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 ...

Triple Play

Normally I wouldn't plan to hike three days in a row ... it just worked out that way.

I wasn't sure I'd be up for a third day, and there was rain in the forecast. But ... why not? [Pack a rain jacket, just in case.]

What might I miss (besides the camaraderie)? Even in a familiar place, there is always something new to see. Especially in the rainy season.

The sky was brooding, but we stayed dry. Boots needed another hosing down at home, nonetheless.

We were motivated, as always, to enjoy another day on the trails—and completed our 5-mile loop well before the raindrops would begin to fall.

So glad I didn't stay home!

Hot Water?

With a trail named Agua Caliente, I was left wondering if there are hot springs somewhere in Ed Levin County Park. [Found no references.] Figuratively speaking, we were in hot water when we reached a very mucky stretch of the trail soon after starting out.

One person veered right, into the brush; another veered left, and slipped. I opted for the middle, more or less, and just muddied my boots before pausing to photograph the morass before moving on.

Waiting for the rest of our group to arrive, I had abundant avian company skittering about in the parking lot: noisy Red-winged Blackbirds, Great-tailed Grackles, and Brown-headed Cowbirds. What were they after?

I certainly didn't expect to find a Great Egret hunting along the trail, with long-lens photographers and casual gawkers mere feet away.

Climbing higher, we were afforded a quintessentially Bay Area view: rolling green hills and farm buildings in the foreground, stately homes transitioning to office/industrial sprawl and then marshland along San Francisco Bay, the Santa Cruz Mountains in the distance.

Cattle can be unpredictable, but this animal was more interested in grazing than messing with passing hikers.

I covered 3.6 miles with a few hundred feet of elevation gain, acquiring a new perspective on the region and a park I've biked past dozens of times.

Calero Calls

Joined some former colleagues for a modest hike with an occasional challenging grade (3.8 miles, some 500 feet of elevation gain) in a section of Calero County Park I had not visited before today.

Our trek afforded a clear view of the dam stretching across the reservoir, as well a clear view across the valley to Mount Hamilton and the Diablo Range.

Good timing; the hills were still green and the weather was just right. Our chosen trails traversed open grassland that would be baking hot in a couple of months. Too early for spring flowers, though.

Thanks to a few muddy sections, our charming four-legged companion (Charlie) was destined for a post-hike bath (as were my boots). I think he'd agree it was totally worth it!

Engineers ...

[Not] coming soon to a bike shop near you: An upright handcycle?

But, hang on ... the rider's legs were also spinning!

I'm sorry I didn't stop to chat with the fellow who rolled up on this curious machine, but it's a safe bet it was none other than Stanford's Richard Reis. (The “Full Body Bicycle” placard mounted on the front was my clue.)

A good 20 miles from the university, Dr. Reis clearly gets around. If our paths cross again, I'll ask why he didn't opt for belt-drive instead of chains. (Belts weigh less and need essentially no maintenance.)

In any case, I wouldn't want to cruise downhill on that thing ...