March Meanderings

A fanciful mural near Almaden Lake appeared some time ago (mirrored by another, across the road). Biking past on a cloudy day, I realized conditions were ideal for capturing it without shadows.

I returned to Rancho Cañada del Oro for my first hike of the month, the usual 4.1-mile loop. Expecting a flooded trail crossing, I tried (unsuccessfully) to lead our group on a parallel path. Fortunately, the crossing was passable. Not up for the extended version of the hike, a couple of like-minded souls stayed with me.

A week later, I took advantage of another opportunity for a docent-led, 4.8-mile loop in Sierra Azul. Clear, sunny skies this time!

Skies were overcast when I joined a friend's group for a hike up Mission Peak. Given the conditions (and the lack of a view), I was surprised how many people were snaking their way to the summit. I don't recall crowded trails when I last hiked here (almost 20 years ago!), but that was a different trail. I was carrying a loaded pack then, training for a hiking tour, and likely didn't aim to reach the summit. I do remember sharing the trail with cattle.

I stopped a few feet shy of the summit today, unwilling to join the long queue of people waiting for their turn to cavort for photos with the post at the top. (Whatever.)

A challenging hike for sure, with more than 2,000 feet of elevation gain over 6.5 miles (out and back).

Open space preserves, county parks, city parks ... we are fortunate to have so many places to explore in the Bay Area! When you think of a city park, a wild place like Alum Rock is likely not what you have in mind.

We reveled in the green hills and enjoyed some early wildflowers on our 6-mile, double-loop hike.

In the spirit of giving back, I signed up for a volunteer project removing invasive French broom from some land in Sierra Azul. I wasn't sure whether I could make a meaningful contribution, but the coordinator assured me I would be useful.

Then I met the Weed Wrench. And the oh-so-satisfying sound of thick taproots being wrenched (literally!) from the earth.

This being another closed section of Sierra Azul, it was unknown to me despite the countless times I've cycled past on the road below. A recent project to clear non-native, fire-hazard eucalyptus trees from the property afforded us a clear view of Lexington Reservoir and the ridge beyond.

Unaccustomed to sharing his territory with humans, a tom turkey paid us no heed as he strutted his stuff.

Rainy days have thwarted many plans for me to bike this month, so I was disappointed when my hiking buddies bowed out for the last day of the month. Looking at the forecast, and the weather radar, I reckoned an afternoon hike would be dry. I settled on a loop through familiar terrain in Almaden Quicksilver, a route that's convenient and popular for so many hikers.

I'd never seen those trails so empty.

As I made my way along the usual 4.8-mile loop, there were buttercups and butterflies, deer and quail, a bald eagle and Henderson's shooting stars. I met another hiker as a smattering of raindrops trickled down.

As I headed home, my windshield wipers got busier. I made it into the house just before the deluge ...

February Forays

February started with a 4.3-mile hike in an otherwise closed area of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve, a privilege I rarely skip whenever this turns up on the calendar of docent-led activities.

The forecast wasn't great, but I donned my rain jacket and smiled when a rainbow sliced through some clouds.

Wet weather, this time of year, brings out the newts (and many were sighted). I inadvertently captured a group selfie, trying to get a ground-level close-up. This also had the effect of stopping the newt from moving forward, seemingly transfixed (or puzzled?) by the image on the screen. Are newts self-aware?

We had such a nice day for another hike in Sierra Azul that I convinced a couple of friends to go just a little bit farther uphill (6.7 miles, up and down). Along the way we'd passed a stunning chapparal currant bush in full bloom.

A friend invited me along for a hike on the other side of the Bay, in Coyote Hills Regional Park. This was fresh territory for me, as it's more straightforward to explore the shoreline on the west side of the Bay. Late winter lighting made for some moody reflections.

Our 4.1-mile route was mostly flat (except for the steep bits)!

The domes of Lick Observatory atop Mt. Hamilton were visible above the clouds when we tackled a 5.8-mile loop in a section of Almaden Quicksilver that we visit less frequently.

But it was a visit to the Sierra Vista Open Space Preserve that delivered my favorite image of the month, as the timing and location for the start of our 4.5-mile route deposited us at the edge of the clouds.

Of course, there was some cycling, too; including one special ride to connect with old friends. The guest of honor was a much-loved cycling buddy recovering from some serious health challenges. His t-shirt (“GRUMPA: Like a regular grandpa, only grumpier”) couldn't have suited him less! But it was funny.

January Jaunts

I visited familiar parks in January, sometimes exploring new (to me) trails.

There were some seasonal surprises at Picchetti Ranch, like this lovely fungus that was lit just so.

