Every time I read something new about cells, about their components and how they work together to provide a foundation for all of the life that surrounds us, and all of the life that is us, my mind is blown all over again. This time it was an article about microtubules in Quanta Magazine.
What always happens when I'm reminded of the incomprehensible intricacy of life is that I go back to the sheer wonder and amazement that life even exists. I mean, maybe in another universe, with some tiny difference in one physical constant or another, stuff gets made in exploding stars much like it does here, but the stuff never consolidates into a life form. You get all the same elements of the periodic table, but it's all inert and lifeless. Boring universe!
And yet there is supposedly no such thing as a life force. There used to be an idea called vitalism, but what good is a life "force" that you can't measure? On the other hand, there is no great definition of life itself. One definition that a Google search turned up was that life "is an emergent phenomenon arising from the interaction of matter and energy."
I don't know. Life just seems like a special case of emergent phenomena. One water molecule isn't wet, but if you get a half-dozen or so together you get the emergence of wetness. Isn't chemistry all about emergent phenomena? Isn't there a whole world of emergent phenomena arising from the interaction of matter and energy that isn't life?
You can even have two molecules with the same structure, but only one of them supports life, due to something called chirality. Life is such a rabbit hole!
Anyway, as you can see from the photo at the top of the post, the red-legged frogs are back in the little pond in the SFBG's Children's Garden, along with some fat ole pollywogs that wriggle up to the surface for a quick gulp of air before diving again for the bottom.
I walked through on Thursday morning to look for migrating birds, but mostly I just saw the usual residents -- who, being San Franciscans, are colorful enough to be of interest in their own right.
I couldn't recall if I've seen Datura in the California Garden before, but it's blooming there now.
The Anna's hummingbirds were all after each other to protect their patch of California fuchsia, a coveted late-blooming, nectar-bearing beauty.
I just liked the sort of disheveled look of this little one standing on a leaf.
Hovering in a Fuchsia Wonderland
If you look closely at some of these hummers, their throats are speckled with white pollen from the stamens of Epilobium canum (formerly Zauschneria californica).
Perched on a Matilija Poppy Stalk
"Do I need to attack?"
"Nope. At least, not yet."
Yellow Warbler in a Yellow Aloe
The second of three adult red-legged frogs I saw in the pond.
The third amigo.
This feather-fluffed red-shouldered hawk swooped onto a eucalyptus branch across the street that circles Blue Heron Lake. It was tucking a leg into its feathers as if planning to rest awhile, but it was also keeping an eye out for a passing opportunity.
A little farther along, this great blue heron was patiently waiting for a snack to swim within range. Also within range is probably the nest this heron was born in.
El Capitan in a Relatively Smokeless Moment (Click any image to view larger.)
After two-and-a-half months in Chicago viewing every image little -- on my phone, tablet, or laptop -- it's kind of amazing to be back on the home computer with two big screens. I drove home in three long days, a trip of 2,146 miles. Check-out from the two motels I stayed at in North Platte, Nebraska, and Elko, Nevada, was 11 a.m., but I was out of my room and on the road by 4 a.m. What I could have used instead of the late check-out was an earlier check-in. Whatever happened to the standard 3 p.m. check-in? Everybody seems to have pushed it out to 4 p.m. these days.
It was interesting to drive west and cross time zones in a car. I was surprised that my car's navigation clock picked up on the changes well before my phone did. Driving in the pre-dawn darkness, the sunrise seemed to come on more slowly than usual, and I wondered how fast I'd have to go to keep the sunrise at my heels indefinitely. At the latitude I was driving, I'd have needed to go about ten times faster than the highest speed limit I encountered, which was 80 mph, or about 50 mph faster than the speed of sound. As Seinfeld once put it, "Not bloody likely."
I was so glad to finally get back to my own home that I promptly bought a bunch of new plants for our "back 40" (feet, not acres) garden patch as well as some new indoor plants. Thanks to our neighbor, Bill, all our previous plants were still kicking, but I'd been ready to get some new ones anyway.
With that bit of housekeeping out of the way I was eager -- believe it or not -- to get back in the car and drive up to the Sierras. I didn't even care that it was probably going to be smoky. I needed a High Country high, even if I had to smoke it.
I always think to myself, "Half a dome is better than none." Even if it's obscured by wildfire smoke.
I stopped at the Pohono Bridge as soon as I reached Yosemite Valley. This is a popular spot to view dogwood flowers in the spring. I was interested now in the fruits of the dogwoods' labor.
Cornus nuttallii, perhaps tasty to critters but not so much to people, who find it bitter and unpalatable.
