February 28, 2011: Bayview–Fire Lane Loop, Point Reyes National Seashore

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I have hiked this loop of about eight miles many times over the years, in all seasons, and it never ceases to offer something wonderful. The end of February is that time, that in-between time, between winter (such as it is in northern California) and spring. Today I ticked off many wildflower species but only two or three individuals of each kind: radish, mustard, iris, suncup, Indian paintbrush, buttercup, footsteps-of-spring. Forget-me-nots and milkmaids were the most numerous, and the pink currant bushes were covered with blossoms. I saw lots of promise of things to come, the new leaves of cow parsnip, sanicle, lomatium, Solomon's seal, and columbine.
 
The real joy of the day was the animal life. Along the creek on the lower part of Bayview Trail, with the forest mostly denuded of leaves, I had a chance to find three woodrat lodges. They look like teepee-shaped piles of twigs and leaves, something that the wind and rain might have left behind, but they are actually the intricately constructed homes of the Dusky-footed Woodrat. These five- or six-foot-tall lodges are often decades old and apparently are passed down from female to female. I have never seen a woodrat, but always get a kick out of its camouflaged and yet not camouflaged architecture.
 
In these wet woods I'll see a few banana slugs, but today must have been slug Mardi Gras. They were all over the place and much closer together than usual. I thought perhaps it was mating season, so I checked that out when I got home. Turns out they mate at any time of year, and that is only the beginning of their story. Banana slugs are hermaphrodites: each individual has both male and female reproductive organs. When they mate they exchange eggs and sperm simultaneously. Sometimes the male organ gets stuck and cannot be pulled out. It is then gnawed off by one of the partners. The banana slug is the emblem of the University of California at Santa Cruz.
 
Coming down Fire Lane Trail, I rounded a bend and saw a bobcat jogging along the path about fifty feet ahead of me. He stopped and started cleaning himself. As he turned to get at his back, he spied me. I immediately played Statues and we stared at each other for about five minutes. Finally, the bobcat either decided I was a foe or grew bored, and he loped off into the underbrush. Darn; I could have watched him all afternoon.
 
The day was overcast, the sea almost the same pale gray as the sky. The Farallon Islands floated on the horizon, blue-gray mountains at the edge of the world.
 
Lodge of the Dusky-footed Woodrat
 
  

February 8, 2011: Annadel State Park

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I hiked here last in the heat of midsummer. Now, during a warm spell in midwinter, the park is green with lots of juicy young grass. In the woods white milkmaids bloom modestly in the dappled sunlight. Also in the shade I find colonies of blue hound's tongue. A few purple and yellow shooting stars grace sunny wet places. I saw shooting stars at 10,000 feet in the Sierras last summer, so these at Annadel remind me of wilder, more lonesome places.
 
Deer graze at the edge of the woods and barely notice me. I pass a flock of two dozen wild turkeys scratching in the thick layer of leaves under the oaks. They move a little way from the trail but otherwise pay no attention to a hiker. The next day at my writing group we have to do a free write on "animal communication." I write that I was annoyed that these wild creatures ignored me. Over the years I have come to this park the wildlife has become more accustomed to its many human visitors. If this process continues, soon the deer, turkeys, and I will be lingering by the trail and having little chats—how's the grass this year? my, Little Fawn has grown; have you seen our cousins over at Sugarloaf?
 
I take the Burma Trail (named by a hiker who had served in the Armed Forces in WWII in Southeast Asia and had been on the real Burma Trail; see the photo) to Live Oak and join up with Rough Go Trail. This ridge top is my favorite area of the park, with its graceful old oaks, open meadows, expansive views.
 
Annadel is noted for its undisturbed northern oak woodlands, some of California's richest wildlife habitats. Because of the official policy of fire suppression, it has been overrun with Douglas-fir trees, which shade out mature oaks and their seedlings, thus reducing this important habitat. Now the park service has to spend its dwindling funds to remedy a situation it caused. They have applied a "special treatment" (their words) that causes selected fir trees to die, and I can see their skeletons scattered and in groups throughout the forest. This process opens up the canopy and reduces the fuel load resulting from fallen Douglas-fir leaves, cones, and branches. Since the inception of this program, a rare native bunch grass has come back and the area has remained a home for deer, gray foxes, bobcats, and 130 species of birds, including the handsome pileated woodpecker. I saw a mountain lion here several years ago. This day, besides the deer and turkeys, I meet only hikers, joggers, and bike riders.
 

January 18 and 19, 2011: Monterey Bay Coastal Recreation Trail

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Take an abandoned railway right-of-way and a blue bay fringed with gnarled old cypress and eucalyptus trees, set them down in front of a range of rugged mountains, and you have the makings of a world-class hiking trail. Used by joggers, dog walkers, and bike riders as well as hikers and strollers, this popular path follows the coastline from Pacific Grove 18 miles north to Castroville. Although the main object of my two-day mini vacation was the Monterey Bay Aquarium (www.montereybayaquarium.org)—and it was perfect, as usual—the MBCRT ended up being the star. Of course, it was helpful that the weather was sunny and clear (but chilly enough for a padded jacket) and that the trail passed right in front of my Cannery Row hotel.
 
 The first afternoon I visited the jellies, sea horses, and otters; had dinner on Cannery Row; and watched a ghostly pale moon rise over the dusky purple mountains. The next morning I set out about 9 o’clock, this time north toward downtown Monterey—my goal the Monterey Museum of Art. The coastal path takes you under graceful old cypress trees and along the water—boats bobbing in the waves, cormorants gathered on the offshore rocks, and fat harbor seals lolling lazily nearby. Midwinter, but I saw blooming salvias, lavender, rosemary, echium, bright red kniphofia, a purple pea shrub, yellow mustard, white and pink rock rose, plus those old tramps ice plant, oxalis, and alyssum. Before I knew it I was at Fisherman’s Wharf. At this hour shopkeepers were just opening up, sweeping, setting out racks of jackets, hats, and sunglasses. A few hole-in-the-wall restaurants were open for breakfast. Opposite the wharf is Custom House Plaza, a stone and adobe expanse, clean and spare as a wind-swept cliff, the heart of historic old Monterey. This state park includes more than two dozen buildings from the early days of California. My favorite is Stevenson House, where ailing Robert Louis Stevenson lived for a few months and wrote parts of Treasure Island. They say his ghost still roams the place.
 
I continued along the beach toward Seaside where the path is wide and skirts the lawns and native landscaping of Del Monte Boulevard (photo below). Here the beach is sandy and shaded by tall eucalyptus trees. Then I backtracked, cut through the plaza and its upscale mall, and walked up Alvarado Street to the museum. This small institution has a modest collection of early 20th-century California plein air painters (who took their cue from the French Impressionists) and even includes a Maynard Dixon oil of sandstone cliffs. On my way back to the Otter Inn I stopped by Baskin-Robbins for a double scoop of butter pecan ice cream—this trail has Everything!
 
At about 4:30 I started out again, this time turning south along the coastal trail, past the aquarium and Stanford’s Hopkins Marine Station (www-marine.stanford.edu, note the dash, not a dot, after www), to follow a rockier coastline into Pacific Grove. I lingered at a wonderful harbor seal viewing area—at this time of evening most were venturing into the waves, or thinking about it, after a day basking on the warm sand. As it grew dark and the western sky turned pink, I was joined by bicycle riders and strollers out to enjoy the last of a lovely winter’s day. This part of the trail skirts elegant old homes lit up with the warm lights of dinner time. I went as far as Lover’s Point. As I headed back to Cannery Row, a huge orange full moon peeked over the mountains and rose in splendor above the darkening bay.