Kearsarge Pass

 

Big Pothole Lake

Yosemite National Park stopped requiring reservations at the end of September, so I decided to use Tioga Pass to reach the Eastern Sierra. I looked forward to getting my lifetime National Parks Senior Pass, even though the price went from $10 to $80 just five years ago. As it happened, I passed through so early that I entered and exited the park before the entrance stations were staffed, so I never got my pass. Tuolumne Meadows was frosty, by the way, and potentially worthy of a photo stop. I pulled over and got out of the car in my shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, and decided to just remember how nice it looked for a future stop. My car's thermometer indicated it was 30 degrees outside. 

I couldn't just put on my hiking shoes and a jacket because I'd actually forgotten to pack my hiking shoes! When I realized my mistake I very briefly considered whether I could do the Kearsarge Pass hike in my flip-flops, which are nice flip-flops, but not that nice. I figured I could buy a pair of shoes in Bishop, and sure enough I spotted a Big 5 as soon as I got there. It was only 9:30, though, and they weren't open yet, so I went to a taqueria a few doors down and got a breakfast burrito that was so massive I didn't need to eat again until that evening. When the Big 5 opened at 10, I picked up a decent pair of Columbia hiking boots for about $80. As I continued south through Bishop on my way to Independence, I noticed that the old Galen Rowell photo gallery has become the Mammoth Gear Exchange, which I'll remember for future excursions if I need to replace forgotten gear.

The online reservation system for the Onion Valley Campground at the trailhead for Kearsarge Pass indicated that sites were unavailable to reserve on Mondays and Tuesdays this month, and were first-come, first-served only. But when I got there the guy who collects the fees said there's no such thing, but luckily there was still an unreserved site. Unlike my visit back in July, I was at least able to get a campsite for that night ($29/night and you have to bring your own drinking water), and that night only. Having gotten on the road at around 2 a.m., I'd hoped to relax in camp the rest of the day and get used to the altitude, but I wasn't sure I could complete the hike the next day before check-out time. So I set up my tent, grabbed my camera and tripod, and set out on the trail at about 12:30.

The hike starts at 9,200 feet, and I reached the terminus of my last visit, Little Pothole Lake, after an hour or so, blissfully unaware of how much trail was still between me and the 11,823-foot pass. I encountered several hikers who were descending as I was going up, and I overtook one pair of backpackers who were also going up. When I finally reached the pass I met a young lady who was waiting for the backpackers I had passed. She had been hiking the John Muir Trail for 17 days and was getting re-supplied by those backpackers -- her parents! I was in awe, and I told them when I saw them on my way down that they are the Best Parents Ever, which they downplayed by saying, between breaths sucking for thin High Sierra air, that they love hiking.

One of the hikers I met on the way up had asked how far I was going, and I said I was going to hike as far as I could get by about 4 o'clock, figuring that would give me plenty of time to make the return trip before it got dark and cold. What surprised me was the trip back down the trail took about as long as the hike up. I reached the pass at around 3:30 and was back at my tent at 6:30. Not only did the 9.6-mile round-trip confirm, at least to my mind, the impossibility of hiking that trail in flip-flops, but it also made me feel like I'd come very close to the physical limit of what my legs are capable of delivering in a single day. When I finally got all the way down, my tent and sleeping bag never looked so good.

The next day I drove home by way of a "fall color" route that took in Glacier Lodge, which turned out to be a disappointment, then Rock Creek (excellent), and McGee Creek (so-so, and I didn't have the energy to hike up the canyon where it might have been more interesting). Pretty much the whole Eastern Sierra from Rock Creek north to Dunderberg Meadow had good fall-color displays. I drove up Sonora Pass to spend the night, but ended up dropping down to the Clarks Fork River where it was warmer, and where I slept under the few stars that were able to compete with the waxing gibbous moon.

I lost track of which lake was which, but I think this is Gilbert Lake, which is just above Little Pothole Lake.

All the "fall color" along the Kearsarge Pass Trail was the yellow in the willows.

This little golden mantled ground squirrel showed no fear, and I wondered if folks had been feeding him. But he dug into the earth, creating the hole behind him, and ate whatever he found (which doesn't look like anything but sand, so maybe it's a mineral or myco thing).

