The Fog Bank September 18, 2012

Annie is back for a break.  We head out to Point Reyes Station on a late Monday afternoon, and as we turn right at the brindled bridge and pass over the hillcrest, we are startled by an enormous bank of dark grey fog caked onto the Inverness Ridge to the west, multiplying its height by at least two.  A thin white band is its frosting, a sparkle of compressed sunlight.  

The Heron and the Bobcats August 4, 2012

Today is the last time I will share Almost Pi with Annie before she leaves for college.  It has been increasingly difficult to persuade her to abandon her friends, however briefly, to soak in the beauty of this land and to refresh herself.  Yet, away from phone and internet, Annie sleeps well here and relaxes in the sun.  I know she loves it, too.

Lately two new species have started to frequent our horse pasture – a great blue heron and a bobcat.  The heron glides in like a small aircraft, so large I am startled.  And then the bobcat appears from under the scrub at the neighbor’s fence.  I assume that both are stalking for gophers.

Annie awakens and pops out of her room to tell me that a second bobcat has crept onto the horse pasture, a new wrinkle on the dance of the heron and bobcat.  And where there is a pair, could kittens be far away?  We’ll be watching.

The Weasel and the Wildflower April 22, 2012

Sunday arrived with the promise of heat and a clear sky, yet quickly gave way to a shroud of fog on the Inverness Ridge.  My friend and I reconsidered our plan for a bike ride out to the lighthouse and opted instead for a few short hikes, a sampling, if you will, of the pockets of beauty that Point Reyes has to offer.

First stop: the path to the wind-swept edge of Chimney Rock, where we hoped to once again sight the migrating whales.  We didn’t, but instead were treated to a close encounter with an endearing weasel – fox red with a long and furry black-tipped tail.  His pointed ears alert and his body upright like a prairie dog, he surveyed us between rapid darts though the brush, finally confronting us face-to-face to reveal his mask of black and white before disappearing altogether.  Continuing along the path through the purples of Douglas iris, lupine, and blue-eyed grass, we approached the point to make a rare find, a tiny flower, low to the ground, with a basket of three fuzzy white petals supporting its deep purple center.  One of the rangers later helped us to identify it as the aptly named “pussy’s ear” (or for those with a Latin bent, Calochortus tolmiei).

Second on the agenda was Abbott’s Lagoon, splayed out like the two parts of a maple’s winged seedpod, where a short hike to a sandy beach unfolded two other glories.  As we edged along a little lake, we spied a juvenile night heron and later, tucked under the little bridge at the lagoon, a shy river otter.  At the beach itself, we failed to see any snowy plovers, whose breeding areas are now well-protected in the dunes.  But we were so pleased with the day’s offerings, we lingered for a while among the yellow bush lupine, cinched up our jackets, and finally headed for the warmth of home.