Ocean Beach

 

December Sunset

The forecast for large swells today did not disappoint. I went to Cliff House to record the festivities as best I could with the FZ-80, but the resulting images are somewhat disappointing, quality-wise. 

There was so little contrast in the scene that the autofocus kept hunting for a subject, so I switched to manual focus despite being unable to really gauge sharpness through the tiny viewfinder. I also ran the "dehaze" slider pretty high in Lightroom to try to bring out some contrast, which also brought out a lot of noise.

All of which led me to add a few December-at-Ocean-Beach shots from my files, just to have something a little nicer to look at in the post.

Anyway, the swells were definitely much bigger than they were in my last post, although as "surf," it was completely untenable without even the slightest offshore wind to tighten up the waves. Instead of three or four guys out, there appeared to be nobody crazy enough to be out. 

It was interesting to see the ocean crashing right up against the bluffs below the old Cliff House, and even pouring into Sutro Baths. Check out the video below.

Wave Action at the Old Cliff House

I thought this was going to be the peak of the action as the wave struck Seal Rocks...

...but in the next moment, the wave exploded right over the rocks.

Cleaner Lines and Hollow Sections
(December 26, 2013)

The Right Stuff

See you next year!

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Swell View

 

Wave Power at Seal Rocks

I walked down to Ocean Beach just as the 6.7-foot high tide was beginning to recede, and I was awed by the huge swells breaking in front of Noriega and Ortega streets. A lone photographer was stationed on the dunes waiting for the two or three surfers brave and/or crazy enough to be out there to catch a wave. I watched one of the surfers paddle like mad and just barely catch one of the larger waves, only to fall off his board and drop like a stone off a cliff. Even that wasn't the end, though, as I next saw him getting sucked over the falls. 

Imagine grabbing a breath as you fall off your board, and instead of the wave just going over you, it sucks you up into its vortex and pounds you back down into the ocean. You come up for air but the foam is briefly so thick you can't take another breath. People die out there, and I was glad when I spotted the guy paddling back out once the churning whitewater cleared enough to give me a view.

After I got home I went back down on my bike. No one was surfing near the Cliff House, and I don't think there were more than one or two guys out as far south as Lincoln Way. Nevertheless, the waves were making a spectacle of themselves, and I enjoyed it for a good while before finally tearing myself away to go home for lunch.

Video clip from the old Cliff House.

Note the breaking wave way off the coast in the upper left, in a spot called the Potato Patch. Assuming a water depth there of 23-36 feet, wave heights have to be 17-27 feet to break there.

Long view from Cliff House to Point Bonita Lighthouse.

More large swells breaking way, way outside.

Closer to shore....

Fishing from the Cliff House.

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Solstice Succotash

 

Day's End From Grandview Park

After I made up my mind this morning to stick with my usual urban hike-n-bike instead of driving up to Mt. Tamalpais, I didn't think I'd have anything to post today. And, well, if not for some very small white worms (sufferin' succotash, they were maggots!) that primed my shutter-pressing pump during the hike, I might not have. 

As I watched the Earth rotate out of the sun's line of sight just minutes ago, I felt a little sense of renewal. I'm actually pretty excited to be at the winter solstice, the year's nadir, with nowhere to go now but brighter days. It's also a good time to be able to hold contradictory views simultaneously: brighter days ahead, but also much trepidation about the state of the world. Beauty and terror. I can only participate in a state of awe.

Solstice Sets & Spindrift

Months ago I discarded several pots of primrose that had long lost their luster, pouring them out beneath my hazel tree to add a bit of soil. Lately, a couple of them seem to have actually become rejuvenated, freed from the fetters of their former pots.

I circled one of the maggots (probably the larvae of fungus gnats rather than flies) in red, but you can see there are more. I'm guessing this is a big blocky Cortinarius that they are emerging from. I found this decaying little fruiting while hiking through the otherwise posh Forest Hill neighborhood.

I was interested to see that several of the maggots were fleeing their fungal birthplace, wriggling across terrain littered with pine needles and wood chips, and climbing the bark of this large tree (with what looks like an Amanita muscaria button at its base). Where were they going? I did not stick around long enough to find out, but they must be looking for a safe place to pupate.

I finished my walk and biked down to the beach, shooting toward the sun from right next to the Giant Camera. I looked at my watch and was surprised it was  only 10:30 a.m. The light from this angle is sweet this time of year.

Surfing the Silvery Swells

Last year's storms toppled this tree into Metson Lake (see post from last February), and I have been wondering as I ride past it almost every day, whether the parks department is going to remove it. Given that it's now been there nearly a year, it's probably safe to assume that it is going to be left in place, not as an eyesore, but as habitat. It does make a nice perch for a preening Great Blue Heron.

