By the Bay

Springtime on the shores of Monterey Bay.

It was, however, chilly and very windy.

There were an astonishing number of sea otters cavorting in the surf—more than I'd ever seen in a single visit, including one mom with a pup (out of range without a proper camera).

We were here for a visit to the aquarium, my first since The Before Times. The resident sea otters playfully hammed it up for spectators, and a fish with gilded fins caught my eye in the Kelp Forest tank.

After more visits than I might count, I finally got to touch a bat ray! Tucked into a cozy corner, a loner rose up when disturbed by a guitarfish and swam right within my reach. Smooth and silky!

The rarest privilege was seeing a cluster of eggs that the Giant Pacific Octopus had hung right next to the glass, for all to admire. (At the same time, a sad event—as it signals that the end of her life is drawing near.)

Even so, for me, happiness is a day by the bay.

Saturday Surprises

There is always something new to see, even on the most familiar of routes.

However many times I've biked through this neighborhood, my eyes have likely been drawn to the same sights. Or focused on stop signs, potholes, and intersections. Or lost in thought. [Or all of the above.]

At the far end of my route today, I began to notice ... something. All the houses were painted in varying shades of beige. House after house, for blocks. Only one or two rebels dared to stray from the drab palette.

With that observation in mind, something unusual caught my eye a few miles away, on the return lap. Something that didn't blend in. Tucked behind a mass of trees and shrubs was a (very) pink house. And not just any pink house: A geodesic dome (gray roof, pink walls).

We've had some challenging weather, keeping me off the bike for weeks. [I'll admit it, I'm a fair weather cyclist.] There is also something to be said for not being within reach of falling tree branches (not to mention ... entire trees).

Another giant, squeezed between curb and sidewalk, felled by the fierce winds that knocked out power to tens of thousands of us. [For 32 hours, in my case.]

A bike ride is a reliable mood booster, even when the skies are gray and the route modest (27 miles).

Snatch Some Sunshine

Some of the Monday hiking crew had already made their Pix in the Parks pilgrimmage to this site, and it held no appeal for my companion last Friday. Could I squeeze in a quick visit after this morning's showers? The forecast for the next week or so is ... [wait for it]: Rain.

This is not the bench you're looking for.

Although a longer hike would be possible, I had time for the recommended 2-mile loop (easy, save for the mud). How many times have I biked past the Rancho San Vicente area of Calero without so much as a glance? I need not have worried about whether I'd find a parking space; apart from two guys wrapping up their trail work for the day (and lots of startled ground squirrels), the acreage was mine, all mine.

The ridgetop to the east is still dusted with snow, and more is promised. It's not uncommon to see white summits once or twice each winter; it is uncommon for the snow to stick around for weeks.

We get to enjoy this land because it was purchased to save it from being developed. The nearby mansions are a vivid reminder of what might have been (artfully framed out of my photos).

With most of the hike traversing rolling green meadows, I was surprised to round a bend into a rocky landscape. There is history here, adjoining the quicksilver mines at New Almaden.

Now it's just a place that happy hikers can share on a whim with the local flora and fauna.

As I returned to the start, the afternoon sun graciously illuminated the blades of the Aermotor across the road. [Which, of course, I could not resist.]

Higher Up

The trail continues ... over there.

I was lured out for a Friday afternoon hike of uncertain length, mostly in the Rancho Cañada Del Oro Open Space Preserve. [Nearly 8 miles, with more than 1,200 feet of elevation gain, in all.]

We've been having some unusual weather, of late. Poppies in the foreground, snow-dusted ridge in the distance. [In the Bay Area?!]

Here's a closer look, which I captured a week ago. Snowfall at the top of Mt. Hamilton reportedly measured two feet.

When I paused to consider whether this vista was photo-worthy, I hadn't yet noticed the 22 degree halo. [It sealed the deal.]

It often seemed that our next vantage point was impossibly far ahead, but we kept trudging forward. Looking back, the ground we'd already traversed also seemed so far away. How fortunate we are to have these meadows and hills preserved, for all to enjoy.

