2018: The Rearview

I was paging through our pictures from 2018 and realized it can be summed up nicely with a pictorial essay. Here's the year in a nutshell:

JANUARY

Mark stands forlornly at the locked gate at Pt. Reyes National Park Lighthouse stairs. Notice all the other unsuspecting tourists gobbed up on the platform behind him. 

It started with a government shutdown. Sound familiar anyone? We went out to Point Reyes National Park on our annual trip to the lighthouse and when we arrived found the gate padlocked shut. Due to the government shutdown at midnight that very night, all national parks had been closed. It was a gorgeous day out there though, and we made the best of it by picnicking on the beach and watching the surfers dodge the elephant seals.

FEBRUARY

A Green Sea Turtle cruises by and gives u a chin nod.

A fabulous trip to Maui had us snorkeling every day with sea turtles, sharks and whales and ended with a new ambition/obsession for Mark: become a helicopter pilot. 

MARCH

We took pity on the new owner and cleaned it inside and out. We were a little worried that the dog hair was the only thing holding it together.

A fond farewell to a partner that had been with us for over 28 years. Our Honda Civic had been our car since before we were married and taken us on many adventures. It was a sad day, and I still miss having a vehicle I can park next to the grocery cart corral without a care.

APRIL

April brought an abundance of sweet peas.

A bumper crop of flowers in the garden signified spring's arrival. We finally had a normal rain year and the flowers were deeply appreciative.

MAY

Turns out the road to Tibbets Arch, our first campsite before descending onto the White Rim Trail, was much more difficult than any of the actual White Rim road. We lost our trailer hitch electrical assembly and some of the paint on our back bumper to a sharp drop off on the way out.

Our annual trip to Overland Expo was a launching point for another Utah adventure with friends. The White Rim Trail was even better done in three days, and a lot less scary for me the second time around. 

JUNE

Ginger, snickerdoodles and chocolate chip were just a few of the flavors coming out of the oven in June.

Ah, June. Do I hear wedding bells? Turns out the latest trend in weddings is to have cookies instead of (or in addition to) cake. Two of my co-workers asked if I would make cookies for their weddings, and who was I to say no? After countless test batches, sampling flavors and measuring yield per batch, it was the big day. An industry was born and I was unable to even look at butter for weeks afterward.

JULY

Gold Lake in Lakes Basin Recreation Area. The smoke shut us out of Yosemite, and kept us from doing a planned hike to the Sierra Buttes. Maybe next year...

If 2018 had a signature smell, it would be smoke. Wildfires raging in Yosemite closed the park the day before we were to leave on our annual camping trip there, so we improvised by going north to Plumas-Eureka State Park. It was a lovely time, perfect weather but for all the smoke in the air. We thought it was coming from the Yosemite fire, but while we were happily, obliviously out of cell phone range, Lake County was going up in flames in what turned out to be the largest wildfire in state history. It didn't matter which way the wind blew, the smoke was settling over us regardless.

AUGUST

It was time. Since the beginning of the drought in 2013, the lawn in our front yard had steadily turned from grass to an interesting assemblage of "native" plants. Dandelions, privet, oxalis, and of course crabgrass had taken over our entire yard, embarrassing us and annoying our neighbors. We decided to reduce the lawn footprint and plant drought resistant borders, but first had to move all of our irrigation lines and sprinkler heads. Somehow when we put the lawn in twenty years ago this type of work was much easier. Every night we went to bed and listened to our joints moan in pain. Getting old sucks.

SEPTEMBER

A drive up the coast of Oregon capped off our camping season. It was a spectacular trip, one for the books, with perfect weather, uncrowded campgrounds and cheese. Lots of cheese.

OCTOBER

Sans-camper, our truck doesn't look all that big. Still hell to park in a busy lot though.

For our anniversary, we decided to rent a cabin in Tahoe before it got too cold. Autumn in Tahoe is  probably my favorite season–still sunny days, chilly nights and best of all, hardly any people. We had a great time walking the dogs in the forest, visiting the ice cream shop every afternoon and soaking in the hot tub under the stars at night. Although we weren't camping, we made a run up to our favorite camp spot in the mountains just to say hello. The trees were brilliant yellow but the air was nippy. I was glad we had a cabin to go home to every night.

NOVEMBER

This pic is actually from September, but this represents about all that happened in November.

