Saturday, March 31, 2007

MT. DIABLO ST. PARK: Traipsing and Scrambling in Wild Oat Canyon - the Donner Falls Loop in Six Miles, Six Hours

On a sunny day, after freshening rains, no place is more alluring than our ancient local Mountain. Called “Tuyshtak” long ago by Ohlone people, meaning “at the day”, the imposing 3,849 foot land mass was the center of the universe then, and today remains the geological centerpiece of landscapes near and beyond the Bay Area.

The “devil’s mountain” (evidently a linguistic botch job) stands out alone in a range of lesser East Bay peaks, and dominates the surrounding viewshed -- including spectacular vistas of the Sacramento - San Joaquin River Delta and snow-capped Sierra peaks on a clear day -- like few other natural monuments in the world. A visit to the Mountain, especially at this time of year, of wildflowers and waterfalls, is certain to charm and enthrall . . but if not careful, if not prepared, if acting with undue hubris, a visit to the devil’s mountain can also end up debilitating, injuring, or killing you. (I kid you not.)

Nothing excites Gambolin’ Man more than a springtime ramble in our beautiful Mt. Diablo St. Park. Less than an hour’s drive away, no place within a 100+ mile radius - certainly no place, on second thought, other than Sunol Regional Wilderness -- offers such bountiful promise of unbridled adventure and boyish fun in a big wild playground; the guarantee of thrilling challenges in rugged areas, whether hiking, biking, scrambling, paragliding, or rock climbing, and the anticipation of seeing many animals and few people no matter how many cars are parked at the trailhead. (Except after big rains, usually not that many.)

Ya gotta love Mt. Diablo! Minutes into a hike and you’re in your own private nature sanctuary, utterly lost to the prevailing world out there -- big, bad, barely containable East Bay suburban sprawl extending out twenty miles from beyond the Berkeley Hills, up from Livermore to the south, big, bad, unsustainable development crunching up against the park boundaries on all sides, threatening to gobble up remaining open space parcels unless organizations such as Save Mt. Diablo can raise money and act quickly to purchase vital “connector” greenbelt corridors. (Most recent victory: completion of a significant acquisition of 333 acres - Irish Canyon -- helping to link Mt. Diablo St. Park and Black Diamond Mines Regional Preserve, an old coal mining region.).

Beset by extensive Contra Costa County urban development, rare and endangered flora and fauna find habitat and refuge in the preserved ecosystems of the still-wild Diablo range. Truly, it’s a miracle they have survived, but thankfully, since 1932, 89,000 acres of pristine land has been set aside, preserved, protected, all because a dedicated group of people believed (and continue to believe) so fervently in the cause of saving this precious and unique “resource” for everyone’s benefit.

Mt. Diablo nature sometimes reminds me of Sierra foothill country in Placer County (the two locales share many flora and fauna) or, with a little stretch of the imagination, desert-style badlands in one season, lush near-tropical splendor in another. When you’re in the bosom of the magnificent Mountain, deep in a forested canyon, euphonious bird song and rippling water livening the pulse of the day, and sun beating down while the rest of the Bay Area is drenched in fog, with nothing on your agenda but this! -- you know you’re somewhere different and special.

Try to explain this insatiable love and infatuation for all things Tuyshtakian! For starters, it is a world unto its own. Rocks, boulders, erosion patterns, geological formations, all are unique and whose very presence evidences a volatile and complex history of a local earth in severe upheaval. The all-encompassing possible environments, or eco-zones, found from top to bottom define the flora, fauna and weather patterns of its broad contours. Fact is, Tuyshtak is a chunk of earth as big as some Sierra mountains, making it as bio-diverse, ecologically complex, and geologically dynamic as anyplace on earth. Over 400 plant species have been identified and, with a world-famous reputation for avian sightings, at least as many bird species. It is significant habitat for hundreds of animals. It is a place where Donner Falls and other stunning redoubts of nature exist to challenge your concepts and preconceived notions of what constitutes “true wilderness.” Barring definitions involving the word “roadless”, I proclaim my love of true wilderness right in our backyard. To call it anything else is to diminish the tireless efforts of selfless preservationists who have fought and won hard-earned battles to save Mt. Diablo and bequeath to generations of human visitors and animal denizens its wild and glorious splendor for all time.

Nowhere in the mountain’s vast acreage of open spaces, grasslands, ridges, riparian woodlands, rock-strewn highlands, and rugged peaks is a more truly “exotic locale” found than Wild Oat Canyon - home to Donner Creek and the famous local gusher, Donner Falls, our destination on this day.

