While we've been away: Up, up, and up

I felt Spring's countdown and knew it was time to tackle our local high peak.  Kona has joined me on pieces of this trail, but we'd never gone higher than the halfway point.  We wouldn't make it to the peak on this day, but the plan was to get close.

We started up the trail with a marine layer to keep the sun off the exposed trail. 

 

The first mile and a half was steep, and filled with morning exercisers.  I reminded myself that the trail would empty soon.  Kona took the stream of people in stride, perhaps better than myself.  I took my mind off my burning lung by inhaling deep whiffs of clouds.

Despite several relentless climbs, the trail offered short stretches of downhill.  My legs took the breaks in effort with glee, through I reminded myself that these stretches would be uphill on the way home.

We slowly climbed out of the lower canyons, meeting the sun in a canopy of oaks and sycamores.  The trees kept me cool and housed Kona's friend, Grey Squirrel.

The next mile climbed gently, making me wonder how the trail could gain 5,000 feet before the summit.  I enjoyed taking my focus off my legs to take in the sights. 

Just as I became relaxed with the easy terrain, the trail shot skyward.  Kona, ever the athlete, kept her pace, pulling me up toward the ridgeline.  It wasn't long before the rock elves began grabbing my toes.  After toe stubs turned into a slow motion face plant, I gave in.  I turned in my steady shuffle for  a fast hike, then a hike.  Yes, a hike was just fine.  

We reached our trail junction and turn around point.  We were only about a mile from the peak, but we were out of time.  My hip flexors were okay with that.  

I found a tree stump to perch on while Kona kept tabs on the forest below us.  I said good morning to the city below us, still draped in clouds.  Kona looked my way, letting me know it was time to get moving.  I obliged.  Down the trail we ran, keeping careful eye out for squirrels and rock elves.

While we've been away

While it's breezy and cool here in the shade at 5PM, I'm still convinced that Summer is in full swing.  I've had late afternoons that required full sprawl under the fan on the wood floors because that's what Summer does.  

Before all our hillsides turned to crisp and the mornings became boldly toasty for long outings, Kona and I were sure to hit our local forests.  We bid Spring adieu on some trail running adventures.

Kona knows how to take best advantage of my photo breaks.

On this particular morning, we hustled past our local peak, heading further North toward a distant ridge.  Our early efforts were rewarded as the sun hadn't reached our treeless trail.

After zigging up switchbacks, and resorting to ever slower shuffling, we reached the ridge.  It's hard to see from the light contrast in the picture below, but Kona and I looked down into the moonscape of an old burn area.  This section of forest burned during the Station Fire in 2009.

Really, I looked into the moonscape.  Kona was too busy catching the whiff of her favorite forest dweller.  Sure enough, we rounded a corned just as three doe bounded up the steep slopes.  Kona insisted that I lost Good Human Points for not letting her follow suit.

 After convincing Kona that there was more to life than deer (Kona edit: there was no convincing) we rounded the trail into the South-facing forest.  The sky-stretching pines made a sharp contrast to the chaparral that accompanied our climb. 

I was relieved when we made it off the forest trail, rejoining a fireroad that gave us views of the open, chaparral slope below.  Growing up around sagebrush, adventuring on granite fields in the Sierras and mesas in the high desert, leaves me claustrophobic in forests.

I trotted behind Kona on our open trail.  In was hard to believe that during the Winter, we slugged along the same trail, covered in snow.

The descent home offered views of forest spared from the fires three years ago.   Kona and I shared the end of Spring, marveling at the contrasts of nature.  We'd be sure to enjoy our forest again, before Summer caught up with us.

Gusty Peak Run

The day a storm clears is the day to be outside in Los Angeles. Rain and wind clear the skies, sharpen colors, and show off the landscape from sea to mountain peaks.

Kona and I hit the trailhead just before dawn to get a jump on our post-storm run. Three lights glided across the trail, several switchbacks above us. I could tell from the smooth movement that cyclist were up ahead. I welcomed their presence to scare away the pre-sun spookies and enjoyed the changing light.
The chill in the air numbed my fingers and stung my nose, sensations you fully appreciate living in always toasty Southern California.

As we rounded a switchback, Kona froze. I jumped as a man suddenly appeared around the bend of the trail. I looked for a spot to give Kona space from the hiker. As we stumbled to find a safe place the man asked if Kona was friendly.

"Not really," I replied.

I've found this answer to be effective in making strangers give my girl the space she needs. "She's not aggressive, but fearful, and you're a back-lit, hooded, big man," just doesn't seem to work.
Though spooked by the back-lit, big man, Kona recovered quickly, inviting me to take the path of the animals.
Back on the human trail, the sky put on a show as we shuffled along.
I wished the uneven terrain didn't require my attention, knowing I was missing the quickly changing morning.
As we zigzagged up the trail, the steady breeze picked up to a forceful wind. When we reached our peak, a gust took off through the small grove of pines like a fighter jet. I ducked reflexively, certain the invisible plane would crash land on our path.

We made a stop at our vista point where I always take a picture of Kona. You can tell from her expression what she thought of the high winds.
As we darted past the tree grove to start our descent, we ran into a hiker we see often on the trail. The white-haired man greeted us, nearly shouting to be heard above the wind.

As we headed back down the trail, I pulled off the breaks, told my legs to behave, and let gravity work magic. Kona and I bounced off rocks, shimmied around switchbacks, and paused briefly, because the views were still spectacular.
As we flew down the trail, I looked down at Kona, her tail high and tongue hanging, and remembered what our fellow hiker shouted at our peak.

"Your dog must really like it out here."

Yes. Yes she does. And I do too.

Spring's Winter Gift

Entering the Spring season, we were just above 50% normal rainfall for this time of year. Although we'd be hard pressed to make up all that lost water before Summer, late storms have brought some relief before the Baking Season.
Our last storm also left me a special treat. . .snowy foothills!


It was a morning to take our time and enjoy.

These snow-dustings last only until the afternoon sun hits the South facing slopes.
Our hills will soon change from green to golden-brown.
That's a happy Kona tail!
I hope everyone is enjoying their own springtime.