Spectacular. Breathtaking. Heavenly.
Each of these adjectives aptly describes the vistas that I was fortunate
enough to gaze upon just last week. It was only a day or two earlier that I
was communicating from home with several Sierra Club leaders from the San
Francisco Bay area about the most rewarding nearby hikes. I judiciously
decided that the trail to Monument Peak would satisfy my need to breathe
some fresh California air from on high. As my recent thirst for hiking has
not yet been quenched, this choice turned out to be prescient. Unlike the
hiking at home, the Monument Peak trail, typical in the region, is
completely barren. Barely a tree to be seen, very few bushes, hardly a
clump of grass. No, we are not above the tree line, but the mountains that
define Silicon Valley, the Diablo Range to the east and the Santa Cruz
mountains to the west receive almost no rainfall, especially and
unfortunately in the past year. And so I am walking steeply uphill on a
dusty mountain side, under a warm, thirsty sun, always watching out for the
elusive mountain lion. He is here I am warned, ready to pounce on me from
that cliff above or from behind that next turn in the dirt path. My
longtime local friend, Dano, tells me that in all his years of hiking and
biking the surrounding mountains, he's only once seen a mountain lion, and
then from the safety of his car. Still, I am wary. The hike is steep. After
passing by dozens of cows grazing the rocky lower slopes in search of
moisture, I find myself above the layer of smog that blankets the valley
below. The bare, caramel-coloured mountains 20 km across the valley pop up
into sight. Unlike everywhere else I've ever been, the temperature here
climbs with the elevation, from 15C at the base to 23C at the peak. The
view has exceeded any expectations that I may have had. Contoured,
desert-like mountain ranges greet me on three sides, seemingly close by, an
illusion that I've witnessed before. A California condor soars overhead and
I wonder if it, too, has climbed 2,600 feet, like me, to gaze out at the
world in wonderment.
When you visit Northern California, remember this secret that I will now
share with you: the Elkhorn Slough (pronounced 'sloo') at Moss Landing. It
is here that I rented a kayak and paddled from the marina into the slough,
a swamplike area six miles long. There are over 300 species of birds living
here, some of them rather large such as pelicans and egrets. It is amusing
to watch the pretty, white terns circling above until spotting their fishy
prey straight below. Then they assume a streamlined shape by tightly
tucking in their wings and diving straight down into the chilly water,
emerging seconds later with their catch in their little beaks. But I am
saving the best for last: there are hundreds of seals, otters and sea lions
who live here in the protected slough. The sea lions are huge and scary but
they seem to spend their lives basking in the sun on the shore, bellowing
loudly and pushing each other around. Near them, it always smells like the
insides of a fish market. The seals are always swimming around, surfacing
anywhere at random, often surprising the paddlers nearby. It seems we
frighten them, too, as they quickly dive again only to resurface elsewhere.
But it is the sea otters who make me laugh out loud. They float around on
their backs, often in pairs, busily licking their little hands or munching
on whatever they are clutching. Otherwise they tease each other with their
otter games, like 'Guess Who is Behind You' or 'Tag, You're It,' I decide.
We are not supposed to paddle within one hundred feet of the animals, but
if they surface right next to my kayak, why not watch their frolicking from
up close and enjoy the entertainment?
I am sure you know that California is home to the famous redwood forests,
majestic trees that grow over many centuries straight up for a hundred feet
and more, often five to ten feet in diameter at the base. What you may not
know is that there are some redwood forests where you are welcome to cycle
through. One such place is the Nisene Marks state park, its southern
entrance located in the town of Aptos. Not just any park, the cycling trail
climbs 2,600 feet over nine miles. It doesn't sound like much of a
challenge but there are long stretches where many cyclists (the untrained,
I conclude) are forced to walk their bikes for it is nearly too steep to
pedal. Imagine yourself pedaling uphill for two hours with no respite. It
becomes easy to overlook the startling fact that I am winding my way uphill
in the midst of millions of immense trees. They block any chance of
sunlight from sneaking through the many branches and leaves far overhead.
It is only after 90 minutes that a break in the route brings me to a ledge
where riders can stop and gaze out for the first time at the forest below
and to the sea miles away to the southwest. As with my hike two days
earlier, it is much hotter here than at the mountain's base, a conundrum
still unsolved. Lest you think it is all hard work, remember that what goes
up must come down. Luckily, the brakes worked as advertised as it would be
deadly to attempt the return downhill without them functioning properly. If
you don't care to bike, many folks were simply walking along the same trail
as far as they cared to enjoy the majesty of the redwoods forest at a
slower pace.
Whether your pace is faster or slower, I wish you a happy, healthy and
sporty 2014.
Barry... the triathlete!