The first fall-color dogwood leaves! :)
"Source of Life"
How many people who stop here at Fern Spring (and almost no one does this morning) take a moment to actually feel the absolute, deep fact of this little trickle of water, and feel in their soul that we are utterly, beautifully bonded to water. The surest way to make life feel boring and profane instead of inspiring and sacred, is to take it for granted.
September Riffle on the Merced River
The Singing Dipper
Whether you call it a dipper or a water ouzel, this is one fun bird to watch in action.
First Sighting of the Elusive El Capitan
Acorn Woodpeckers! You can't be blue when these handsome fellas are in the neighborhood.
I didn't see anyone clinging for dear life on the face of El Capitan on this day, despite September and October being prime time for making the climb.
I'd rather just photograph it myself. I missed the pull-out for this spot on my first go-round and had to drive deeper into the valley before I could circle around for a second pass.
I'd actually come out to Yosemite in the hope of photographing the full moon from Glacier Point. Too bad I mis-read the time for moonrise. I didn't figure out that horrible truth until later, so I lingered at a favorite pull-out on Glacier Point Road, photographing resin dripping from pine needles and such, in no hurry at all.
This chipmunk showed himself briefly at the same pull-out. I wondered if he was responsible for the skins of eaten gooseberries left on a nearby log. He did bend a gooseberry branch down low enough to snag a fruit but was gone before I could fire off a frame. I thought I'd be helpful by picking one spiky gooseberry and a few smooth-skinned gooseberries to set out for him, but he never showed up to take them. The berries were still there, even after I woke from a nap an hour or so later.
But a raven turned out to be the likely culprit who left those pieces on the log.
I encountgered an easygoing deer at the Ostrander Lake Trailhead.
The deer used her hooves to brush away the top layer of duff to get at the good stuff underneath. I wondered if that included human urine, with its salts, or maybe fungal mycelium. I gently chased off the deer to smell a handful of the soil it was eating and detected no fungal odor. I didn't taste it for salt.
The elderberries were in full fruit -- ripe, sweet, and delicious. I even made a U-turn for this patch and ate a handful of the berries.
The smoke seemed to be leaking into the park from far in the south. At this time I didn't know about the fires down that way. I was schooled with the aid of the Windy app, Purple Air, CalFire, and travelers who'd come up from Los Angeles. You get 5G cell service at Glacier Point. (Later I'd get better cell service at Mono Lake than in my Lee Vining motel room.) I believe that double-domed critter in the center of the frame is Mt. Starr King.
This was a brief moment when the fire's smoke plume held together enough to look almost like clouds (looking south from Washburn Point). But these were the only "clouds" in the entire sky.
Abandon Despair, All Ye Who Enter Here
This Glacier Point ground squirrel popped out a couple of times, perhaps in the hope of a human tossing it a snack, but it didn't remain in the open for long.
When I realized I'd mistimed the moonrise, I snapped this photo from Glacier Point and returned to the car to make the long drive out to the Tuolumne Meadows Campground where I'd spend the night.
It was pretty much dark by the time I got there.
Smoky as it was on Sunday evening, this was jewel-like clarity compared to what I'd find Monday morning.
I woke up around midnight, half choking on smoke and needing to use the bathroom, and noticed the moon overhead was a deep red color. Much more red in my mind's eye than this picture shows.
The wind shifted overnight, sending an unreal amount of smoke into Yosemite's High Country. I briefly considered getting out of there and felt a bit of solidarity with my mother-in-law as I realized I could breathe better sitting up than lying down. I extricated myself from my sleeping bag with great and unnecessary sleepy-headed difficulty and moved to the passenger seat of my car where I dozed sitting upright for a couple of hours. In the morning, this was the scene looking east as a bicyclist made his way up the Tioga Road.
Unperturbed by the smoke, a fisherman dreams of trout.
Tuolumne River Smokescape
This is the view looking west across Tuolumne Meadows. You can just make out Pothole Dome (?) in the (not very far) distance.
This is the view along the Tuolumne River looking east toward Lembert Dome, which is a stone's throw from those trees in the background.
When I gathered my things together in the morning I realized I'd lost a pair of eyeglasses the previous evening. I searched the camp and my car three times before I realized I'd probably left them behind in Tuolumne Meadows. I figured I had a pretty good chance of finding them, so I drove over there, and sure enough, found them in the dirt in less than ten minues. A harrier hunted along the river, but I was able to spend more time with a surprisingly quiet ground squirrel.