Our group's usual loop in Almaden Quicksilver afforded a view clear across the valley.

We started our loop through Santa Teresa County Park from the historic ranch (a first for me). I've often watched others hike uphill from there; it's unrelentingly steep for most of the first mile.

It was starkly clear where the edge of suburbia meets the untamed hills.

For our last adventure of the month, we hiked a near figure-eight in Calero County Park.

We passed the Calero Bat Inn (but saw no bats, who were presumably asleep).

It was another picture-perfect day, and we pretty much had the trails to ourselves.

We passed a stone fixture, apparently spring-fed, for thirsty four-legged creatures. (Horses are permitted on these trails).

I'd harbored some doubts about how I'd fare today (longest hike to date, six miles); whenever others paused, I would keep going. Otherwise, I knew I would fall behind.

Good strategy.

Food Rescue

It was time. Time to settle on some way to give back, meaningfully, to the community. It had been a long time since I contributed a significant amount of my free time (50-100 hours per year) as a volunteer.

The catch is, most organizations want people who will commit to a regular schedule. I get it: they need to know that their work will get done. But having spent nearly all of my life tethered to a daily schedule (years of school and many more years of work), I resisted signing up for that. Last year, I volunteered opportunistically. [It wasn't enough.]

I thought about Second Harvest. Having volunteered there many years ago (one time?), and subsequently supported them, I pulled up their calendar of volunteer shifts. [Whoa!] Plenty of opportunities. I picked one.

The scale of the operation was mind-boggling. As a new volunteer, the orientation was a bit overwhelming. Working in a section of a huge warehouse, we would be doing “food rescue.” Checking dates on perishables, discarding spoiled produce, and sorting everything: cans and jars go here, snacks go there, baked goods go here, healthy beverages go there ... on and on. Spoiled produce would be collected to feed farm animals. At the end of our shift, we swept the floors and sanitized our carts and work surfaces.

Second Harvest picks up the food (and other staples, like laundry detergent and paper goods) from retail stores and other sources, and supplies it to local organizations (e.g., community food banks) that distribute it to the people who need it.

I left thoroughly impressed. The work was well-organized. My fellow volunteers were eager and diligent workers. Our impact was huge: sorting through and processing pallets of food that would help hundreds of households. Products that, until a few years ago, would have simply been dumped in landfills.

When I got home, I signed up for my next shift. I can do this.

Looking Back at 2024

Despite some waning enthusiasm for cycling, I managed to pedal more than 2,930 miles and climb some 115,000 feet along the way. More rides (99), more distance, and more elevation gain than I completed in either of the past two years. And I happily reconnected with some of my favorite places to ride.

My annual fundraising adventure involved cycling from Healdsburg to Santa Cruz over the course of three days.

I visited Davis for the first time (to bike, what else?!) and boarded a plane for the first time since The Before Times.

I fit in 58 hikes, mostly with friends, walking more than 262 miles in places new and not, and did my share of citizen science as a member of the iNaturalist community.

I donated 22 hours of my time as a volunteer for various causes. [I can do better.]

A new year starts ... tomorrow.

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!

Great, Not Snowy

When I spied some birds hunting in the shallows, of course I had to stop.

The light reflected off the glistening mud flats might look like snow, but of course it's not. Nor was the egret a snowy (Great, instead).

Before taking wing and perching in a tree on the opposite shore, a great blue heron seemed more focused on preening than hunting.

The day started out cloudy and chilly; I was glad I'd donned a proper cold-weather jacket at the last minute, this morning. But by the time we stopped for lunch, the skies had cleared and we were eager to peel off our outer layers. My thermal capris had become too warm. I'd already swapped my winter-weight gloves for lighter long-fingered gloves; I should have brought a fingerless pair, too.

Such are the challenges of late season cycling in the Bay Area. [Ha.]

A good day to ride some 32 miles, with a touch (~900 feet) of climbing.

Trottin'

“You could walk.” On Tuesday, volunteering to support advance packet pick-up for this year's Turkey Trot, those words came back to me.

A friend had suggested that I join her, but we would quickly be separated as ... I am not a runner. Not to mention the logistics of getting to downtown San Jose with 20,000+ other participants. Early. On Thanksgiving morning.

When I pointed a “virtual” participant to the right table, I remembered that was an option. During a lull on my shift, I signed up.

At home, I mapped out a suitable course—without the benefit of road closures, the Los Gatos Creek Trail would do nicely (to avoid traffic signals). The app recommended by the event organizers worked surprisingly well, announcing my split times at each one-mile mark. I was also glad that I'd decided to carry a second device, as a backup; when I began to worry that the app had stopped running before I'd completed my second mile, I was reassured to see that I'd covered 1.8 miles.