We set off hiking up Donner Road. The first thing you notice is Donner Creek off to the left, glinting steely blue in sun-dappled stretches, merrily burbling along with a respectable cargo of water, wending through large rolling hills in a green riparian corridor lined with healthy oaks, buckeyes, sycamores, California laurel, and big leaf maples, coupled with splendid views of the two imposing peaks of Diablo’s massif. You think - how perfectly lovely! You want to roll out sheet and open up the picnic basket and just lay there contemplating sweet divine nothingness in mindless bliss. That’s how much Donner Creek charms and mesmerizes, but in an oh-so-subtle way. You could mistake it for a “nothing little crick”, for it does strike one as a somewhat narrow artery for the big drainage job it has. Miles-wise, it originates very close, but elevation-wise, it must first start seeping out of a hole in the earth perhaps three thousand feet high up on the Mountain‘s flanks. In this near vertical journey, the creek bears down hard with the full force of gravity to cut beautiful, narrow gorges in a short distance, and now, at the outset of the hike, the creek has made a pleasant bed for itself in the form of an anfractuous ribbon of water flowing through low rolling hills and meadows, in its eventual, mostly unknown about 15 mile journey to drain obscurely and unnoticed by 99.9% of humanity into Suisun Bay.

Opposite the creek, to the west, venerable oaks reign in solitary splendor high up on green, grass-swept hillsides. Tuyshtak’s big North Peak, at 3557 ft., and smaller Olympia Peak, at 2946 ft., dominate ahead. I admire this inspirational scene for a few seconds. Then, barely visible about 50 ft. up a terraced slope, I spot a young coyote laying down in the grass. First time I’ve seen a wild canid hanging out, sniffing the air nonchalantly, looking around, checking us out, taking in the day, just being true to his lazy dog nature. (Just an old Diablo tail-banger, as my dear departed dad might have said.)

Donner Road gradually gains in elevation -- we will climb a not insignificant 1300 ft. in under three miles, so this hike, although doable by people of all ages, is not for the lazy, faint-hearted or weak-limbed. We detour on our favorite cut-off - Hetherington Loop Trail -- which, oddly, nine out of ten people by-pass in favor of (or out of ignorance of) the main fire road trail. Hetherington leads up to a higher point on Donner Road, winding up through a very pretty riparian corridor, a charming back hollow, that threatens to turn the tough six-mile round-trip hike into yet another series of dilatory, way-laid episodes of stymied enchantment at the beauty unfolding all around in a pristine, isolated world. The nameless water course (Hetherington Creek?) that cuts the ravine fascinates with its miniature thunder, its colorful, dense, textured rocks ajumble in the sensuous stream bed; the flawless forest of venerable, gnarly blue and coast live oak trees gleaming like cyclopean creatures opening up to the sun. We pass through one of the most beautiful stands of manzanita in all of the Bay Area. Looking out at an opening, Olympia’s soaring features frame the backdrop to the east, while prominent North Peak looms to the south. You wonder: where am I? (Smack dab in the middle of California suburban sprawl, that‘s where!)

After about two miles of hiking and who knows how much elevation gain, but enough to make you start to feel it, we crest out, to begin the Wild Oat Canyon loop. We take Middle Trail, a serpentine, dipsy-do track leading into the back reaches of the small, aptly named Wild Oat Canyon, still hundreds and hundreds of feet beneath the big Diablo peaks. Middle Trail continues on for less than a mile, changing names to Falls Trail, where it connects with Cardinet Oaks Road and back to the juncture at Donner Road, but not before passing over, up, around, and through several significant ravine / waterfall drainages, and attaining magnificent views from scary prominences, and capping it off with a breakneck scramble up the creek and scree slope to find myself prostrate at the spraying plunge pool of Donner Falls - a perspective not many get due to the semi-technical nature of the short but risky scramble.

