Friday Hike

 

Accommodating Bluebird

My wife had the day off so we headed out for a hike on Mt. Tam, leaving the city around 8 a.m. in surprisingly "Friday light" traffic. Yay. 

Since I was there just yesterday I didn't really expect to see anything new, but as soon as we pulled into the Rock Spring parking lot we noticed that a huge branch had broken off one of the great old oaks near the picnic tables. Around the base of the tree we found numerous yellow-staining agarics, which seemed more than a little incriminating. Did these fungi have anything to do with the rotten limb? Are they guilty rotters, or just cute bystanders?

By the way, I got a good look from the Matt Davis Trail at the battered remains of the old iconic Douglas fir, which now appears to be completely dead.

One of the highlights of the hike was spotting a western bluebird that was very accommodating to a couple of shutterbugs. At first we stopped and just looked at him, figuring he'd fly away. He was right next to the trail. Then I finally said, "I know how to make him fly away. I'll get my camera out." But even that didn't work, and I snapped a photo. We took a few steps closer and snapped another photo. Then we took yet another few steps and took yet another photo. Amazing. Thanks, bluebird!

Panoramic Highway was still closed at Pantoll, even to bicyclists.

The fallen limb at Rock Spring.

Another view of the oak that lost a limb.

Some of the many yellow-staining agarics (probably Agaricus xanthodermus) found suspciously near the base of the oak.

Here's a quick comparison between the small waterfall we saw on the Matt Davis Trail on our hike in the rain on Feb. 1, and today.

They say a "bluebird day" is a sky with no clouds, but I usually like a few clouds on my bluebird days (hence the nephophile moniker from a few days ago). We took in this view at right about high tide, which was supposed to be 6.9 feet, which is why Bolinas Lagoon looks like a bay with no mud flats.

Heading north along the Coast Trail.

A tiny bit of yellow slime mold along the Cataract Trail.

This lichen was sporting a bunch of pale beige fruiting bodies. It's growing on the bark of a large Douglas fir.

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Fading Shrooms

 

White Coral Fungus

With the exception of this white coral fungus that's still going strong practically everywhere I look, I didn't see much else fruiting today. The most interesting thing I saw was an area in the woods on the way to the trail cams that looked like some kind of scuffle had taken place. There were flattened patches about the size of a small deer lay, crushed hound's tongue and other plants, and lots of dug-up earth. There were some mossy rocks above it all, and I imagined a bobcat pouncing on something that put up a fight.

After my short hike I thought about heading down to Duxbury Reef for low tide, but my heart wasn't in it. I remembered that the tidepools right after a storm can be quite silty, and I didn't want to drive all the way down there for silty pools, then have to drive back to the city around rush hour. Also, Panoramic Highway from Pantoll to Stinson Beach was closed. According to the state park's web site: "Panoramic Highway is CLOSED between Pantoll Campground and Stinson Beach due to storm damage. It may reopen on Saturday 2/10/24. Access to the park from the Mill Valley side is clear and open."

These little mycena mushrooms looked much redder in the direct sunlight, but it was too harsh for a photo (so I used a diffuser).

Down-and-dirty, as always: a couple of waterlogged chanterelles cozy up beneath a giant, mossy oak tree.

These stout oak branches all rise from a single trunk. 

This bobcat made some interesting scent marks (see video).

Tam Cam 2/8/24

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Nephophile?

 

This morning I rolled out of bed and opened the drapes to a pre-dawn sky nearly free of clouds. A waning crescent moon shone like a golden sculpture, rising much farther to the south than the last time I recall seeing it. 

There was only a 20 percent chance of rain today, and by the time I'd finished my hike-n-bike, some interesting clouds had blown in that looked capable of delivering a little something. Dark as they were, they merely moiled and toiled in a weird, rainless circulation I'd never have noticed if I hadn't run a timelapse. 

As for all these timelapse shots, call me a nephophile -- a lover of clouds.

The chance of rain was a little higher yesterday, but I still made it to the beach before the clouds let loose. I was able to wait it out from a tiny dry area on the beach beneath the sea wall that runs south from Noriega Street. I was pinned down for quite a while, but what the heck, I didn't have to be anywhere. 

