Across the Pond

Yes, I did a moderately strenuous hike yesterday. That's no reason to skip out on my Monday hiking companions!

Well, except for a little problem with my hiking boots. As I approached my car at the end of yesterday's hike, I was dismayed to discover one sole flopping loose. [Hey! These boots are not that old! There is plenty of tread on that Vibram sole!]

A design flaw, perhaps? Rather than being glued in place, the grippy sole was affixed to a rigid plastic undersole by a few plastic pegs—some of which had snapped off. Which meant that, if I were to hike today, it would be in my heavier, cold-weather boots. On a hot day.

So be it.

How many times had I passed the Guadalupe Reservoir, biking along Hicks Road, and wondered what was on the other side? I remember being surprised when I studied a map and realized the hills on the other side were part of Almaden Quicksilver County Park.

I was intrigued when the group settled on a hike in that very section, giving me a new perspective on the dam and Hicks Road. Recalling a crazy guy I'd seen across the reservoir a couple of years ago, I was happy to be part of a group.

We were all happy to be part of a group when we heard a rustling noise, and then a loud crash. A runner who had passed us on the trail turned back to check on us, worried that someone might have been crushed. Somewhere nearby, in the canyon below us, a tree (or large branch) had given way.

I didn't expect we'd hike high enough for a view of Mt. Hamilton—but there you have it!

Six miles on a hot day in heavy boots ... I sure was happy to pull them off when we finished!

Um's the Word

It's mostly shaded, I promised.

Two former teammates gamely joined me for a trek to the top of Mt. Umunhum. On a warm summer Sunday, with the novelty of the place having worn off by now and everyone headed for the beach, I didn't expect parking to be the challenge that it was. Patience paid off, as we waited; not everyone using the Bald Mountain lot was there for a long excursion.

The views from the summit delivered, on such a clear day. I was so busy talking about the history of the place and pointing out familiar valley landmarks that I forgot to snap a few photos at the top. [Ah well, next time.]

Madrones delivered some of that promised shade, too!

A Thorny Problem

There is no shortage of opportunities to do volunteer work in the Bay Area, and that's probably true wherever you live. I'm not ready to commit myself to a rigid schedule, so I've been looking for suitable one-time events. That also means I can keep an eye on the weather forecast before signing up, and gives me the chance to sample the various organizations that are eager for help. Who knows, maybe someday I'll settle on one and become a regular?

Given how often I swing by the Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch on my bike, it seemed most fitting to join the Friends of Santa Teresa Park for one of their monthly “beautification” days. We started with a short walk to the Santa Teresa Spring, which I'd never explored.

Our hosts shared some of the history of this land, dating back to the native tribes who relied on that spring.

The adjacent pond is infested with pond slider turtles—evidently pets abandoned by their owners. In addition to the three basking on the log, there were plenty more (of various sizes) swimming around. I'd been puzzled on one visit to see two guys arrive with fishing poles, hunting for a supposed fishing hole. Now I now that people have abandoned pet fish there, too—though the docent told us that fishing isn't permitted. I wondered why they don't remove the turtles and fish (but didn't ask; maybe next time).

Before we got started, I recognized an old cycling friend I hadn't seen in years. We were both surprised (and delighted)—but she was there to hike, not work.

We were given a choice of attacking invasive star thistle (prickly) or blackberry vines (thorny); I opted for the latter. We were only expected to cut the vines down to their roots; they were too well-established and entangled in the ceanothus bushes to consider digging them out. Which means this problem will persist, indefinitely. A drainage channel ran alongside the fence where we worked, and one hardy vine had established itself below a grate. I was frustrated that I couldn't pry the (hinged) grate loose and had to settle only for what I could lop off at the surface.

Our hosts made sure we stayed hydrated, and generously shared some apricots fresh off their tree. After wrapping up, I finally toured the historic ranch house and wondered (as always) at how simply people lived. A room for sleeping, a room for cooking, and a parlor.

