Feelin' the Drought

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(Click photo to view it larger.)

Since I'm only going to do this blog (in it's Circumannuation of Mt. Tamalpais incarnation) for one year, I can't help wishing it was more of a normal rain year. I can't believe I won't be able to post any decent mushroom photos, and I don't imagine the spring wildflowers will put on much of a show either.

As I drove up to the mountain today I wondered whether I'd find anything at all that I'd want to photograph. I took a walk out on the ridge to look for bobcats but didn't see any. It was such a clear day, though, I decided to snap a couple of pictures. Looking west over the nearly summer-brown hillsides, you could see the horizon beyond the Farallon Islands. Looking east -- well, I'll get to that in a minute.

The cobweb thistle (Cirsium occidentale) is just getting started.

I liked the look of this patch of forest on the edge of Bolinas Ridge and shot a panorama with the 300mm.

I spotted a pair of snoozing coyotes high up a hill as I scouted the possibilities along Bolinas Ridge. I parked and hiked toward them, and although they did get up and move to a new location, they didn't go far.

This spot was safer since it was close to the woods.

The coyotes spent so much time snoozing that I looked for other things to photograph (with a 500mm lens) from my sit-spot, including last year's mugwort plants. Mugwort likes water, and the ground was surprisingly damp in this spot. A few tiny green plants were just getting started.

The biggest surprise wasn't right at my feet, but way off in the distance -- the snow-covered Sierra Nevada. I believe this is the first time I've seen the snowy Sierra Nevada from Bolinas Ridge clearly enough to be sure they weren't just clouds. They are about 130 miles away as the crow flies. I'd love to know the name of the cone-shaped peak toward the right side of the frame. 

The coyotes weren't impressed.

That's the female snoozing in the front while the male scratches his back in the background. He actually slid quite a ways down the hill, wriggling like a snake the whole way.

When he was done, he strolled back up to roust the wife so they could move on to a new location. They ambled downhill toward the east; the female pooped; the male sniffed; and they disappeared into the woods.

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Cat-Catcher

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I left the camera in the same place for a second week. The water is really going down, and I wonder how much longer this little spring will last.

The date reads Feb. 25, but it's actually Jan. 25. I didn't have my glasses with me when I swapped the memory card last week, and I must have accidentally changed the date while I was trying to reformat the card. 

I had re-positioned the camera in this spot with the raccoons in mind. They had trooped single-file in the streambed directly towards the camera in a previous set in November. This time only one 'coon got his picture taken, and only just barely. 

I had several daylight frames that left me moaning at what could have been. You can easily see one bobcat going down for a drink in this picture, but there are two cats in the frame. In the first shots, both bobcats are in the blown-out bright spots. Again, this was not shot on March 4, but just this morning -- in fact, not long before I stopped by to pick up the camera.

Here's a crop of the previous frame. Can you see the second cat? The other cat is smaller, and I'll bet it's the mate of this larger male. Coincidentally, I'd just been spending some quality time watching a (presumably) mated pair of coyotes napping in the sunshine on Bolinas Ridge. 

I'd planned to move the camera to a new location, but now I want to put it back at this or another nearby water hole. The other hole has better, more even, light than this spot, but it's closer to a human trail.

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Welcome to February

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Bye-bye, "driest January on record." Hello, hopeful February.

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January Favorites

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And it seems to me that it’s the work of poets and artists to know what the world-image of today is, and to render it as the old seers did theirs. The prophets rendered it as a manifestation of the transcendent principle. That’s what we lack today, really. I think poets and artists who speak of the mystery are rare. There’s been so much social criticism of our arts, which is just one facet. But the other function of the poet – that of opening the mystery dimension – has been, with few great exceptions, forgotten. I think that what we lack, really, isn’t science but poetry that reveals what the heart is ready to recognize.

--Joseph Campbell, from An Open Life

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Winter Sunrise

Heavy Weather on Hwy. 1

Elements

Pale Elfin Saddle

Bobcat Over Bolinas

Black-and-White Cat

Alpine Lake

Open Secret Falls

Coyote Gait

Nurse Log

January 2004 (top) and 2012

Candy Caps

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Bolinas Lagoon

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After checking out the emptying reservoirs on the eastern side of Fairfax-Bolinas Road last week, it was interesting to head over to the other side of the mountain to find Bolinas Lagoon at high tide, filled to the brim.

I was lucky to arrive just before a showy sunrise.