Since I'd used a phone camera and a point-n-shoot for today's succotash, I wanted to add a frame or two from the DSLR as well. Thanks to the rain and wind we've had this week, the back yard hazel has lost nearly all of its leaves, making the tiny, ripening male catkins stand out on its bare branches.

The tiny red female flowers have not made an appearance yet, but I look forward to gathering pollen from a couple of hazels on Mt. Tam when the time is right. Hopefully I'll get some tasty hazelnuts next year.

Sunset Over The Sunset

Last light before the "green flash" that didn't happen.

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Rear Window Time Lapse

Nothing especially dramatic, but the passing clouds -- all too rare despite a rainy season carried in by El Niño -- called to me anyway.

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Tam Cam

 

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Forest to Reef

 

Hilton's Aeolid (Phidiana hiltoni)

Looking for an excuse to drive up to Mt. Tam with my DSLR gear, I combined a little mushroom-hunting with swapping out my trail camera batteries, as well as visiting Duxbury Reef during yesterday afternoon's low tide. 

Climbing the hill toward my trail cams I found a large fruiting of bear's head fungus (Hericium abietis) jammed under a stout and nearly prostrate bay laurel branch. The forest didn't seem particularly bursting with fungi though, and the duff was surprisingly dry. Nevertheless, I found a few sparse specimens to photograph out along the north end of West Ridgecrest Road.

From there I coasted downhill toward Bolinas Lagoon and got out onto Duxbury Reef well before the 3:30 p.m. low tide. There were only a few other people out tidepooling -- until about 3 o'clock, when a large group of folks showed up at once. I went over to see what they were finding and was envious of their sharp eyes when I saw that one guy had collected a couple of cool nudibranchs that I had not already seen, plus a tiny six-rayed sea star and one other tiny starfish. Sadly, I don't think anyone on the reef saw even a single ochre sea star, which was a common fixture of our tidepools before they were struck down by sea star wasting syndrome.

The guy had collected his prizes in two small plastic containers, and I hoped in vain that he would return them to a pool so I could photograph them in a natural setting. Although that was the eventual plan, I wanted to be somewhere else for the sunset and left the reef while he was still showing them around. Interestingly, there was a California Acamedy of Sciences guy there who asked the young man to find him when it was time to release his captives since there were considerations to be made about how and where to do that.

I didn't realize these were candy caps (Lactarius rubidus) until I picked one and smelled its surprising and telltale aroma. 

Forest Floor Mosaic

Helvella maculata

These were some real giants along the side of the road -- Lepiotas, I believe.

I only had my phone camera with me when I checked on the trail cams and found this nice bear's head fungus.

Tidepoolers at Duxbury Reef

Snail Tracks

Aggregating anemone ensconced with coralline algae.

A chiton tucks in under a sea anemone (with purple sea urchins nearby).

I believe this is a brooding anemone (Epiactis prolifera).

And I believe this orange stuff is a sponge, maybe Ophlitaspongia pennata.

These tiny slugs are pure elegance.

In the 3D world underwater, who cares if you're upside-down.

This crusty old mollusk still has a pretty smile.

Sand Art at Low Tide, Stinson Beach

Day's End

Farallon Sunset

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Weather Radar

 

Incoming Drama

According to the weather radar, it looks like it should be raining right now (it isn't), with much heavier rain coming in a few minutes (fingers crossed). I've been getting fooled by the radar forecast all morning, trying to do some useful puttering around the house instead of going for my usual long walk and bike ride. The forecast turns out to be correct just often enough to give it credence, but it often seems that the ability to forecast incoming rain even one hour in advance is quite poor. Maybe artificial intelligence will find a better way. In the meantime, I should just break out the rain gear and take my chances.

Normally there are no waves breaking this far out.

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Light/Waves

 

Walking down to the beach this morning I was mesmerized by the large swells. A low sun-angle created rainbows in the spindrift, and even better, in the "spit" or spray shooting out of the tubes. I didn't linger long to watch since there were only a couple of surfers out. The beach is the turnaround point of my walk, so I still had a 45-minute return trip to get home and bike back down to the beach with a camera.

I had to stop on the way to the beach when I saw one of the bison grazing in a small hummock of plants, a grace note of greens stuck on its horn. These charismatic megafauna are often in their uncharismatic pens, and even when they're free to roam, it seems like they hang out in the bare areas, or in the shade, or up next to a fence (or all of the above). So rare to get a more natural looking shot. Unfortunately, the forage appears to be quite poor, and when the bison noticed a park employee along the fence, they all began to head in her direction in anticipation of being fed.

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