Hello Kitty

It's rained, on and off, over the past few weeks. It doesn't take much for the grasses to start popping up, turning the hills green.

The day was clear (and chilly). When we started hiking, I was surprised how many ground squirrels were scampering about. No hawks overhead, missing out on an easy feast.

Our group was busy chatting when a ranger caught our attention. “Shhh,” she waved. “Bobcat!” she whispered.

We stopped in our tracks and saw the skulking feline pass through some scrub, and then were lucky enough to watch it after we rounded a bend.

Indifferent to our presence on the trail above, the cat was hunting the rodents. None were in sight there; maybe they knew enough to hunker down in their holes just then.

The ranger had also alerted us to another creature we'd encounter: photographers were on the hunt, and she asked that we not share where we'd seen the cat. She was irritated with them for venturing off the trails. “Mum's the word,” I nodded.

We crossed paths with two small groups. “What are you photographing?“ I asked. “Bobcats!” they replied. “Oh, good luck!” I smiled.

One had the biggest camera lens I'd ever seen, covered with a camouflage pattern. “How much does that weigh?“ I inquired, thinking I would be loath to hike any distance with such a rig. Not understanding my question, he replied “Twenty thousand.” [As in, dollars. Not what I asked but ... whoa.]

We saw another bobcat before we completed our 4.6-mile trek; odds are that the photographers got the shots they sought (far superior to mine). It was a thrill to watch the cats in action, compared with the fleeting glimpses I've caught over the years.

We chose this hike because the trails are exposed, lots of sunshine (and little mud) on a chilly day. The bobcats were an unexpected bonus.

Plenty of Sunshine

My last rose of the season:

My cycling pals are hardy souls, undaunted by the morning chill. I have the right winter gear; but left to my own devices, I would have opted for an early-afternoon ride.

I explored a detour to avoid an underpass on the Los Gatos Creek Trail that always made me nervous; last time I rode there, two cyclists came barreling down the other side (around a blind corner), just as I'd always feared. Survey says: The detour is worth it.

Our intrepid leader meandered through some neighborhoods I'd never visited before now (and others that were all too familiar, part of my former bike-to-work route). Amazingly, there is a house that is still under construction on one of those streets—for more than 11 years. (Google's Streetview images show it was likely early 2011 when the previous structure burned, and construction was underway in 2013.)

After lingering over our coffees and tea at the end of the ride, I tried a different route home (suggested by one of our group). Too. Much. Traffic. Won't try that one again.

Thirty-one miles for the day, and my first camellia bloom of the season:

My, oh, my, what a wonderful day!

Happy New Year?

One clear sign of New Year's Resolutions: Unfamiliar faces out for a jog.

As for me, well, January 1st seemed like a splendid day for a bike ride—once it warmed up.

Circling back, my plan was to include a short stretch of trail alongside Almaden Lake.

Surprise! The park was closed and gated off, which explained why I'd noticed the trail was empty on my outbound pass. It seemed a shame for such a popular park to be off-limits on a beautiful day that surely would have drawn many visitors. Happy New Year (not) from the city of San Jose!

First road debris of 2024:

To the motorists whose tires were spared: You're welcome.

Looking for a bright spot, I extened my loop (29 miles) to Vasona Lake County Park, which was open for all to enjoy. The Fantasy of Lights fixtures are still in place. Herewith, my hopeful wish for 2024:

The Year That . . .

I stopped working. Abruptly.

I cycled more than 2,200 miles, climbing over 70,000 feet, on 85 rides.

I visited Chico for the first time, to enjoy their Wildflower bike event.

I raised money for Best Buddies and biked in the California Challenge (formerly Hearst Castle Challenge), for the 17th consecutive year. I also raised money and rode in the MS Society's Waves to Wine event (for the first time since 2006).

I contibuted my time to six volunteer opportunities, mostly outdoors.

