17 July 2007
Calf Lake
The annual Mason family backpacking trip was a big one this year, with six hikers plus Phoenix the Golden Retriever and expert fish biter. Catch-and-release doesn't work very well when your hunting dog keeps biting the catch before it's released.
As we hiked up Red Mountain with our packs, we noticed smoke coming from beyond its peak. There was a forest fire nearby, and we saw smoke-jumpers parachuting into it. When we arrived at Calf Lake, a helicopter was scooping buckets of water from it and flying them to the fire. I made a little movie of that.
It's a moderately strenuous hike, involving a 3000-foot climb in less than five miles. The trail ends at Calf Lake, but we knew there were five more lakes bunched together just beyond the next ridge. Twice, a subset of our party attempting to day-hike to those lakes. The second attempt succeeded, but with some minor injuries; the easiest way there involves a lot of treacherous boulder-hopping and scree-scrabbling over red rocks reminiscent of purgatory. Nevertheless, there were campers at those lakes too, and several well-established campsites.
I'm often vaguely surprised that people have spent time establishing good campsites in places that are fairly difficult to reach. Some of them even have the convenience of a scrap of metal grating for campfire cooking. This year we experimented with baking, by stacking stones to form an oven, stoking it until it was full of coals, then covering the opening while the bread baked inside. The result was a little sooty, but luxuriously fresh and tasty in our rustic environment.
One of the traditions of this annual trip is to bring stories to read aloud after dinner. Here's what we read this year:
- Lowell: The Education of Little Tree, Forrest Carter
- Fred: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
- Me: Nature Noir: A Park Ranger's Patrol in The Sierra, Jordan Fisher Smith
- Damian: Chinese fables
Check out my photos.
Now, with all my weekend travels overwith, I'll begin my kitten-hunting in earnest. It might take a while; Sasha will be a tough act to follow.
12 June 2007
Muni: Still Broken
Last night I left my bike at the office to avoid pedaling into a 27mph headwind. Pure laziness, really. But this morning Muni punished me. Usual time to bike to work in the morning: 20 minutes. Time to work on Muni's T line this morning: 1 hour 20 minutes. Based on my hiking experiences, I'm pretty sure I could have walked to work in about the same time. This route is about 3 1/2 miles, and according to 511.org, it's supposed to take 25 minutes by train.
Here's a recent article about the problems with the T line, and an article about Bike To Work Day last month. You might also enjoy this I Hate Muni blog.
8 June 2007
Sasha, 1994-2007
Last
Tuesday I had my best friend and bedfellow of 13 years put to sleep. He hadn't been himself in about a month and had stopped making happy noises. Asthma and a lung tumor made breathing so difficult that he couldn't eat, drink, or sleep. We were both exhausted and sad.
But as the first injection took effect his body relaxed, his pupils dilated, and he drifted into an easy sleep. The second injection was very quick and suddenly there was no cat anymore, just a limp, fluffy pile of cat-shaped flesh. It's hard to believe he's gone.
Boy, did I ever hit the jackpot with this cat. I can't imagine that I'll ever have another bond like the one I had with him.
Some factoids about Sasha:
- He was majestically handsome.
- He purred a lot and very loudly.
- He was an ideal and enthusiastic bedfellow.
- He was silly.
- He loved the outdoors.
- Moths were his favorite prey.
- He had a dog-like desire to please his guardian.
- He talked a lot, with a wide and expressive range of mono- and multi-syllabic meows, murmurs, and grunts.
- He was good-natured toward other cats and bewildered by the mean ones.
- He enjoyed his life and made mine more joyful.
There are many photos in Sasha's gallery.
5 May 2007
Tim Gunn
Paul and I went to Books Inc today to meet Tim Gunn, who's promoting his new book, A Guide to Quality, Taste, and Style. Paul asked Tim whether he had ever been to Red Lobster. Tim replied that someone threw him a Red Lobster party, but it was catered, so he has never actually been to Red Lobster itself.
27 April 2007
Bike Parade
This might be the most accurate article I've ever seen about Critical Mass:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/04/28/MNGF2PHDCK1.DTL
Except for the part that says the "route was announced" (it's much more spontaneous than that), it describes Critical Mass the way I've experienced it.
I used to commute to Oakland on public transit. Every night, I stood at the bus stop on Market Street, waiting impatiently in the cold. Bicyclist after bicyclist pedalled past, looking happy, fit, and in control of their own transit. By the time my bus finally came, they were probably home. I decided I wanted to be like them!
The first year or two was scary. I was unfit, uncoordinated, and unsure of myself. I didn't quite get the art of blending into traffic. There was some honking and harassment—and close calls. But I didn't want to get back on the slow, filthy bus, and I was also bored of the gym. I kept at it, even after spending a night in the hospital with serious memory loss after a crash.
Now I've been biking to work for nearly ten years and my rides are smooth and breezy almost every day. I've only crashed one other time, when a pair of tourists opened their taxi door into me. I scraped up my hands when I hit the pavement, but the friendly, remorseful couple sat on the curb with me until they were sure I was okay. Later, another cyclist who saw it posted to Craigslist's "Missed Connections" asking whether I was okay or needed a witness.
Cyclists like that one are the rule rather than the exception, in my experience. They glide unobtrusively through traffic and watch each other's backs. They encourage each other's good citizenship and try to build a healthier, friendlier civic life in San Francisco. Once a month, they have a little bicycle parade—and often the motorists and pedestrians literally cheer for them.
But somehow the popular idea is that Critical Mass is a menacing bunch of anarchists, and last month's incident didn't help. The good cyclists are the ones you never notice because they slip through traffic like water. It only takes a few bad ones to ruin everyone's reputation.
Meanwhile, I'm still in love with my bike.