Los Pajaros del Mar

Waning Crescent Moon

Fifty-six years ago today Alfred Hitchcock released The Birds, which, along with Psycho, permanently scarred the fragile, developing medullas of an entire generation. It wasn't Elvis or Little Richard or Dylan or Kesey or the Beatles or Hendrix or Joplin that screwed everybody up. It was Alfred Freakin' Hitchcock.

Filmed mostly in Bodega Bay, just 130 miles up the coast from here, The Birds starred Tippi Hedren and Rod Taylor, with a minor appearance by a very young Suzanne Pleshette. Pleshette was so addled by her role in the movie that she spent several tri-polar years married to TV psychologist Bob Newhart. Thank God. What a great show. Every single character was certifiably cuckoo.

So what did I do to celebrate my personal, cracked-up-cortex anniversary? I went to the beach, of course, knowing full well there would be no telephone booths to hide in, that every church in a fifty mile radius would be locked up tight, that every school would be fenced and gated and patrolled by an armed resource officer, and that every place of business would charge me top dollar to hide behind their counter. My only refuge would be Spugly the Spectacularly Ugly Palomino Transporter, which already has a couple of cracks in its windshield, and a pair of wobbly, stinkin' green port-a-potties on the edge of the parking lot, which is separated from the beach by a steep line of sand dunes. Sheesh.

Okay, not to bore you, I'll cut right to the chase. Nothing bad happened. I walked a little over six miles in the sand and I saw all kinds of beach and sea birds, especially at the mouth of the Pajaro River near Zmudowski Beach. Pajaro, of course, means "bird" en Espanol. It was the opposite of scary as hell. It was heavenly. I loved it.

I saw snowy plovers, black flying cormorants, gulls, sulking red-faced turkey vultures, nervous curlews and sandpipers, but nary a pelican, not a solitary one. I saw a single bobbing sea otter and a bunch of fat, lazy harbor seals napping on a spit in the harbor. I only saw a handful of other, non-scared humans. All together it was a great, fun day.

Probably, it is better that no birds gang-pecked me or chased me over the dunes into the potty. Maybe after fifty-six years the generational curse is over and The Birds is merely another classic scary movie. Maybe. I hope so. At this point, I can't outrun a sea turtle much less a flock of crazed sea birds.

Peace, Love, and {insert seagulls squawking here},

Jim

Trip Al Sur

Waxing Gibbous Moon

Ever since I came back from Arizona, there has been one cold rain event after another. Until this week, that is. El Sol came out on Tuesday and stayed gently brilliant every day, old school style, the OG  blazing his casual self from morning to night. How could anyone not be in a happy mood?

I enhanced the weather change with a quick truck trip down south, swinging through Paso Robles, Pismo Beach, Santa Barbara, Carpenteria, Figueroa Mountain, San Luis Obispo, Cayucos, Ragged Point, Gorda, Lucia, Big Sur, Carmel, and Monterey. The drive home up Highway 1 along the coast was ideal, primo, super, stupendous. All those rainy days are gone, erased from the memory bank by Papa Sun and Mama Surf. I heart California.

After breakfast at Vic's Cafe, a little stroll around downtown Paso Robles.

Then a quick stop at Palisades Park in Pismo Beach. Couldn't resist.

Sort of a nice place for a park.

In Santa Barbara, I joined Craig and Don and their dogs Myra and Ozzie for a sunset walk on East Beach. The lighting was simply holy. 

Ozzie left, Myra right. 

East Beach sunset.

Next morning was breakfast at Esau's Cafe in Carpenteria. Esau's used to be on State Street in Santa Barbara, but I guess the rent got too expensive. The cool vibe is just the same in Carp and so is the food - yum. A quick walk on the World's Safest Beach aided digestion.

No worries, it's Carp.

I wanted to go up to Figueroa Mountain to see if there might be a wildflower bloom happening. It was too early for a major splash, but it didn't matter. The scenery was great and the air was magnificent. It didn't hurt that I got to ride in Craig's 1990's gimme-a- ticket-red Porsche Boxster convertible up and back. A racy go cart for grown-ups.

A little color was happening on the south facing side, much too far for me to hike right now.

The Sun did not disappoint the next morning in SB, lighting up the Dolphin statues by Stearn's Wharf after breakfast at the Breakwater Cafe.

Joy.

Then it was back up the 101 to San Luis Obispo to check out some new-to-me parks and museums downtown.

I especially liked Cheng Park and this disturbingly friendly creature.

Cayucos on Highway 1 is one of my favorite beach towns ever. Will it continue to survive with its sea charm and laid back surf demeanor or will the monsters of development consume it, too?

Long live Cayucos.

The Big Sur coast from Ragged Point to Carmel is magnificent, the jewel of North America. I have bicycled it three times and I have driven it too many times to count, but it never gets old, particularly when the weather is as perfect as this. I always get a fried egg sandwich at the grill in Ragged Point. Always. It is still $4.95 and as awesome as ever after all these years.

