Salt Point

 

Along the Bluffs at Salt Point, Sonoma County

I've been to Salt Point for the mushrooms, the wildflowers, and the tafoni, but I'd never been there before to check out the tidepools. This morning I finally scratched that one off my list, and I was kind of blown away at first. There was no path to the pools, so you had to figure out how to scramble down there on your own -- a plus for the "wild" factor of the place. I was also the only one there, although a handful of people hiked by on the bluffs above.

When I finally got down to the pools I was struck by the wealth of mussel and abalone shells, and especially the countless sea urchin tests. And just past that, the great numbers of live purple sea urchins themselves. It seemed like a gold mine of tidepool action.

But my awe subsided like an outgoing tide when it struck me that there were too many purple sea urchins. These are the guys who are eating up all the kelp forests.

There were also lots of healthy looking ochre sea stars and my favorites, the bat stars -- one which appeared to be an amalgam of two stars. A feather duster worm and a black abalone were also interesting finds, but I saw zero nudibranchs. I didn't even get a picture of one of the coolest things I saw -- clam siphons (like this) pumping water in shallow pools. I should have recorded some video.

While I was looking for a way down the bluffs to the tidepools I stopped to appreciate the beautiful morning.

This is what lay at my feet after clambering down the boulders to the edge of the tidepools.

This little bat star had formed itself into a mussel shell.

This one was taking a different approach.

Maw of the Anemone

Sea Urchin Tests

The tidepools were beautiful, but I didn't see much life in them other than urchins. What the urchins were finding to eat, I don't know.

Red-trumpet Calcareous Tubeworm (Serpula columbiana).

There were only a few red sea urchins among all the purple ones.

Mutant Bat Star

There were several abalones stuck to rocks in the intertidal zone. This one appears to be a black abalone.

After finishing up with the tidepools I climbed back up the bluffs to find some tafoni formations to photograph.

Earth Brodiaea

Tidy Tips

Sea Pink Meadow on the Bluffs

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Incubation

 

Robin Incubating Eggs, Elk Glen Lake

Like the robin, I've been incubating embryonic ideas toward finding a new direction for my nature photography. I'd like to get away from using the compact camera so much, and I've also been feeling like the direction of the blog during the last couple of years has about run its course. 

Windrows and Spindrift, Yesterday at Ocean Beach

Slightly Ruffled Heron, South Lake

The fishing must not have been very good. The heron made a few snaps at passing dragonflies but never actually caught one.

I'll never forget being swarmed by ants when I was around five years old, so even these tiny ones swarming around a crack in the sidewalk in Golden Gate Park still make me just a little nervous. I wondered if the warm weather brought out such an unusually large number of them today.

I was checking out a group of crows messing around some logs at North Lake when I noticed a great blue heron hunting nearby. A screeching red-shouldered hawk landed nearby as I waited for the heron to make a strike.

And then a hummingbird dropped by to gather nectar from some ruby-red flowers.

Although I stuck around for half an hour, the heron never did make a strike.

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Slim Pickins

 

Forktail Damselfly, Metson Lake

With the Bay to Breakers race going on to the north of me I figured it was as good a time as any to ride south and check out the insect action at Fort Funston. As it happened, the vibe out there was more dogs than bugs, and I'd also forgotten that the area I most wanted to explore was behind a fence. Although it would be easy enough to get past the fence, I grudgingly respected the fact that I was still in civilization. Now that Tioga Pass has opened (the earliest opening in 16 years), it might be time to head out to wilder lands.

Out the back window from home yesterday I watched a red-shouldered hawk fly into a nearby pine tree, then onto a tall pole that I'd never noticed before in someone's back yard, and then into my neighbor's oak tree. I grabbed my camera despite the fact that I had to shoot at an angle through double-paned glass.

I sort of like the distortion effect of the window, but what I really like about this shot is how the tail feathers are held up so high above the hawk's feathered legs.

Looking south from the cliffs at Fort Funston, I was impressed by how empty the long stretch of beach was.

It was pretty empty as I looked north toward Mt. Tamalpais as well, although some folks who'd set up an exercise area in the Funston dunes ended up going down there to run.

That's them, the little dots.

I left Ft. Funston and took a quick look at Lake Merced before riding to Golden Gate Park. Even at Metson Lake I found very little insect action other than a couple of Pacific forktails. 

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Curiosity

 

Red-tail vs. Raven Above Blue Heron Lake

I think of curiosity in one of two ways, either as a feeling that drives me to explore, or as a kind of conundrum that I might enjoy but have little interest in exploring. Usually, though, a curiosity will drive my curiosity.

According to a Google AI overview, "Curiosity is a strong desire to learn, explore, or understand something. It drives inquisitiveness, investigation, and learning. As a fundamental human trait, it fuels discovery and personal growth."

Of course, the AI is being anthropomorphic. Animals can be curious too. And even if we've never seen a cat that was killed by curiosity, we understand the meaning of the proverb. Explore sagaciously. 

A play on the saying goes, "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back." Which either means zombie cats are running around, or it can be satisfying to follow our curiosity. Me, I've always been one to wonder what's around the next bend, and I love that every day presents a new one.

Curiosity can lead us into rabbit holes of perhaps unknowable depth as answers beget more questions, or answers arrive that are heavier than we could have imagined. How deep we go depends on when the fuel of our curiosity runs out. Sometimes we need to inquire all the way to satisfaction, but we can also give up on a line of inquiry with little loss. Out in nature I'm often satisfied to let a mystery be.

Pair of Red-tails Above Bison Paddock

This morning's curiosity involved a trio of squirrels on a telephone pole. One sat at the very top. A second one seemed to be trying to reach the one at the top, while the thid one was preventing that from happening.

It was a squirrel stand-off, and I didn't stick around to see how it might end.

A curious scrub jay landed nearby, perhaps more interested in whether the human had peanuts than whatever the squirrels were up to.

The red-shouldered hawk was screeching as I passed beneath it on my bike, its calls seemingly setting off a cacophony of cawing by a group of crows. I stopped to investigate, but the crows went mute and merely hopped around among various tree branches while only the wind ruffled the hawk's feathers.

The fledglings are so well-camouflaged in their nest that I haven't seen them the last few days as I slowly rode around Blue Heron Lake. Wondering if they'd really flown away, I finally stopped today to take a closer look.

A red-tailed hawk soared into view above the nest island and was soon joined by a raucous raven. A second red-tail then swooped down from Strawberry Hill to come to the first hawk's aid. The raven broke off its harassment.

Meanwhile, one of the two fledgling herons had flown down from its nest to a conifer just south of the Chinese Pavilion. In the picture, its attention had been drawn to the screeching hawks and scolding raven. Eventually the heron settled down to rest on a thick branch. I supposed it would have to fly back to the nest when one of the parents returned with food, but I didn't stick around to find out.

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