Although not the gusher seen in previous years, a respectable amount of water is plummeting from the brooding lip of the falls. Well, you know me, I want to see what’s above the level of this lower 15 ft. drop / plunge pool, so I get it in my mind to scale the falls’ 20 ft. wide slimy mossy wall, with the intention to hoist myself up and over the lip to see, perhaps, an even more wondrous sight. After a couple of false starts, I finally manage to climb up about eight feet through breaks in the water flow, which doesn’t seem like much, but it’s high enough and slippery enough to make me immediately want to get down. . .but not before snapping a few photos of Donner Falls gracefully carving out a polished chute through bedrock gorge, so much water coming from God knows where, swirling through the earth in a rhythmic pulsation of rainbow spray and mist and thunder. I can’t see above or beyond, but I sense it’s an ever-upward series of waterfalls, pools, more drops and swirling water courses cutting deeper and deeper into the Mountain’s north flanks. In all its tiny glory of discovery, its unnoticed majesty of revelation, Donner Falls up close and personal is probably the prettiest sight I’ll see all season.

Getting down from my untenable throne requires a botched sequence of sketchy maneuvers that tweak my arm and twist around my sore foot. I can‘t safely climb back down, so I madcat leap, from where I‘m clinging for my life on the edge of the wall, to a scree slope about six feet below me, and happen to land decently enough, but bang my arm up some more and bruise my knee. Dusting myself off, I now have to get up and out of the bowl like depression of high rock walls down in the falls’ small amphitheatre of water crashing down into the plunge pool. I can make my way back down Donner Creek, the easy egress, the way I came up, except, you know me, I prefer to take another, harder way back to the top - a slippery scramble of 30 ft. up the soft scree slope and then over a spine of sheer soaring rock. Proving to be doable, I get to the top of a spiny ridge of a small prominence from which to view - dizzyingly -- the unfolding Diabloan panorama. I soak this in for a few seconds, catch my breath, drink to the falls. I admire the several stunted California junipers (cypress family) in my presence, looking every bit as tough as Bristlecone pine in the inhospitable heights of the White Mountains in the eastern Sierra Nevada range. Hours must pass in my mind before startling to the realization that I’ve left my hiking partner behind, and so must continue, without further delay, down the nastiest part of the scramble -- about 100 ft. down a rock-strewn, rutty, poison oak-infested, steep, narrow defile where I take a finger-jamming and leg-abrading stumble, nearly damage my camera, and get a bit more bloodied up. No big deal, just a few more souvenirs from Tuyshtak.

A bit worse for the wear, twenty minutes later, I’m reunited with Gambolin’ Gal, who has been patiently waiting for me in the sun, next to a peaceful zen waterfall scene, motionless but alert in a silent spell of meditative reverie. (Something yin / yang going on here between her and me!) Hand in (my one good) hand, we set off on the continuation of our loop, through the land of big chocolate rocks hundreds of millions of years old, passing beneath neck-craning high slopes dotted with wildflowers, gazing out to distant views, and ever more water flowing out of the Mountain. It’s a slow, gimpy hike back, but no matter - things are more charming and enthralling than before! If it weren‘t for those minor annoyances of hunger, thirst and aching bodies, we‘re ready to do it all over again! And, at the day, we shall. Praise be almighty Tuyshtak!

Monday, March 12, 2007

R. L. STEVENSON ST. PARK: Lackadaisical Amble on Table Rock Trail Leads (Eventually) to Impressive Volcanic Bluff Overlooking Fabulous Wine Country

Two fitness walkers pause long enough on the frosty morning trail to greet us and mention to be on the lookout for the Peregrine falcons nesting in a hidden eyrie on the precipitous edges of the 200 ft. volcanic bluff known as Table Rock, in the purview of 4343 ft. Mt. St. Helena, the Bay Area‘s highest peak. Table Rock -- an unassuming name for the odd-shaped boulders and hardened lava formations dominating the environs - provides the perfect habitat for the elegant and still endangered hawks to thrive. Approaching the edge of the first big cliff, we look out and are instantly rewarded with a sighting of the couple, soaring together in a billowy sky over a deep green valley, gracefully swooping and looping in perfect unison, then flying out of sight, quite ecstatic mating companions for life, it appears, which could extend to twenty years.

I suggest a spontaneous escape to Sonoma wine country for the day, but not before an invigorating hike at “Bob L. Stevenson” park. Bob L. who? Bob L. where? I mean none other than unheralded and off-beat Robert Louis Stevenson St. Park in Napa County, north of mineral springs mecca Calistoga. A quick Google search turns up, well, not much on Table Rock Trail’s many splendors. I’m guessing it’s one of those local “best kept secret” places, to be not talked up too, too much, for (rightfully so) fear of it being overrun by the hiking hordes. No fear of that - we see all of four people on a recent splendid Friday outing.