Ragged Point

Yer basic Big Sur coast pic.

I stopped at all my little favorite turnouts and reminisced about bike journeys both with different folks and solo. I am confident that this is one place that will outlive all the crazy. God rules here.

Peace, Love, and the Left Coast,
Jim

Free Solo

Waning Crescent Moon

I watched Free Solo commercial-free on the National Geographic channel tonight. Let me preface the fact that I loved it by saying that my stomach churned constantly and I ground my teeth the whole way through. Okay, I loved it.

Free Solo recently won an Oscar for the most ferociously bone-chilling, death-defying, Samurai-warrior-climbing-El Capitan-without-a-rope-on-a-June-day-in-just-under-four-hours-with-a-film-crew-all-set-to-hurl-and-cry documentary ever conceived and executed. God almighty, this thing is fiery intense!

El Capitan, if you don't know, is a three thousand feet tall gorgeous granite vertical wall in Yosemite National Park. Other climbers have scaled it using ropes and all the climbing gear "normally" used for such endeavors. Only Alex Honnald has free-climbed it all by his lonesome.

Is he crazy? A genius? Superman? My guess is all three. Seriously, this is the single most impressive athletic accomplishment I have ever seen. His strength is one thing. His endurance is another. His focus/presence/relaxed intensity is alien, from the spirit realm.

You know at the beginning and throughout the whole film that he is going to make it, that he is not going to fall, but does that make any difference? No. You still are a bundle of nerves. Sweaty hands. Butterflies. Shortness of breath. Muttering omg's and other colorful stuff. The film crew, climbers all, can barely even watch and I promise you that you will look away at least once, if not several times. You might even puke all over your shirt. Keep a towel handy just in case.

At the end, on top of El Cap, after he finishes, what does he have to say? Of all the things you can think of that he might say, what does he say? I won't spoil it for you.

Peace, Love, and Wow,

Jim

Snow Thanks, I'll Pass

Photo credit: Pat Mount from her home in Tucson

Waning Gibbous Moon

This whole snowing-in-Arizona thing solidifies the notion that my crash in the canyon may have been a trail god blessing in disguise. Even a younger, stronger, healthier Palomino would have struggled to continue through this February mess. I am fairly certain much of it will melt by this time next month, but right now I would not want to try it. The Arizona Trail holds a lot of promise for beautiful hiking. I'll wait.

Posted by Jason Farnsworth. Image source unknown.

On the Facebook Arizona Trail 2019, hikers and local trail folks have posted photos of the scene at various points along the trail. I have taken the liberty of stealing some of them without permission, so my apologies in advance to anyone who might object. I will give credit when I know who took the pictures. Here is Patagonia, the town about 15 miles south of where I got hurt. Great place to visit, by the way.

Photo credit: Ken Taylor

Even the city of Tucson got snowed on this past week. I'm sure it happens now and then, but when you think of Tucson, do you picture snow at ~2,100 feet? Mt. Lemmon, northeast of the city, where I would have camped Thursday or Friday had I continued, recorded overnight temperatures well below zero and a couple of feet of new snow. Check out the humorous Tucson Police Department video.

Photo credit: Pat Mount

The further north you go, the deeper the snow and the colder the temps. Many of the access roads are buried or iced over. Some have been cleared. Passage 8 is pictured here. 

Photo credit: Ken King

The Mazatzal Mountains, said to be part of one of the most beautiful, if strenuous passages, look like they will be definitely challenging for quite some time.

Photo credit: Gary Householder

Deep snow on top of sharp cactus with obliterated trail means slow going, which means more clothing, food, and fuel to carry. It is possible, of course. I have hiked through stuff like this before and I am sure there will be strong hikers who will do it this year. But not me. The American Flag trail head is pictured here.

Photo credit: Gary Faulkenberry

Then of course there is the Grand Canyon. Is this how you imagine the approach to the Bright Angel Trail on the South Rim? Yikes! Don't follow this piggy!

Photo credit: Haley Johnson

I will wait and hike what I can some day if I am still able. I want to see a Gila Monster and cacti and wildflowers and mountain trails through Jeffrey pines. I want to test my memory of the Grand Canyon formations up close. I want to enjoy the kaleidoscope of colors I know Arizona has to offer. Mess with snow? Not so much.

Peace, Love, and Arizonasnowmageddon 2019,

Jim

Coyote

Full Moon

After resting for a full week, I tested out my knee Saturday with a flat, slow jaunt into town and back with the liberal use of a walking stick. Happy to report I think I am going to be okay. My long distance backpacking days may be over, but maybe not. I will definitely need to throttle back the scale of my trips and settle for shorter, quicker trips in warm seasons with a bare minimum of gear. I still get excited about it. I don't want to call it quits just yet.

Close to Patagonia, the beginning of Passage 4.

My brief impressions of the Arizona Trail left me wanting more. I can tell there would be parts of it I would not like, but I am attracted to the idea of section hiking most of it and caching clean water in strategic areas beforehand. I really do not want to drink that cow poo water I saw, even if it does make for funny stories and delectable gross-out photos.