Not to worry about the mud caked on our boots; my hiking companion helpfully reminded me that crossing the stream (again) would take care of that.

And so it did. [Stayed safe and dry, both times. Whew.]

Buffleheads and Shovelers

I thought today's hike would be all about collecting another Pix in the Parks photo. [In the company of friends, again.] I should have brought my binoculars!

The recommended route was much too short, so we started out by heading in the opposite direction before looping back to pose at the photo-op site—covering nearly 8 miles before we were done.

Most of us have biked the road that bisects the park, climbing to the top of Mt. Hamilton. Clouds appeared to stream from Lick Observatory in the distance.

Today's hike covered an area that was new to most (all?) of us. Up and down we went, admiring the bare trees festooned with mistletoe and hanging moss.

After spotting Northern Shovelers on Grant Lake, we trudged (somewhat reluctantly) up a steep hill. There we found a secluded little unnamed lake and were fascinated by three Buffleheads repeatedly diving completely below the surface (and staying underwater for a surprisingly long time).

Alas, no good photos of the waterfowl. [Note to self: Hike with a real camera.] It was a treat to have a birder in our midst, identifying two handsome birds that were completely new to me.

We'll have to settle for a picture of this old bird instead.

Synchronicity

With the rainy forecast for this week in mind, I thought I would tackle some yard work this afternoon.

But, wait ... the thermometer registered 67°F. A shift in the weather promises strong winds on Tuesday. Bike today, rake tomorrow. [Well, technically, Tuesday.]

The hens at Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch were scratching determinedly at the edge of their pen. Plotting an escape, perhaps? They wouldn't survive one night outside. [Coyotes.]

The girls were not the least bit interested in me until I crouched down to their level and experimented with getting close for a photo. Were they curious about my phone, or drawn to the scent of an orange on my fingertips?

I'd rolled out at no particular time, heading for my default low-stress 27-mile route. [Ow.] I clearly haven't been getting enough saddle time. [Ow.] After yesterday's ride, my tender parts were ... tender. [Ow.]

And so it happened that, at the moment I was lumbering up a small hill and a runner was heading down on the adjacent sidewalk, we both did a double-take. Hold on, don't I know you?

The runner happened to be the person who had been my boss—for the longest continuous stretch (years)—until the team reorganized during an extended break I took last summer. When I'd shared, then, that I was “test-driving” retirement, he had been quick to respond. “I don't want you to leave, but I will support whatever you decide. And you will always have a home here.” Neither of us imagined that this would be out of his hands; at the company we had joined, it would not have been.

The company we'd joined was brimming with talent, including some of the best and the brightest I'd worked with at every prior job I'd had. And then, I worked with so many more! When asked what I liked most about my workplace, my answer was always quick: My colleagues. We were the keys to the company's success, and that's why I'd stayed.

For a few lucky minutes this afternoon, we were together again.

Sunny Smiles

Four friends joined me for a relaxed jaunt on a familiar route.

In no hurry, we kept an eye on one another, happy to chat and take in the sights. An impromptu photo stop led to the discovery of a short trail which afforded a closer view of the still-muddy Chesbro Reservoir (nearly 89% full!).

Coyote Creek looked more like a lake than a creek, in places; we spotted a couple of Great Blue Herons hunting in the reeds, and a trio of deer grazing in a field. Also more than the usual complement of diabolical ground squirrels—which fortunately heeded my well-practiced hiss and fled away from us. Tsssss!

Trail-averse as I tend to be, I do enjoy the lower reaches of the Coyote Creek Trail. Traversing wide-open space, with little traffic (cyclists, mostly). And if that's not enough to brighten your day, surely the grins on the faces of approaching cyclists will!

Although we'd hoped for a few more miles on the trail, we were not surprised to find the last stretch blocked. Even though we haven't seen significant rain for a while, there is so much water still flowing—enough to flood one usual section.

We finished our 39 miles (with ~1,000 feet of climbing) while the sky was still mostly blue, especially grateful to enjoy this route without the traditional headwind—and in the company of good friends.