I once mountain biked to Mt. St. Helena’s twin summits, challenged by the 8-mile, 2000 ft. elevation gain climb to the top, amazed by the expansive, 360 views of the Calistoga / Napa / Sonoma / Lake valleys unfolding beneath me. That was a fun, beautiful experience, to be sure, but it was on a sketchy gravel road, and the huge transmission tower complex at the summit didn’t make for the most inviting of surroundings. Looking beyond to the east, toward the rampart of volcanic rock outcroppings known as the Palisades, I knew I’d return to check it out, but didn’t know it would take three years!

Today’s plan is to hike 1.8 miles on Table Rock Trail to Palisades Trail, then hike Palisades out ‘n back 4 miles, for a total of 7.6 miles. A cakewalk. What can beat it, especially on such a beautiful day promising a classic springtime gambol. It’s an ambitious agenda, though, given our propensity to amble, pause frequently, check out every little thing in exaggerated and endless fascination, not to mention nursing a lower extremity injury, and, ultimately, the powerful motivation to hit the cellars in time for a leisurely oeno-tour later in the day. I’m mildly disappointed, because I want it all, now! Alas, Palisades Trail will just have to wait.

Table Rock Trail does not disappoint or let down despite its relatively short length of less than two miles. The hike satisfies every addicted craving of the Gambolin’ Man for big views, pretty California scenery, sacred running water, character-rich rock formations. Add the challenge of being a moderately strenuous 3.6 miler, and Table Rock Trail surrenders up hours worth of physical exertion, serendipitous discovery, meditative tarrying, and impulsive urges to seek out -- poison oak be damned! -- the most wonderful and delightful secretive worlds in the nooks and crannies of nature.

We -- me and beautiful wife, best friend, and hiking partner, Gambolin’ Gal -- park at about 2100 ft. at a hairpin turn-off on super-busy CA 29, the jammed artery connecting Calistoga / Napa with Middletown / Lake County. 2100 ft. is modest as elevations go, but at 9 am, it‘s surprisingly cold. The trail immediately starts climbing through a shaded mixed conifer, madrone, and manzanita forest. At an opening fifteen minutes into the hike, sunlight pours through, a veritable God-send. Snow-dusted Mt. St. Helena rises to impressive stature to the west - a novel panorama of an unknown landscape. Pushing on, the semi-frozen trail crunches with each step -- icy patches and light snow blanket the land.

In half a mile, we climb several hundred feet, now plenty warmed up. I strip down -- the day is suddenly one of those priceless, warm, winter / spring California days, in between rains, where you can see forever and a boundless promise of optimism and good tidings is carried in the air like the fresh scent of lemony sage. You want to holler and whoop, in some sort of savage outburst of unbridled wild passion (your basic “barbaric yawp“). So you do! As the day continues to warm up, a few wildflowers have popped out to brighten things evermore. Lovely Painted Ladies appear out of nowhere in large numbers, fluttering around us in a magical, ethereal dance. Skittish Western fence lizards dart here and there. Birdsong fills the air. Everything’s coming to -- LIFE! It’s a golden moment, you’re fully grateful to be alive, blessed to be healthy, happy to be enjoying the great California outdoors. And not a soul in sight! The morning, unfolding like a brilliant revelation, promises a wonderful and unexpected respite from the gloomy weather predicted for this day. We are thrilled to be here, someplace familiar but new, commonplace but exotic, far away but close enough to be on the trailhead in just ninety minutes -- and a hop, skip and jump away from world-class wineries!

Imagine my pleasant surprise at our first rest stop, Table Rock overlook. I love rocks, and this is one big odd-shaped jumble of earth’s bones, but still, compared to the real Table Rock, below us, it’s easy to dismiss it as a modest outcrop. We seek purchase atop the big rocks for a brief respite, to gulp down some water, eat something, and take in sweeping views of lands beyond , a new viewscape, unseen, far-flung, wild California -- the knife-sharp ridges of Cache Creek Natural Area to the northeast, the rugged Clear Lake watersheds to the north / northwest, and beyond that, the twin summits of massive Snow Mountain (over 7,000 ft.) in the Mendocino National Forest; even our beloved Mt. Diablo’s famous profile is clearly visible far to the south. Definitely a WOW! moment!

From the overlook, the trail becomes more challenging. It drops down a hundred feet or more through chaparral brush, with chocolate colored manzanita in sweet pink bloom. Winding, winding, down a rocky, rutted ravine path which improvises as a bedrock-cutting water course channeling the previous night’s considerable rains to a larger gully creek. This makes the going a bit slippery, a tad more technical, yet at the same time, creating evermore enchanting conditions as we make our way down the micro river canyon of orange and alabaster bedrock.