I was already starting to dig the countryside.

That night after my injury, just as I was settling into my sleeping bag, I heard a very loud scream or screech coming from what seemed to be a very short distance away from my tent. If you have ever slept in a tent, you are no doubt familiar with the sensation that loud sounds can seem really close and soft sounds can seem even closer. It is easy to get spooked when you are on your back, zipped up tight. It's a vulnerable feeling to be sure, but less so when you are used to it.

When I heard that scream or screech, followed by a few short barks, I immediately identified it as at least one coyote in some sort of distress. I wasn't sure how close it was, but I guessed no more than fifty feet. My reaction was not one of fear. I wondered instead if maybe I had made my camp too close to a mother coyote's den and she was warning me to go away or warning her pups to stay put. The signal (can't call it a howl, it was not a typical coyote howl that I hear regularly where I live) repeated every couple of minutes for about a quarter of an hour, then ceased. The direction it came from never changed. Then suddenly, all was quiet.

Here is a YouTube recording of various coyote sounds. The ones I heard were the high-pitched sort of screaming/screeching/whistling tones that really get your attention. I don't know enough about them to interpret their meanings.

Coyote Sounds

Anyway, of course, no coyote actually threatened me physically or tried to get my food or anything like that. Much later, in the middle of the night, I heard something kind of slowly creeping around my tent for a few minutes, but it seemed bigger - could have been a cow or a deer, I dunno. I focused on it for a minute, then soon went back to sleep. It was too durn cold and my leg was too durn stiff to investigate. I saw no tracks the next morning.

My feeling right now is that I would like to go back in the fall and hike southbound from the Utah border to Flagstaff, then return next spring to do another section. One thing for certain is that hiking on ice and snow are not in my future. I must become a lot  smarter about when I pick my starting dates from now on.

Peace, Love, and Lessons Learned,
Jim

Railroaded

Waxing Crescent Moon

I'm getting this trainsleeping thing down pretty good. I got more rest last night than ever before riding from Tucson to L.A. Union Station. The keys for me are back and neck support - a lumbar pillow of some sort and a rolled up jacket or small pillow to keep my neck straight. All the rest of it is pretty natural. Of course, having two seats to yourself helps!

Yesterday I looked around the immediate area of the Tucson Amtrak Station for things of interest. Among them were the one hundred year old Hotel Congress (crawling with hipsters) and the Southern Arizona Transportation Museum (tiny but fun). There is also an exceptional market a few blocks away called Johnny Gibson's.

The Amtrak station has several displays that caught my eye, especially this one. Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday in lawman pose.

And this gal. Who doesn't love a girl with a little spunk?

Right next door is Maynard's Kitchen, a good place for a light breakfast. It's named after Maynard Dixon  a somewhat acclaimed western artist. A few of his prints are on display in the lobby. I like that stuff.

Hope to be home around dark tonight - not really ready to sit still yet, but I will have to lie low for the time being.

Peace, Love, and Rehab,
Jim

X-man Mission

Waxing Crescent Moon

Okay, so my hike didn't work out, big boo-hoo, but it's time to move on. The swelling has receded a lot and my knee has regained some range of motion. Soon the pain when I walk will most likely ease up and I will be fine...for normal pursuits.

One of the great positives of this trip has been meeting Lisa Smith and Nancy Reid of Big Blend Radio and Parks and Travel Magazine fame. They exceeded all my trail angel expectations, providing rides to and from the AZT and sharing stories of their interesting and far-ranging travels. A great experience with two really bright, talented humans.

Today on the way to Tucson from Patagonia, they stopped to show me the San Xavier Mission outside of town. Knowing I live in San Juan Bautista and that I hike frequently on the De Anza Trail there, they wanted me to see yet another Mission along Juan Bautista De Anza's exploration route from Mexico to the San Francisco Bay Area centuries ago. This mission looks massive from the outside, ornately decorated and imposing against the backdrop of the surrounding desert.

Inside, well, it's kind of odd, leaning toward the creepy. I don't get the feeling of being in a church so much as in the setting of a Fellini movie. What's going on here, X-man? Were you trying to scare me or inspire me or what?

After an initial feeling of circus horror sensory shock and house of mirrors vertigo, I settled on a response of grinning irreverence slash outright laughter. Not the usual tourist reaction or that of a pious religious enthusiast, I'm sure, but truthfully, I was amused.

Alfred Hitchcock would have a field day in here. I kept waiting for Anthony Quinn to show up, or Vincent Price, or Anthony Perkins, or maybe even Malcolm McDowell. Wooooo! Spooky!

You can only take just so much over-the-top, scare-the-natives stuff, so soon we transferred our attention to the Cam Boh Trail for a slow amble/hobble through some glorious chain cholla and other cacti. Pretty cool!

All in all, this was a great travel day with a terrific pair of fellow wanderers. Thanks, Lisa and Nancy, and good luck with your upcoming national tour!

Peace, Love, and Exploration,
Jim