Bluebirds of Happiness

With some wild (wet and windy) weather in the forecast, it was high time to tackle a challenging ride: First ascent of Bernal in 2024.

I followed my usual routine at the picnic area: Pick up litter. Place litter in trash can. Which is ... right there. [People!]

I wondered why there were so many birds flitting about. Lots of bluebirds, and a lone goldfinch tucked in a tangle of branches.

Aha! Someone has hung a nesting box in a tree and bluebirds have moved in. A little extra incentive for me to do the miles (29) and the climb (about 1,000 feet, give or take).

I'll be back!

Butterflies, Birds, Bunnies ... Bobcat?

To the west, a clear view of the valley and the southern reaches of San Francisco Bay.

Turn your back on civilization and admire Mt. Hamilton to the east.

With some hope that we might see a bobcat, I'd suggested today's hike to a friend who is also fond of felines. [No promises, of course.]

It was unseasonably warm; I wished I'd chosen a lighter-weight shirt. We followed the same route I'd enjoyed a few weeks ago. Ground squirrels were plentiful, but I was surprised when my hiking buddy spotted a bunny! Moments after it scampered into the brush, she spied a bobcat sauntering down an adjacent trail (away from us, and the lucky bunny).

Birds provided the soundtrack for our trek. Amidst much twittering, one intermittent call stood out—almost like laughter. Merlin Sound ID, for the win: a California Quail. [ha-HA-ha, ha-HA-ha, ha-HA-ha.]

Keep your eyes, ears, and mind open. Always!

A Taste of Eden

Now here's a popular route I haven't ridden in quite some time: Mt. Eden. On a weekday?

Break out the road bike for some proper hill climbing! No problem holding my own with traffic on the way the start: 34+ mph on a downhill (just under the speed limit). This ... bike ... is ... fast.

I felt apprehensive about sharing the road with gravel trucks streaming in and out of the quarry on Stevens Canyon Road; my ride buddies were unfazed. Still, it's best not to linger on that stretch.

The view from the vista point has changed over the years. It affords a clear view of the cube atop Mt. Umunhum in the distance. In the foreground, well ... new “estate homes” creep ever closer.

Twenty-five miles and more than 1,500 feet of elevation gain for me. No longer chasing club statistics, we descended Pierce to return to Saratoga for lunch. A proper sandwich was in order, but the cafe's lemon meringue tarts looked so luscious. Why not ... both?

Water, Always

I'd suggested an easy, post-lunch stroll up the trail alongside Los Gatos Creek, perhaps turning back before reaching Lexington Reservoir. [I should have known better.] No mud today, I'd insisted.

Leaving the cafe, I wondered if I should have opted for a bottle of water that I could have carried with me ... but we weren't going for a real hike. [Were we?]

I didn't start tracking our “hike” until we left the reservoir, expecting we'd make a direct return on the other side of the creek. [Wouldn't we?]

“Let's go up St. Joseph's Hill,” my companion suggested, seeking a real hike after all. [I should have known.]

I'd only been up here once before, and that was ... more than 20 years ago. [Really?!]

The day was clear(ish). Certainly clearer than two days ago. By the time we finished, we'd covered more than eight miles. With hydration, I would have been happier.

Carry water. Always.

Clear as Mud

Traversing mostly exposed terrain, we hoped to find mostly-dry trails.

We found enough mucky clay to cake our boots.

Climbing up toward Coyote Peak, we made good use of our trekking poles and were surprised to cross paths with a sure-footed couple using none—especially given that the dad was toting their baby.

When visibility is limited, focus on what's near. Too early in the season for flowers; rocks, moss, mushrooms, mud ... did I mention, mud?

Not that I'm complaining—hiking in a fleece vest over a lightweight woolen top. In January.

Beautiful in its own way, and beautifully quiet. I completed a six mile loop, with 952 feet of elevation gain.

When we finished, I scraped off as much mud as I could. (And was grateful that I'd developed a habit of swapping boots for street shoes before and after my hikes.) My experienced companions assured me that it would be easier to clean my boots right away, at home; that it would, in fact, be a bigger challenge once the mud dried. [Though, lunch came first!]

Flash of Color

Sometimes an ordinary, unremarkable bike ride takes a noteworthy turn.

As luck would have it, I needed to abbreviate today's route (20 miles, rather than the 27 I'd planned). But with little traffic on familiar roads, I could comfortably look here and there ... and up. I happened to be in the right spot at the right moment to capture a wee bit of iridescent cloud.

What I would have missed, had I chosen to skip this ride today!

The Hiking Club

An unusual event popped up on a local events calendar: A short hike led by someone from the county parks department, in conjunction with a visit to the local art museum (NUMU) to view an exhibition (The Hiking Club: A Vocabulary of Yearning). The artist (Linda Simmel) and the curator joined us for the hike and would later lead us through the exhibit, piece by piece, answering questions.

Given the advertised duration for the event, I knew the “hike” would be a short one. With rain in the forecast, I thought I might be the only person who would show up—and the hosts might wish I'd stayed home, like everyone else.

Ha! More than 20 people turned out. The group met at the museum and chatted over coffee, tea, and pastries before setting out.

Fittingly for a nature outing, we gathered near a different exhibit featuring embroidered renderings of endangered plants (the lost ones: iterations and murmurs, by Liz Harvey).

Rain didn't fall (nor did people fall) as we made our way along a sometimes-muddy, sometimes-uphill stretch of the Flume Trail before retracing our steps to the museum.

A grumpy old man came barreling down the trail and scowled “You can't block the trail!” Our guide rolled his eyes, and someone in the group quietly chuckled “Oh yes we can” as people politely stepped aside.

Our guide had suggested that we imagine the noise of the freeway as the sound of the ocean, instead; which, oddly enough, sort of works. He encouraged us to take in more of the world around us—advice that would certainly have benefited a certain grumpy old man. Our guide even shared a few magnifying glasses for getting a closer look at small things along the trail. Our group was clearly a mix of art lovers and nature lovers, and I was surprised at how engaged everyone was.

What I didn't expect from this event was to be culturally enriched. The artist focused on the techniques used to create the work, insisting that she doesn't work conceptually. But the people around me were adept at teasing out themes that had seemed hidden to the artist herself.

I wasn't the only one who saw a deeper meaning in The Wood, featuring a colorless, transparent outline of a woman in high heels striding toward, and merging with, a vibrant natural landscape.

A poem by Wendell Berry (The Peace of Wild Things) was placed next to one of the works.

For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.