Let's see. The Camp Fire wiped out Paradise and sent a plume of smoke over Sonoma County for days. In only a year and a month, that fire wiped out Santa Rosa's previous record number of lives and dwellings lost. We were forced to stay indoors for two weeks because of the alarmingly unhealthy air quality, but felt guilty complaining knowing what the poor people of Paradise were going through. We missed out on a Thanksgiving trip with our buddies to El Camino del Diablo because we planned to spend the holidays with our families, but we both got the flu right before Thanksgiving and were unable to enjoy our favorite meal of the year. It was cold, it was rainy, and there was no camping or adventuring happening. Not a great month.

DECEMBER

Ice plant, as far as the eye can see.
Sonoma Coast State Park

Once we started feeling better, we started to enjoy the season a bit. Miracles started to occur, such as finishing Christmas shopping with two weeks to spare, and rain that happened during the week leaving the sun for the weekends to enjoy. We took a trip out to the coast just before Christmas and found ourselves almost alone, on a wind-free, sunny gorgeous day. How could we not stop for fish and chips? The year was ending on a high note and we expect next year to follow suit. 

To all of you, here's to a safe, happy and adventurous 2019!

50 Years Later

This headline greeted me yesterday morning like a slap in the face on the eve of my 50th birthday:

Kind of rude if you ask me.

This morning I woke up and found an email from my dentist reminding me of an appointment later this month, a reminder from the doctor that it was time for some important tests (you know, those tests) and a letter from AARP inviting me to join, now that I'm eligible. Boy, I never used to think the world was against me.

(Photo credit: AARP)

Mark and I spent yesterday hiking to the top of Mount Saint Helena, the highest point in these parts. It's a fairly easy hike five miles up a fire road to the peak at 4,342 feet. Despite my advancing age we made it up to the top in a few hours and back down at an even quicker pace. My knees are starting to make a sound similar to bending a piece of beef jerky when I hike uphill, but I choose to take that as a good thing. Who doesn't like beef jerky?

The view from the top of Mt. St. Helena: Napa valley just below, with Sonoma valley, the coastal mountain range and even a bit of Pt. Reyes National Seashore within view. 

I'm not ready to cash it in or anything, but I'd be lying if I said I feel as chipper as I did when I was twenty-five. But I would be telling the absolute truth when I say I feel way better than I did when I was 35; that was the year I blew a spinal disc and could hardly walk before finally giving up and having surgery to correct it. It's helpful to put things in perspective sometimes.

(Photo credit: http://www.betaklinik.de)

So this morning I took a little walk to work out the ten mile hike stiffness and dropped by Starbucks for my free birthday tea (you know how we old folks love a bargain.) As I rounded a corner of the strip mall I passed a young guy on his way to work. I noticed he slowed down once I passed him and in the reflection of the store window I saw him turn and, pardon the expression, check out my ass. I had to laugh to myself and wonder: does he know he's looking at a potential card-carrying AARP member?

Things could be worse I suppose.

Elephants on the Beach: Point Reyes National Seashore

We took our annual trip to Point Reyes National Seashore last weekend. It was the 26th anniversary of our first date and the plan was to visit the lighthouse and watch for whales off the point. However, when we arrived at the visitor's center to buy shuttle tickets, we were disappointed to hear the bus service was interrupted indefinitely.

Dairy farms are still run in Point Reyes National Seashore. (Looking west towards the point from Drake's Bay Road)

Sonoma and Marin counties are blessed with beautiful weather, rolling hills, and hundreds of miles of backroads to explore. The people who live and work here have known this all along, of course, but more recently it's been "discovered" by cyclists, both as a training ground for racing (Lance Armstrong and Levi Leipheimer among others have trained here) and for the colorful weekend lycra-cyclists. In the last few years it's gotten a bit frustrating to drive to the coast; contingents of neon-clad "roadies" ride in tightly packed groups, clogging the narrow roads like plaque in Morgan Spurlock's arteries after filming Supersize Me.

(Necessary Disclaimer Because I Know I'll Hear About It Otherwise: I am all for cycling. I commute to work on my bike about 6 months of the year, and I completely understand how terrifying it can be sharing the road with motorists who often seem more concerned with checking their phones than steering. I try to be a considerate driver; if it's not safe to pass, I won't. But a little effort has to be made on the cyclist's part as well; finally approaching a wide spot in the road just to have the cyclist group in front of you spread out and block the lane is maddening at best, road rage inducing at worst.)

Anyway, this year was no different, tons of cyclists not all of them polite. And it turns out they were (sort of) the reason the shuttle buses weren't running: one of the buses, in an effort to avoid some cyclists, veered too far over and ran off the road. It must have been in a bad spot, because it not only disabled that bus, but it blocked the road so the others couldn't make it through either. Point Reyes is a pretty remote park to begin with and the spot where the bus got stuck is an extra 18 miles or so down a very narrow road. It was going to be a while until a tow truck capable of pulling a full size bus out of the mud could get out there.