A couple of gulls flew over me and gave me the eye. The next time I saw them they'd landed nearby on the sandy berm that blocked my view of the ocean. It was slightly weird. Did they expect me to feed them? I turned away and when I looked again, the two gulls had been joined by several more, as if I had been feeding them. Again, I turned away, scouting the sky to the south, and the next time I looked, the cogs fell into place. They were drinking the fresh rainwater that had drained from the pedestrian-friendly top of the seawall.

Rear Window Timelapse (2/5 & 2/6/24)

Taking Cover

Rain at the Noriega-to-Santiago seawall, with Coast Guard helicopter heading north.

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Gleanings in the Wind

Waterfront Rain

 

Heading north on 25th Avenue.

Marin Headlands

The Golden Gate

Mile Rock

Sleeping Maiden With Her Head In The Clouds

Backwash at Seal Rocks

Enjoying a Rainy View Near the Cliff House

Snow in Lee Vining this morning.

The UC Berkeley Campanile's peregrine falcon cam was zoomed in on this fellow this morning. A gust of wind actually blew him backwards about an inch, and he flew away just a moment later. 

Windy.com image at about 3:30 p.m.

The clouds were moving so fast, I didn't actually need timelapse to show their movement. But it's more fun that way. The only downside is that the rainbow blinked in and out so quickly. This is a screenshot from the clip.

Rear Window 30-minute Timelapse with 3-second Interval

(2/4/24)

The rainbow takes one last bow before the whole sky goes dark with storm clouds.

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Whether Weather

 

Weather Window

Even if we're just walking out the door, simply looking out the window to check the weather doesn't give us the bigger picture. Living in the present is a wonderful thing, but so is preparing for the future. 

I recently came very close to reserving a hotel and bus pass based on a forecast for snow in Yosemite Valley, only to learn that the forecast was actually for the high country. Both forecasts look at first glance to be for the same location, but only by looking at the map coordinates can you tell where they actually are. I've been waiting since fall for a cold storm to bring snow to Yosemite Valley, and I'm starting to wonder whether the weather's going to happen this year.

Coincidentally, I just finished reading a book called The Last Winter, by Porter Fox. As you can imagine by the title, it's not a book to raise hopes for a good outcome to our changing climate. I was especially interested in the fact that permafrost isn't just something found on the North American tundra. In Europe, whole ski resorts are dependent on it.

"Glaciers insulate permafrost," writes Fox, "essentially keeping the top of a ski resort and all the lift stations, restaurants, glass-sided hotels, and panoramic viewing stations in place. When the permafrost thaws everything could come tumbling down."

Web cam screenshot of the Yosemite High Country this morning. This is the kind of snow I was hoping to experience in the Valley.

This was the Valley this morning. It looks nice and cold, but it's not cold enough for snow to accumulate and stick.

Rear Window Timelapse (2/2/24)

When we got back from Mendocino, we found that the neighborhood cat that adopted us was in such obvious misery that we took her to the vet. Turns out she has stage three kidney disease, but we have nursed her back to a semblance of good health. Always an outdoor cat, she has been staying indoors almost exclusively, although she recently went out to bask in the sun's warmth while lying in a bed of a neighbor's Oxalis. She came back inside almost as soon as her spot fell back into shade.

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Hike in the Rain

 

Falls Along Matt Davis Trail

My wife had the day off, and since it seemed like the heaviest rain had passed during the night, we drove up to Mt. Tam expecting to hike from Rock Spring to Cataract Falls. The gate was closed to the upper mountain, though, and we didn't have $8 in cash to park at the Pantoll lot, so we drove back toward Bootjack to park along the side of the road for free, and from there we hiked out along the Matt Davis Trail.

In the woods it was hard to tell whether it was raining or just dripping a lot from the trees -- until a couple of real squalls let loose and left no room for doubt. We wore rain jackets but not rain pants, and neither of us brought an umbrella, so there was some question as to whether we'd even make it to our turnaround point, out where the forest opens up onto the rolling grassland, before we got too wet and cold. 

We were so close by the time the second squall started, though, that we kept going, and as soon as we got out to a very foggy, cloudy "vista" point we were greeted by an excellent rumbling peel of thunder. But as the sky darkened again and let loose another boom, we felt like it was time to get back in the woods and return to the car.