About the worst light ever in this view into King's Canyon from Kearsarge Pass, but I lugged my gear all the way up there, so you better believe I took a picture.

I wonder if the last couple of thin, toothy spires on the left used to have more company. You gotta love the geology out here.

Moon and Moonscape

Afternoon shadows encroached on the lakes and vistas as I headed back down the trail.

Lakeside View

This was one of the last frames I dug my camera out for, as fatigue was gnawing away at my desire to dig out my camera and set up the tripod.

Leaving Onion Valley, with Fall Color in the Rabbitbrush

The red-tailed hawk, star of the valley, didn't fly away when I stopped the car, but took off when I broke out the paparazzi gear.

Aspen Leaves on Dark Granite Boulder

They were resurfacing a long stretch of Rock Creek Road, and we had to follow a pilot car past all kinds of enticing fall color action, but fortunately there was still plenty left after they let us go.

Green Leaves Keeping Each Other Company

Aspen Trees Ablaze

Rock Creek Lake

View Along McGee Creek Road

Crowley Lake from McGee Creek Road

This is the bottom edge of Dunderberg Meadow.

There's still lots of color to come at Dunderberg Meadow, judging by all the aspens that are still very green.

Panorama Along Sonora Pass

From the same position as the panorama, but looking the other way, I was drawn by the trees finding a place to grow on the face of the mountains.

Layers of Rock and Trees

I stopped somewhere along the road past Kennedy Meadows at a spot I've never photographed before, where the river drops through a beautifully carved canyon.

Water Sculpted Sierra Granite

I wish I could have had someone posing at the bottom to give the scene some scale, but there's really no way to get down there anyway. Just looking down from the edge made my stomach queasy.

But queasy stomach or not, it was just too enticing to stay away. This place would probably be too nerve-wracking for parents with small, rambunctious children.

That big tree snag at the top of the frame is driftwood. You can imaging what this chute looks like when it's full of spring run-off. I was amazed to see salmon trying to leap up the waterfalls. How the fish even got this far is mind-blowing.

This mullein also could have used a person for scale. It's taller than my own six feet in height. I thought about getting in the frame, but it would have marred the beauty of the plant.

$8 Gas: Sign of the times in Lee Vining.

Goofy Guy at Kearsarge Pass

* * *

The Sublime

Black-necked Stilt

I wasn't expecting the day to be sublime, which might have made it all the sweeter. I noticed it when I got out of bed yesterday morning and pushed back the curtains to reveal clear air and a fog-free sky. By the time I started rolling out the door around 9:15, the morning had attained perfection. I cut through Golden Gate Park past the green fields of Big Rec and the sparkling landscaping at the Conservatory of Flowers, across the Richmond District and through the Presidio to the Golden Gate Bridge, where a long line of brown pelicans got me off my bike and scrounging for a camera.

The pelicans reached the bridge and surprised me by heading north alongside it instead of flying over it. The squadron eventually broke up, with one group continuing north and another group coming back to fly south. The bike ride over the bridge was sweet and uncrowded, and as I reached the bottom of the Sausalito hill, where the bay comes up to the seawall, the word "sublime" just popped into my head. Then, "Pay attention. Soak it in." I suspect the sublime is always there, even in dismal weather. It's just harder to see.

Even the motorists seemed mellower than usual, and perhaps even too mellow. About half-way up  the winding Shoreline Highway hill I could tell a car was behind me, too timid to pass despite having plenty of room and time to do it. This went on for a while, and I pictured some poor gray-haired old lady from a flat state where there aren't any bicyclists to share the road with. Finally the driver took a chance and went around me, and I was surprised to see it was a couple of young guys in a small cherry-red Ferrari with the top down. A whole slew of cars had backed up behind him, and I was grateful for just enough of a breeze to clear the smog as they all passed me.

The temperature at Rock Spring was a perfect 76 degrees, and I hiked out to the trail camera to swap out the card and batteries. I also moved it back down to the edge of the pool of water, figuring it's not going to rain again anytime soon. A dragonfly dipped her tail-end into the pool, presumably dropping off some eggs, although I didn't see any. A male flew by a little later, just to trip the trail camera and give me some blank frames.

