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!