This fresh bear's head fruiting was a nice surprise. We didn't expect to see much fungi because of the recent heavy rain, but this stuff was sheltered from the pounding deluge by the log that's supporting it.

This was the moody and serene view about where the Matt Davis Trail crosses the gated road to the upper mountain. 

A little slo-mo footage of the falls.

Talkin' Turkey

The view had cleared up nicely by the time we got back to the trail junction with Pantoll Road. This is my kind of stormy weather -- big squalls, preferably producing thunder and lightning, moving through an otherwise clear sky.

Yesterday I walked over to Grandview Park to take in the storm, but it never got very wild, with wind gusts topping out at a mere 22 mph, and a consistent but light rain.

Pastels in the Sunset

Rear Window Timelapse (2/1/24)

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Tam Cam

 

A pair of American avocets hunts the muddy shallows along Coyote Creek.

I biked up to Mt. Tam on a beautiful spring day -- yesterday! It was my first ride there in the new year, but it did not feel like January as I pedaled in a t-shirt and observed hounds tongue blooming in the woods and white maids showing off along the roadsides.

On the way up I stopped to watch black-necked stilts, greater yellowlegs, and American avocets foraging in the marshy area around Coyote Creek, with mallards and wigeons bobbing along the creek, and numerous snowy egrets and a few great egrets hunting, resting, or preening as the tide came in. I also saw a western grebe working the creek as I rode home, a species I don't think I've seen there before.

Up on the mountain I pulled off the road to hike to my cams and noticed signs of recent turkey-scratching on the ground. Just as I leaned my bike against a tree to lock it up, I caught some movement in the woods: one tom turkey, then a second guy perched just off the ground to get a little higher perspective.

In the woods on the way to the cams I saw that the bear's head log was still producing new fruitings, while the oldest ones were finally decomposing. The forest duff was still moist, but just crunchy enough that I couldn't tread silently. I wished I could have seen the varied thrush before they saw me and flew away. They are one of my favorite birds on Mt. Tam, both for their coloration and the unusual sound of their brief call. Also for their furtiveness, which makes them difficult to photograph.

On the way to Cam 2, my nose picked up the most amazing scent filling the air. I looked around for its source and soon realized it was coming from the flowering bay laurel right in front of me. The scent provided the most enjoyable forest bathing I could remember, including the countless other times I've walked in the scent of bay laurel. I don't know why that tree, or the particular circumstances of the moment, were so special, and I'm curious to see if I'll get a repeat performance on my next visit.

A few video clips from the cams.

Get Your Stilts in a Row

Perched Tom

Proliferating Stalactites of Bear's Head Fungus

I pulled my bike off the road to see if I could track down a pileated woodpecker in the nearby woods when a few deer decided to cross West Ridgecrest.

Pileated Woodpecker Working on a Madrone

Slicing Through the Mud

Keeping an Eye Out

Probing the Depths

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North Side Tidbits

 

Gauzy Cascade on Mt. Tamalpais

I jumped the gun yesterday and posted before I'd checked out the FZ80 shots, which, along with some slo-mo from the smartphone, turned out to be arguably worth posting. 

A few seconds of slow-motion cascades.

These cherry-tipped Lipstick Powderhorn lichens (Cladonia macilenta) were situated so close to a small oak seedling near the Lily Pond that I couldn't get either my DSLR or FZ80 in position to photograph them. Luckily, the much more svelte smartphone slipped right in there.

This red-tailed hawk first drew my attention when it was on the ground on the west-facing side of Bolinas Ridge. It made a very brief sound, and when I first saw it hunched on the hillside I thought for just a split second that I'd lucked into a bobcat sighting. The hawk took off and coasted over the ridge and out of sight, but I climbed a small hill and saw that it had landed at the top of a Douglas fir. I'd hoped to capture it taking off, but was disappointed when it flew the "wrong" way to escape my prying lens.

I was checking out a spot along Bolinas Ridge where I've previously photographed interesting mushrooms as well as early-blooming hound's tongue, but the whole area had been drastically changed by chainsaw crews who cut many of the smaller Douglas firs and whatnot. As I was poking around the edge of the cut area I discovered this banana slug who'd been feasting on a large Russula.
[UPDATE: I was up there four days later and checked this spot to see what might be left. There was no sign of the mushroom other than a half-dollar-sized shallow hole with some white mycelium in it.]

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