I regret not taking some before-and-after shots to showcase our work, but rest assured that our hosts were impressed at how much we accomplished. The blackberry crew eradicated every vine in sight and raked all the cuttings into a few piles for county parks staff to collect.

Take a look around and pitch in sometime. If you appreciate open space, know that there is so much more work to be done than the local staff can complete.

A Woodsy Reprise

Having hiked this trail just a few weeks ago, why return so soon?

Volunteer naturalists from the local open space authority would be leading the hike: that's why.

I was glad I mustered enough enthusiasm to show up; there were three naturalists and three hikers. I was looking forward to learning on this outing, but certainly didn't expect one-on-one time.

I think I earned some trail cred early on, when I called out “columbine!”after the group breezed right past it.

We had a slow and casual stroll, stopping often to admire butterflies and identify plants. It became clear, once one of the leaders pointed it out, that invasive plants colonize the disturbed areas (e.g., adjacent to the trail), gradually crowding out the natives.

Elsewhere, the native plants—like this dense patch of (native) deerweed—are better able to stand their ground.

As we returned to the start, one of our naturalists spotted a flower that was new to me—the cardinal catchfly. She shared that it's in the same family as carnations, another surprise. How had we managed to overlook those bright red blooms poking up through the brush?

Well-worth the (admittedly minor) effort it took to join this hike today. Looking forward to more!

Backup Plan

The best laid plans ... sometimes go poof!

Look in the mirror. Don't take the efforts of your fellow hikers so much for granted. Step up. Even though you biked 50+ miles yesterday. (Different muscles.)

My comrades have been hiking all over the Bay Area, regularly, for years. Proposing an alternative that's not already familiar to me felt unwise.

Mt. Um to the rescue!

There would be views, there would be flowers and butterflies and lizards and The Cube.

There would be few people. [All good.]

A little over seven miles and 1,000 feet of elevation gain (give or take), plus good stories shared along the way.

Test Flights

When I saw the size of the chicks last weekend, I knew that prime viewing season would soon draw to a close. When I extended another invitation to ride, I was joined by two cycling friends and a neighbor whose horizons I would broaden.

Along the bay, when we paused to watch a black-necked stilt strutting on the trail we found ourselves in the midst of some sort of avian drama, with three of them swooping over and around us.

Not much water flowing from Stevens Creek to the bay, but the banks were abloom.

Along the way, we had seen cormorants and grebes, swallows and ducks, and (of course) egrets.

My hunch was correct: the fledglings were starting to venture out of the nest, like this little black-crowned night heron.

My mind still boggles that these birds, with such broad wing spans, maneuver through the foliage of sycamore trees to establish their nests.

Somehow there is magic to be found on each visit to the rookery: for the first time, today, seeing fledglings extending and flapping their wings.

Opting for a different route home, my exercise for the day was cycling 53 miles (with something under 1,000 feet of climbing).

Honoring Steve

Today's ride honored the memory of a friend's husband, suddenly and unexpectedly lost earlier this year.

Our easy East Bay route included a stop at a park with a unique playground—designed for children with special needs, featuring play areas inspired by regional landmarks. Imagine a swing designed to accommodate a wheelchair!

There was a strong turnout (43 cyclists), and our leaders were attentive to keeping us safe and on track. Being unfamiliar with the area, I appreciated that (despite having a detailed route to follow).

A celebration of Steve's life followed; the luncheon included his favorite dishes—his family joked that he'd always made the menu selections.

My connection was with Judy, Steve's wife; we'd first met at a cycling event 18 years ago. So many members of their cycling club rose to share stories about how kind and thoughtful he was: graciously sweeping group rides, encouraging riders during their low moments, fixing their bikes.

I recalled a moment that Judy shared with me recently, when she arrived at a cycling event and learned that one of the organizers had forgotten his helmet: She reached into her car and pulled out a spare. “Steve always kept a spare helmet in the car,” she explained.

I can't think of a better way to honor his memory. Be kind. Be helpful.