct route back rather than extending our trek through the fern grotto area.

If you were wondering why our lunch spot was called “Four Mile Beach” ... well, do the math.

Springtime Fun with Friends

Intent on framing the landscape just so, I didn't notice the sun's halo (ice crystals) until I looked at the photo, later.

With an experienced trail-running, rock-climbing colleague in town, many of my former teammates turned out for a moderate uphill hike. When they'd chosen St. Joseph's Hill, I'd reassured them that the trails would be reasonably mud-free. Having hiked there not long ago, the route was fresh in my memory.

I started out with a little tip that that the first part of the route would have us going up a pretty steep section, after which any climbs would be gentler. (I didn't want anyone to bail out, imagining that the rest of the hike would be that daunting!)

Eager for a bit more, we finished with a short stretch along the Los Gatos Creek Trail. Consensus was “enough!” when we reached the short (but steep) downhill section—which, of course, we'd have to climb back up. The long ramp across the back of the dam at Lexington Reservoir was a sufficient challenge.

Eleven humans and one charming canine hiked 4.6 miles, all smiles. Bonus discovery: tadpoles in the roadside puddles! A mom and her son were “rescuing” some for their home pond, claiming that the puddles would soon dry out. I don't know about that, but now I know that springtime puddles are worth a closer look!

And Then There Were None

As I was putting breakfast together one morning, I noticed a bird flying back and forth to the little patio table outside my window. The tabletop is packed with plants, and she (a female Dark-eyed Junco) was darting among the pots—carrying bits of grass or leaves.

Peering through the window, I spotted the nest she was constructing. Her male partner was observing from atop the nearby fence.

I backed away, wondering if they'd see me and be spooked.

After she laid her first egg, I had my answer.

I was thrilled to have a front-row seat, and also worried about the neighborhood cats.

The next day a second egg appeared, and one more the day after. I was impressed with the size of the eggs, relative to the size of the bird.

When I returned home later that day, the nest (visibly lined with strands of my hair!) was empty.

I found one of the eggshells under a bush; ants were finishing off whatever the hungry thief had left behind.

Was the culprit a crow? A scrub jay? The nest remained empty, the sad mystery unsolved.

Mostly Mud-Free

Following more rain, where might we hike?

Up a hill!

Word was that the Kennedy Trail would be a suitable choice (and it was).

The sky was gloomy, but our spirits were not: Getting outside is a reliable mood-booster.

Along the way we found a splash of color, including the largest mushroom I'd ever seen (nearly the size of a dinner plate!) and some early spring blooms. I was puzzled: it seemed too early for paintbrushes to bloom, and these were an unexpected hue. Today we learned about something new: Warrior's Plume.

We turned back at the base of the last steep climb; 6.8 miles and more than 1,400 feet of climbing were enough. [For now.]

While the Sun Shines

Make the most of a break in the weather.

A friend suggested an impromptu ride, and off we went!

The roadwork leading to Almaden Reservoir has finally been completed, no more one-lane traffic signal! [Guess I haven't been out there in a while.]

Along the way we merged with two other friends, ventured up alongside Herbert Creek until the pavement petered out, and rounded out the day with a lunch stop. Thirty-three miles, maybe 1,000 feet of climbing, a sandwich and a treat. Bike to eat ...