I was striding at an intentional and atypical (for me) aerobic pace. It was a race, after all! I had the luxury of starting whenever I wanted, which was later in the morning when the temperature was closer to 50°F than 35°F. Thinking back to other turkey-day adventures, I was grateful not to be shivering at the top of Mt. Hamilton.

My virtual 5k wasn't a lonely outing: there were plenty of runners, cyclists, and families with kids on scooters out on the trail.

The app congratulated me when I'd crossed the virtual 5k finish line; I had planned well to land in a scenic spot for a photograph. With visions of turkey, gravy, veggies, and cranberries dancing in my head, I slowed to a leisurely pace as I looped back to my starting point (for a total distance approaching five miles). Along the way, I collected three stray plastic bags and one flattened beer can.

Do what you can.

Windswept

I'd gone to sleep last night nearly certain that our Thursday morning bike ride was not likely to happen. A big storm (“bomb cyclone”) is approaching, and although the worst of it would pass north of us, we would get some of it.

But it was dry, and the winds not (yet) as strong or gusty as yesterday. The weather radar images suggested we'd be dry; I donned a water-resistant jacket, just in case.

The wind picked up by the time we finished our coffee stop; somehow it's never a tailwind. Side gusts presented some challenges. My heavy hybrid held steady, but doesn't allow for much in the way of aerodynamic positioning.

The sky was filled with all manner of interesting clouds ... until I turned toward home. The clouds descended to mask the hills in a gray mist, and soon I felt the first pin-prick drops on my face. I was grateful to squeeze in my second 30-mile ride of the week, and to stay (mostly) dry.

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.

Raptor Fest

It was 37°F when I woke up; my neighbors' rooftops were frosted. Perhaps registering for the first session of “Raptor Fest” today wasn't the best idea? [Dress warmly.]

Hosted by the Peninsula Open Space Trust and Santa Clara County Parks, we would be treated to a presentation by a falconer.

Hillside seating ensured clear views for all.

Before the program started, local nature-related organizations had tables to visit. The Wildlife Education & Rehabilitation Center had brought along a few birds. Certainly the closest I've been to a turkey vulture!

When the falconer brought out his first bird, he asked the audience to identify it. A few voices rang out, including the guy sitting next to me: aplomado falcon. [Hmm, you've been here before, I take it?]

The falconer was a skilled entertainer as well as educator, telling stories and readily answering questions. It's not all for show—he's licensed for abatement, and noted that Sunnyvale's pesky crow population has been reduced from about 800 birds to 130 or so. Before releasing his Harris's hawk to fly over the crowd, he noted that if you duck because you're unsettled by the bird flying too low overhead, the bird will react by flying lower. Put a hand up instead, he advised.

We learned that the ears of the Western barn owl are not symmetrically opposite, and that the ring of feathers circling the bird's face also contributes to its sense of hearing.

We heard the last bird on the program before we saw it, a startling cry that sounded like a sea bird to my untrained ear.

We learned that the peregrine falcon's eyesight is so keen that it can see dust particles rising in a thermal updraft. On a hot day, they'll climb higher to reach cooler air.

With so many event calendars to follow, I would have missed this had I not spotted an announcement posted on a county park's sign after a recent hike. It pays to pay attention!

Reflections

Some months ago, my chief biking buddy observed that it had been a long time since we'd biked up Old Santa Cruz Highway. I noted that the road had been closed for quite some time (due to storm damage in multiple locations), but had reopened. (And I've explored it a few times since then.)

Today was our day. Post-summer-beach-traffic congestion. Pre-Christmas-tree-farm congestion. Neither too cold nor too hot. Lexington Reservoir's low water level surprised me; I expect they're preparing for winter rains, and I hope Mother Nature delivers.

Back in the day, it was permissible (and free) to park above the dam; that's been off-limits for many years. The local bike club prefers to start rides further south, where there is ample (and free) parking near the Lexington School, but that cuts out the scenic rolling hills on the east side of the reservoir—the route we chose today.

By now I've pedaled farther (and higher) than all of last year (or the year before that). I'd noticed that my enthusiasm for cycling waned significantly after I completed my recent three-day tour. Is this a trend? Cycling should be fun, not a chore.

We opted to return on the west side of the reservoir, which entails a short stretch on Highway 17 (at the edge of a lane that carries little traffic, leading to the reservoir). A motorist tapped his horn as he passed me, perhaps thinking that I shouldn't be there and didn't know what I was doing? Surprise! It is actually bicycle-legal (and not too scary).

We covered a little under 15 miles and 1,400 feet of elevation gain. But it's really about the camaraderie, not the stats.

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.