I completed 41 hikes, trekking more than 200 (mostly hilly) miles in regional (and state) parks and preserves.

I shared so many of these adventures with a widening circle of friends, and honored the memory of two that we lost.

I explored the natural world at a deeper level, becoming an enthusiastic member of the global iNaturalist community.

The year that was . . . 2023.

Wilder Ranch

Our hike was well-timed, today: we had a spell of sunshine on the coast.

For me, this was a great opportunity to explore new terrain; unlike my hiking buddy, it was my first visit to Wilder Ranch State Park. It often feels like the entire population of Silicon Valley migrates to Santa Cruz most weekends, making it one of the last places I want to be. And although we've had a tradition of hiking on Christmas Day for a few years, this time we opted for the day after.

Harbor seals hauled out to snooze on a sunny, secluded beach. Two memorable creatures were ones we couldn't see: well-hidden frogs, croaking away, and a burrowing owl (spotted by some birders with binoculars and a camera with a very long lens).

We were aware of warnings about high seas and rogue waves. Water puddling high on a cliff is the ocean's “don't stand here” sign. Had I been more savvy, I could have captured the moment when a young couple got completely drenched by the spray from a big wave that slammed into the wall of rock. The look on their faces ... They were good sports, though; she wrung out her long hair and they kept hiking.

The cormorants were unperturbed on their private perch.

Ah, California! Something is always blooming. As the day's palette filled with shades of gray, the colorful (but sadly, invasive) Cape-Ivy was our sunshine.

I managed to uproot an entire invasive mustard plant, earning “good job!” from an understanding cyclist as he passed. With only a few scattered along the trail, it felt like there's a fair chance of fighting it off.

Retracing our path to the parking lot, we covered a healthy 7.2 miles. A word of thanks to my hiking companion for her indulgence as I snapped so many photos (57 distinct plants and animals and mushrooms, oh my!). Of all, we agreed that the aptly festive Willow Apple Gall Sawfly was the strangest:

Nature Lesson

When a friend suggested we hike at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, I hesitated. So soon, again? But this outing (4.4 miles) would be led by docent naturalists and include some terrain I hadn't explored before.

We enjoyed beautiful weather, a break between rain storms. Low clouds dotted the valley, to the east.

When the docents paused next to an impressive mound of sticks, I knew what was coming: a story about the dusky-footed woodrat. This nest was larger than others I've seen; a casual observer might assume it was constructed by a human, or some other mammal certainly larger than a rat.

I've learned so much this year, hiking with docents and engaging with the iNaturalist community. Even though I'd trekked down the Zinfandel Trail just two weeks ago, today I saw things that I'd overlooked. And of course, plants follow their natural cycle throughout the year.

As we hiked down the trail, I spotted some ferns that were freshly sprouting. When I paused to get a photo as we returned, a docent identified it as a Polypody. Taking a closer look, I realized it wasn't a type of fern I'd noticed before (much less, heard of).

That's the thing: To advance from registering “plant,” to “leafy green plant,” to “fern,” to ... Polypody. Yet, there is so much more in this one photo: another leafy plant (California bay laurel) in the background, a bit of mushroom in the lower right corner, and moss carpeting a decaying log.

One step at a time.

Just Right

Although we'd hiked just two weeks ago, and my former colleagues weren't expecting to plan a December hike, this date turned out to work well for many of them. Really well. I joined twelve people for a bite-sized hike (4 miles). Several were folks I hadn't seen in many months (or longer).

This hike is not too challenging—neither too long nor too short. The Zinfandel Trail descends gradually toward Stevens Creek, mostly under tree cover, and affords a clear view of the Stevens Creek Reservoir.

When we returned to the historic Picchetti Winery, one of the resident peacocks was perched and preening. [Not something you would expect to encounter on a hike ... unless you've been here before.]

It was a joy to be reunited again! For many years, we were a tight team; some moved on (by choice, or not). Now we hike together, volunteer together: hopefully for many years to come.