Tuolumne Meadows Ground Squirrel
I never drive Tioga Pass without stopping at the Nunatak Nature Trail to see the pikas. Even from a distance I was pretty sure this thing wasn't a pika. I'd never seen a weasel in Pika Country before. The weasel stayed put for quite a while before disappearing forever. So much for watching it hunt pikas.
Despite their cuteness, pikas can take care of themselves. They run over the jumble of scree like Olympic athletes. And they know every inch of their terrain. The weasel must score a meal every now and then, but it's no slam dunk.
This pika showed itself so close by that I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of spooking it, but I did manage to fire off a few frames before it bolted.
This blue-eyed darner briefly drew my attention away from the pikas. Dragonflies at 9,500 feet in elevation. Nice!
"Speeding Kills Bears" the signs read along Tioga Road, but I imagined the revenge of speeding bears instead. But the speediest critters of all, and over the roughest terrain, were the diminutive rock-rabbits, the pikas.
Fritillary Gathering Late-season Nectar at 9,500 Feet
Pikas at Nunatak Nature Trail
Is it smoky yet? This was the view east down Lee Vining Canyon.
The view over blooming rabbitbrush, looking back up the canyon.
Smoky Mono Lake
I ran into a couple of young women from Los Angeles wearing N95 face masks on the trail to the lake and envied them for thinking of bringing some along. I also had to marvel at the wildlife, who stoically endure everything nature dishes out.
Blackbird Tufa
Mass of Brine Fly Larvae
And here they are, wriggling in all their glory.
I wondered if this was a young osprey testing its wings. It's left talon seemed to be caught on something in the nest. Eventually I made out that it was caught on a fish.
The osprey defecated and flapped its wings as if too take flight, but it was a no-go.
Another nest on an offshore tufa tower had two osprey in it, one of which (the one on the right) looked like an adult.
Yes, it was very smoky.
I wondered if I would spend the night coughing after spending so much time in such thick smoke, but so far I haven't noticed any deleterious effects beyond a very little extra throat-clearing. (I would wake up with a lot more throat-clearing the next night.)
The water was higher the last time I was here. It was 6382.6 feet on September 1 this year, about a week before I was there. It was 6383.8' when I was last here. I guess a foot can make a very noticeable difference.
As I headed back toward Lee Vining I noticed the wind was pushing out the smoke! Yeah, baby. Keep it coming! By the time I reached I-395 it was obvious that Lee Vining was still mired in smoke anyway, so I drove out the June Lake Loop which, due to various unknown mountain geography, was clearing out faster than other locales to the north and south.
This tiny bit of haze counted as fresh air after my spell at Mono Lake. This is the June Lake Loop, with Grant Lake on the left, too wind-tossed for any boaters to be out.
I found a shaded pull-out to wait out the clearing and was surprised to see a daytime bat swoop over Rush Creek, then land in this aspen tree to preen for a few seconds before continuing its awesome flying-mammal odyssey.
Negit Island off Black Point
Stitched Panorama of Mono Lake and Negit Island
Burnt chaparral with a nicely consolidated line of wildfire smoke in a kind of jet-stream in the distance, where Mono Craters testifies to an even smokier time that began around 40,000 years ago and continued to fairly recent times. White Paoha Island was formed by volcanic activity just 250 years ago.
Mono Lake and Craters from near the County Park
Stitched Panorama of Mono Craters
I tried to drive my Mazda 3 out to Black Point and almost made it -- until I encountered a deeply rutted section of the route. I might have tried to make it in your Mazda 3, but not in mine.
Sundown on Cemetery Road
Day's Last Fire
Sky Painting
I was driving north Tuesday morning, thinking it was just as well that I'd skipped the sunrise at South Tufa since the previous day's consolidated bar of smoke had dissipated overnight to fill the whole Mono Basin. Nevertheless, I did a U-turn when I passed the County Park turn-off and saw the rosy fingers of dawn spreading over the lake. By the time I parked, I was rewarded by the sun disk itself popping out.
I didn't dare add one iota of saturation to the colors rendered by the camera's sensor to this smoky sunrise.
I looked behind me just in time to catch the moon dipping behind the Sierra's eastern escarpment.
Smokin' Hot Sun
Driving past Bridgeport toward Sonora Pass, I had to pull over when I saw the light striking these peaks to the south, out toward Twin Lakes.
Overnight Oats at the Leavitt Meadows Overlook
Usually it's Marines in the road around here....
P.S. Speaking of tariffs, I just noticed the price of a Nikon Z8 recently increased from about $3,800 to $4,300!
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