Lucky because I'd lingered in bed once again, unsure whether I wanted to drive the long and winding road up and over Mt. Tam. A glance out the bedroom window told me it was already windy, yet another Spare the Air day, and here I was, planning to burn a few gallons of gas in the Jeep. I figured if I was going to smog the air, I at least didn't want to waste a trip.

I'd been looking forward to getting out of the city all week, though, so rather than philosophize all morning I decided to just get going.

Stinson Beach was just waking up as I drove north through town. Skirting the lagoon along Highway 1, I was a little disappointed to see so few waterfowl. Despite its importance for birds along the Pacific Flyway, I've only been out there a couple of times when there were lots of birds. The distant, breathy whistling of wigeons was the dominant sound as the sun came up.

I'd picked a good spot to view the sunrise, a place I'd been to once before, just a pull-out along Olema-Bolinas Road where there's lots of broken glass along the shore.

Even here along the shore of an 1100-acre body of water, the salt grass looked dried out.

It still feels like fall. Like the rainy season is just around the bend.

Heading out the Bob Stewart Trail I was taken by the interesting stripes of yellow lichen on the bark of some very nice alder trees.

The trail led out along Pine Gulch Creek which had coho salmon once upon a time.

I didn't see the leg band when I photographed this golden-crowned sparrow. It's kind of funny to realize this bird was once caught in a net and held in someone's hands. I suspect these guys are the culprits.

Although it had been windy up high, there was just a mild breeze at sea level, and this turkey vulture was content to bask in the morning sun until either the wind picked up or it caught the scent of some of Mother Nature's home cookin'.

Like I said, there weren't many waterfowl in sight, but I felt it was my duty after making the trip to Bolinas Lagoon to take at least one picture of some birds, like these ruddy ducks, on the lagoon.

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Tam Cam Replay

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I decided to set the camera trap in a spot I used back in November, when I thought the rainy season was going to be right around the corner. I was surprised to find that there's still a little bit of water here, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the same animals are still coming by, including the gray fox (who always appears to pass through without taking a drink).

Back in November the camera was set toward the left of the frames you see here, and in a branch that gave a downward viewing angle. I had to bring in a branch of my own to set up the angle you see here.

I was surprised that most of the deer still entered and exited the area so near the camera when it's much more open up where the fox crossed the scene. I look forward to camera-trapping this spot again in another couple of months if there's still water here. I can't believe I still haven't snagged a bobcat passing through this spot....

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Of Fire & FAT

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After getting turned back on Saturday by the Bolinas Fire, I wasn't sure I'd get back up to Mt. Tam this week. I had a dentist appointment at 2 o'clock today in the Financial District (no, I did not know six months ago that my appointment was on a holiday!), and I'd made a plan last week to take in a movie before heading down there, with a little downtown shopping to follow. I even stayed in bed a little longer than usual this morning. But resistance was futile. The mountain beckoned.

I didn't know if I'd be able to find the one-acre fire area, and if I'd waited until next week I probably would have driven right past it. All I had to do today was follow the yellow-tint hose. Fire crews will probably take the hose back out in a day or two, once they're confident the fire is completely out. As I hiked up to the small stand of scorched redwoods I was surprised how close I had to get before I could smell where the fire had been.

I hadn't been out around the north side of Mt. Tam in quite a while, and I wanted to drop by Lily Lake to see how the drought was going down there. I was surprised to see the pond's still there.

In addition to checking up on the pond itself, I figured the Fetid Adder's Tongues might be in bloom. As I descended the trail toward the pond, I sniffed the air for the telltale aroma of these little blossoms. It's not a sweet smell. Although FATs are members of the lily family, their scent is rather more pugnacious than the dainty pedigree might imply. The smell is most reminiscent to me of . . . a dirty aquarium. You know that smell of walking into a pet store that sells fish? Yeah, that smell.

What they lack in olfactory delight, they make up for in visual beauty.

Still plenty of water, with an encroaching layer of duckweed.

Along with fetid adder's tongue, another early-season plant is cleavers, also known as bedstraw. Other diminutive edibles in the neighborhood included chickweed and miner's lettuce.

The main reason I wanted to check out the north side of the mountain along Fairfax-Bolinas Road was to get a closer look at Alpine Lake. I'd read that the water district is pumping water out of Phoenix Lake because of the drought and was curious to see how much the water level has dropped at Alpine Lake.

It's down quite a bit, but it didn't appear especially freaky until. . .

. . .until I saw where Cataract Creek empties into Alpine Lake. Even in summer, the lake usually disappears from view in the background. I don't have photos to back up my memory, but this has got to be about as low a lake level as I've seen here. With any luck, the next time I'm out on the north side it will be impossible to stand where I am in this frame.

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