There were some male coyote brush plants along the trail that were teeming with insect life gathering pollen and/or nectar. Just that morning I had read Jake Sigg's e-newsletter which linked to FoundSF: "The insect associates of Baccharis pilularis (coyote bush), a common plant of the dunes and other coastal shrub communities, are legion, supporting no less than 29 species of spiders, 7 mites, and 221 species of insects (of these, 56 are only loosely associated, leaving 165 species as its true associates). Several of these, including several abundant moth species that play a keystone role in the insect economy, are apparently specific to coyote bush."

Although I stepped carefully on approach to a particularly festive coyote brush, watching for rattlesnakes, I jumped back in surprise when a buzzworm saw me first and gave me what for. I could tell it wasn't one of the big daddies by the tone of the rattles, but it still made me jump. It slithered under a boulder for cover, and after I got my fill of photographing insects I peaked over the rock to see if the snake had come back out. The snake had only just emerged and, seeing me, it ducked back under the rock.

Back at Rock Spring I got my bike ready to head home when I decided to try my luck with the acorn woodpeckers nearby. The acorn pantries, recently empty, are filling up. The birds flew away as I crunched noisily through the dry leaves to get near them, but I found a spot in the shade and waited for them to come back. They never did come back, at least not within range, but a blue-tailed skink rustled noisily into view, and I enjoyed watching it prowl around for whatever it could catch and conquer.

Wading Birds Relaxing as the Tide Comes In

Looking Past the Reflection

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #1: Ants Greeting Each Other On Coyote Brush Flowers

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #2

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #3

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #4

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #5

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #6

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #7

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #8

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #9

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #10

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #11

Coyote Brush Variety Pack #12

Rattlesnake Takes A Peek

Acorn Pantry in Standing Snag

Acorn and Bay Nut Collection

Blue-tailed Skink On the Prowl

It looked like the skink was tussling with something, and it sort of looks like a forest scorpion.

A great blue heron hunts along the edge of the drowned pickleweed during a four-foot high tide that came up to the boardwalk along Coyote Creek.

Gas went up $1.10/gal. in a week; glad I can reach Mt. Tam on the ebike!

* * *

Shutterbuggin'

 

Beach Weather at the Bottom of Noriega Street

I always carry my smartphone when I go for longer walks, but I rarely snap a photo. Today I got all the way to the beach before I pulled it out to snap a picture of the really great beach weather we're having, and then I went all kinds of shutterbuggin' as I walked back home. When I got back and changed shoes to go for a ride on my ebike I saw that I was reaching a fun milestone on the odometer.

I took a picture of this building back in June, when it was bristling with scaffolding. The work was finally finished recently, and now it's covered with some kind of wood (or lookalike) shingle siding.

The billboard changes quite frequently, and is often just a little bit strange. To have this message here in the city, and in the Sunset District just a few blocks from the beach to boot, struck me as interesting. The wall art, road work machinery, telephone lines, and liquor store sign provide additional local flavor.

An unusually festive display outside a store on Noriega Street that sells mainly packaged food items. I was about to ask a guy nearby what was being celebrated, but he turned and walked away before I could get a word out.

I first noticed a large Lurk Hard decal on the right rear quarter panel (not shown), and while I continued walking and wondering if "Lurk Hard" was about some kind of savage internet trolling, the tail end of this car made me smile. Lurk Hard turns out to be a skater clothing brand, fwiw.

No point making this out-of-focus cabbage white bigger. I watched it flutter and spiral out of a tree and land dazed on the ground. Above me, a black phoebe snapped at something else that wasn't so lucky (assuming the butterfly can recover).

Amazon Prime keeps suggesting that I would like the movie Hard Eight, and they are not wrong. As I left my house on my bike this morning I noticed I was coming up on a Fun Eight, or 8,888 miles on my odometer. I took a picture of the milestone next to one of the street art projects being painted on JFK Drive in Golden Gate Park. Elsewhere in the park, preparations are being made for Hardly Strictly Bluegrass next week, but the street art is something separate.