At the drop in elevation, the trail flattens, opening up to a broad area, a lovely boulder garden in a desert Southwest kind of environment. Another WOW! moment. To the north, the far-off rugged coastal ranges are blanketed in snow, a mirage against the cerulean expanse. I can’t take my eyes off the big, deep blue Cache Creek ridges. The immediate surroundings are reminiscent of that special desert-like ecosystem near Mt. Diablo, specifically at 2000 ft. or so in the “islands in the sky” at Las Trampas Regional Wilderness, only rockier. It’s all unexpectedly very, very pretty! -- scatterings of odd-shaped rocks, plastered with colorful lichen species glistening wet in full sunlight; tall cairns and a labyrinth wandering pagans have constructed; the non-stop views; the sound of nature’s music all around in the birdsong that fills the air and the gentle gurgling mantra of miniature rivers -- it‘s all unexpectedly very, very pretty! We walk the labyrinth, rejoicing in a moment of silence, of peace, of love and purity, all alone, together, in this special place and time. This is - an OM! moment!

I could spend the rest of my day right here, in lackadaisical inertia lost in thought and dreamy meditation. But lots of ground yet to cover, so got to keep moving. The rock garden ain‘t goin‘ nowhere. (But we surmise that three punks, who pass us later in the day, must have been the ones who knocked over the tall cairn we find in ruins on our way back.)

The trail turns cantankerous, dipping another couple of hundred feet down into a secluded gulch area. You’re absolutely lost to the world down in this paradise gully. The sound of water gathering and gaining steam livens my pulse, makes me want to scurry off-course in a bushwhacking foray to find the outlet of the water course emerging from the dense brush in a back hillside. There, we stop at a sunny elbow bend, and kick back in the warm rays, bathed in delightful sun, charmed by the tinkly gurgle of small water flowing, supremely enjoying a perfect sans souci moment - ticks be damned! But we’re only halfway to our destination, and it’s getting on. I hate to leave this precious spot . . . But it ain’t goin’ nowhere . . . So got to keep moving.

One surprise after another as we continue to drop down the steep trail. Now the freshets keep gaining momentum and join up with other small gully tributaries to create beautiful swirling arteries of water cascading in pools and riffles in a magical journey through the classic California landscape - scrub oak, western redbud, giant western fern, dogwood, budding buckeye trees, then back up through the chaparral community. Here we are at the overlapping landscapes of two major eco-zones, the magical intersection of the north coastal and Diablo ranges.

Just before the final push to the top of Table Rock bluff, the trail diverts to follow the course of another enchanting waterway spilling out of a Diabloesque rocky gorge. Here is the kind of natural sanctuary where I go to pray - to meditate - to give thanks and praise. Here, I experience strip-my-soul-bare humility and a heart-felt rush of gratefulness for being alive, for having the will, the passion, the desire, to always seek out that which most people bypass without a second glance or consideration - there, I’ll find the magic in the prosaic, the exotic in the pedestrian.

By now, it’s 1 p.m. and we’ve hiked only about two miles in four hours! (That’s a lively pace of about a half-mile per hour!) Our attention today, on this short two mile stretch, has shifted - less about “how many miles can we cover” and more about “how much is seen, heard and experienced along the way.” For our mild-mannered exploits, we have been rewarded with spectacular views in all directions, wonderfully changing environments at different elevations, and the spellbinding beauty of flowing water. At the volcanic bluff, we while away a good half hour espying the Peregrine falcons and other birds, admiring distant mountain ranges to the west, and poking about in wind-carved caves and solution pockets among the high rocky terrain. I’m impressed. Definitely a culminating WOW! moment, one Jack London himself might have enjoyed during his honeymoon here way back in 1880 when it was a wild, romantic setting.

Time to head back, pronto, double-time! Visions of cozy wine cellars spur us on to reap the reward of sweet, luscious grapa. We make it in time to visit a couple of wineries, our favorite being Quivira, a small sustainable vineyard in the Dry Creek growing area near Healdsburg. Sheer loveliness, this world-class winery situated in sight of Mt. St. Helena. Their explosive bouquet of zin samplings caps a truly magnificent day! And, how nice, we’re home by 7, a bit sore and depleted, but safe and sound.