Shut out on a very windy day. I was disappointed, but happy not to be doing the backstroke with the whales.

We've been shut out before: one year the wind was so strong they closed the stairs to the lighthouse. Point Reyes is the western-most point in the contiguous US, and it sticks so far out into the Pacific there's nothing to dampen the wind as it screams down the coast. The Park Service closes the stairs when the winds exceed 40 miles an hour, not wanting to have to send the Coast Guard after all the tourists blown out to sea.

The view south from the lighthouse.

The view from the lighthouse looking north.
(If you can get there.)

As it turned out, it was a minor disappointment. The shuttle bus station is located at Drake's Bay, a protected inlet that is named for that inveterate explorer/slave trader/plunderer Sir Francis Drake. Large cliffs protect the bay from the wind, and the southern facing beach makes the most of the sun (when it's out.) The day we were there happened to be one of those weirdly warm winter ones--73 degrees--and almost no wind. We grabbed our cameras, picnic lunch and a blanket and took off down the sand.

Drake's Beach at low tide

For years now, elephant seals have been making a comeback to the California coast. They were hunted for their blubber to near extinction in the 19th century, but since the Marine Mammal Protection Act was put in place in 1972, they have been making up for lost time. Drake's Beach is a popular haul out spot for them, with colonies of females and pups gathering at the far western end of the beach guarded by their alpha males. The bachelor males have to find their own spot in the sand, and often bask in the sun off to the edges of the colony. Every year, these lone males spread farther east, often ending up on the beach alongside the human visitors. It's smart to give these guys a wide berth; they are not only a protected species, but if they feel you are infringing on their territory they just might insist you leave the area. A full grown male can weigh up to 5,000 pounds, not somebody you'd want to challenge to a wrestling match.

These guys know how to relax.

They don't make avoidance easy either; since they have so much blubber to keep them warm in the cold water, they get overheated when they lay in the sun. When that happens, they flip sand on their backs, making them look for all the world like a large piece of driftwood that's rolled up with the surf. So when they aren't moving it's easy to walk right up to them unaware. Here's a shot of one blending in with the flotsam and jetsam:

Where's Waldo?

We picked our way through the field of eligible bachelors and found an empty spot of sand for our blanket. From there we were able to observe our slumbering neighbors and keep an eye out for any newcomers in the surf.

Snoozing tidal-pool side.

After a while we heard a ruckus going on down the beach; a large male was in the surf calling out to another male that was sleeping on the beach. At first, the beached male ignored him. But Mr. Surf insisted on challenging, so after about ten minutes of his caterwauling the big guy on the beach decided he'd had enough. He got up, and with surprising speed, ran down the beach and smashed into his challenger. They kept at it, the larger one backing his opponent into the surf, where they continued to fight in the waves.

Looking for a spot to pull over.

We were so engrossed in the spectacle we didn't get any pictures, but the loser ended up swimming towards us, crawling out of the waves to rest. Here he is, a little worse for wear:

Notice the scars, along with the bloody gash on his neck.
These guys have to do battle in order to gain their own harem; I think this one might be better off staying a bachelor.

I can see why the Park Service really doesn't want the public to mix it up with these guys. I don't think they'd attack a person unprovoked, but if someone were stupid enough to approach a male on the warpath...well I wouldn't want to see what was left of him afterward.

After that excitement things seemed to settle down. We lounged in the sand a bit ourselves, then tortured a few sand fleas, a time honored tradition from our grade school days.

Emerita (aka Sand Flea)

Sand flea is just our name for them: they are actually a type of crustacean that live in the sand along the tidal zone. They prefer to be buried in the sand, but our third grade alter egos like to dig them up and watch them bury themselves again. I'm sure we pissed a few off in the process, but fortunately we are much bigger than they are, and they don't have much going for them in the defense department.

...and back down he went, grumbling the whole way I'm sure.

We packed up and left when the tide started to come in. The western side of Drake's beach isn't very wide at high tide; if we waited too long we'd be wading too long, if you get my drift. As we approached the parking lot a docent informed us they had finally cleared the road and the buses were running again. We thought about it for a minute then decided we were happy. We got to see a fight, torture a few small crustaceans and catch some rays with elephant seals in the warm January sun. How could it possibly get any better?

Yeah, you said it buddy.