* * *

Coyote Creek

 

Black-necked Stilts Along Coyote Creek

The black-necked stilts have returned to Coyote Creek from wherever their summer home was. I wonder if the recent mild rains were their cue to return. Maybe it was the equinox (and a gorgeous equinoctial day it was for a bike ride). This pair was foraging with several greater yellowlegs in the brackish pools adjacent to the boardwalk off the Mill Valley-Sausalito Pathway. I wondered if they are the same pair I've seen here in years past. Audubon says seventy percent of California's black-necked stilts breed in the Sacramento Valley. If this is a breeding pair who raised chicks last season, the chicks have dispersed elsewhere.

Meanwhile, on the Coyote Creek side of the boardwalk, I was surprised to see a great blue heron hunting in the pickleweed along with a much more commonly seen snowy egret. I watched the GBH stalk for a few minutes without making a strike, while the egret seemed to strike quite frequently and successfully. Whatever it was catching was too small to make out, but back at home I zoomed in on a photo that appears to show a small slug in its beak. 

The boarded-up husk of the old Dipsea Cafe is reflected in the creek behind the GBH. The owner had planned back in 2016 to turn the building into a medical marijuana dispensary, but that plan doesn't seem to have gone anywhere. The derelict building makes for a surprisingly decrepit approach to swanky Mill Valley.

Up on Mt. Tamalpais, I need not have worried about my trail camera being flooded out by the kind of gully-washer we had last year, an atmospheric river that splashed down in late October. That storm changed the character of the pool I've had my trail camera on, mostly by removing much of the gently sloping gravel beach. Although fox and raccoon have been showing up as much as before, the bird life has diminished quite a bit. I also suspect the approach to the pool has changed, as often happens in nature, when trails get cut off by fallen trees or new plant growth. Not a single deer passed by my camera trap all summer, whereas they have been quite common in the past.

Great Blue Heron Next to Coyote Creek
(showing reflection of old Dipsea Cafe)

Close Crop of Egret Munchies

Before the rain, a fox passes by the pool. Note the rock in the back of the pool, which I had placed there for birds to land on.

The clouds were nice, but the rain was meh.

A raccoon hunts in the post-rain pool. That rock in the back of the pool is now submerged, but the creekbeds remain about as dry as they were before the rain.

A doe browses in a meadow near Rock Spring with her youngster, somewhere between fawn and yearling, staying close to mom.

The California fuchsia are still in bloom along Pantoll Road.

* * *

Critter Cam

 

Collection of Captures

I'd forgotten about the fun of making composite images with the trail camera, even when the result is not exactly up to National Geographic standards, to say the least! The nice thing about the trail camera, besides always being ready to snap a photo, is that it doesn't move. The acorn woodpecker, flicker, and western tanager are each shown about where they were captured in the original frame. Since the photos were made on different days, and at different times of the day, the light is different as well, which explains most of the obvious compositing. That's less of a problem with night-time images since they are standardized by the use of a flash.

When I was up there on Friday I considered whether to put my camera somewhere else in advance of the coming rain. If there's enough rain, this pool will become obsolete. But I'm curious to see the "before and after" scene, so I decided to keep the cam at the pool but move it to higher ground, where I could strap it to a tree. With any luck, the rain will make this pool obsolete, and next week I'll want to put the camera somewhere else.

Fox Composite

Video Clips from the Week

* * *

Fantasy Ride

 

Bridge View Above Fort Point

Riding over the Golden Gate Bridge on a beautiful morning yesterday was a breeze, with hardly any cyclists coming the other way, and virtually no pedestrians. I could even afford to enjoy the view without concern. About mid-span, though, I reached what must have been a busload of tourists, soon  accompanied by an increase in cyclists coming the other way. No more time for reverie. Near the end of the bridge there's a short narrow section that I'm always grateful to be able to get through alone, but on this morning a cyclist coming the other way appeared to actually speed up in order to make sure that wouldn't happen. I'd be curious to know how much space was actually between us as we sped past each other. It seemed like about an inch.

Down in Sausalito, the waterfront was gorgeous, bathed in the same clear morning light that made me stop to take a picture at the Golden Gate Bridge. Richardson Bay was calm, and the tide was still heading to its low, though it hardly seemed like it. The low was going to be +3 feet, down only about a foot-and-a-half from its high. Riding my bike next to traffic on Bridgeway was about the same as usual, with cars and work trucks maybe a bit more than an arm's length away at times. I found myself grumbling in my mind about smog-belching deathmobiles passing too close for comfort until I thought, "Wait, isn't this ride supposed to be fun? Isn't this supposed to be enjoyable?"

I was only able to let the air out of my angst and revenge fantasies when I reached the bike path that starts at Mike's Bikes. I could finally direct my attention to the enjoyable parts of the ride, the lovely morning, pelicans diving into the bay, shorebirds working the tide line, but eventually I'd need to share the road again and live with the subtle stress of knowing I could be ground into roadkill by just one distracted driver. 

During the ride up Shoreline Highway, I savored the breaks between bouts of vehicle traffic. Some drivers will cut it very close in order to pass me, and others will be so timid about passing that I hope they aren't letting traffic pile up behind them, thereby setting the stage for drivers to heat up with rage against cyclists. 

When I finally reach Panoramic Highway I finally feel in the clear enough to relax and enjoy my surroundings once and for all, and it gets even better when I round the bend past Mountain Home Inn. Then I'm riding among the Doug fir and redwood forest, with weekday morning traffic being mercifully light--the cars, trucks, and buses coming few and far between. And then I reach Pantoll Road and head up to Rock Spring with an even lighter heart, scouting the grasslands for wildlife, being mesmerized by fog feeling its way through the forest below, taking note of the seasonal change marked by fallen acorns in the road.

Greater Yellowlegs Foraging Along Coyote Creek

If the coyote hadn't moved, I might not have seen her. Even though I was nowhere near her, she ambled into the woods to get away from a human's prying eyes.

A female California darner clung to a thistle branch along the Cataract Trail and obligingly stayed put long enough for me to snap a picture. She blended in so well with her perch and background that it was a little tricky even to find her in the tiny FZ-80 electronic viewfinder.

Howdy, Skipper!

Poison Oak Turning Color

This Buckeye Butterfly allowed me to get close as long as my shadow didn't interfere with its sun bath on the Cataract Trail.

The goldfinches are still around, and still gathering to drink at the Rock Spring water tank. I'd seen a red-shouldered hawk not too far away, and the goldfinches kept nearly constant look-out, ready to peel away from the tank and into nearby cover at the slightest provocation.

I almost didn't see the white-breasted nuthatch several feet away from the goldfinches. They were drinking from a spot that water actually dripped from, but the nuthatch was satisfied with a merely damp seep.

* * *

The Fallen

 

Tibouchina urvilleanum

It's about a week from the fall equinox, that evanescent perfection of Earth's balance of light and darkness. As we tilt toward greater darkness, plants will cannibalize their green chlorophyll machinery and sequester energy for the future. Leaves will fade to yellow, then brown, and finally give in to gravity's embrace. 

Just the other day I walked past fallen royalty, the purple petals of princess flower on Noriega Street. The tree's energy will now turn from flower production to fruit formation.

Leaves and flower petals aren't the only things that fall. I streamed a movie the other night despite knowing nothing more about it than the fact that it starred Harry Dean Stanton. I almost turned it off during the slow beginning, which included scenes of an old guy doing his morning exercises in his underwear. Something that happens pretty much every day where I live. In fact, I hope I'm still doing it when I'm 90 years old like Harry was in the movie, called Lucky. 

I think I was reaching for the remote when the pace picked up in the nick of time. That might have been when David Lynch appeared, full of years and quirky lines such as, "There are some things in this universe, ladies and gentlemen, that are bigger than all of us. And a tortoise is one of 'em!". (Although David Lynch has a brother named John, David is not related to the movie's director, John Carroll Lynch.)

You could be forgiven for thinking of Lucky as more of a winter movie than a fall movie. But Harry's fall from grace is a metaphor of humanity's fall from grace, its banishment from the Garden of Eden for breaking a rule. Don't light up. Don't become enlightened. If you eat the fruit of knowledge, you will be expelled like a fallen angel. Personally, I like to think that story is about the knowledge of good and evil being the turning point between our animal state of nature and our cultural state of civilization.

Not that I subscribe to any such arbitrary notion that civilization is antithetical to nature. Even if we insist they are different, they remain entwined. And if you wonder which one is the real boss, think about where civilization would be without abundant fresh water. Here we are in all our glory, fancy-pants human beings, utterly dependent for our lives on one little molecule.

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