Robbers Creek After the Storm

We’ve spent the last few days hunkered down in the house, weathering a series of warm, wet, windy storms.  Grateful for shelter, grateful for LMUD, grateful that we’ve been able to spend the time together as a family.  Making cookie dough in the dark, playing charades by lantern light, appreciating our wood stove.

Today we ventured out toward Robbers Creek, which has been parched and dry in the drought.  Of course we would have much preferred snow to rain, but it was still heartening to see water in the creek.

Robbers Creek is flowing.

Sisters.

Inspecting a rock-cut basin

Tundra Swans at Mountain Meadows

On Sunday, we decided to stop bemoaning the lack of snow and get outside, although enjoying sixty-degree temperatures in January seems somewhat sacrilegious.  Areas normally unaccessible in the winter by car are currently an easy drive away.  And so it was that we ended up at the shoreline of Mountain Meadows Reservoir.  Two years ago, we skied our way out here.  As soon as we opened the truck doors, we could hear who was in the neighborhood — thousands of tundra swans, whose earnest, raucous honking overwhelmed the air.  We walked around a small point; adults taking the easy path around the shore, girls climbing through dense willow patches and trying to remain unseen. It was warm enough to sprawl out on the grass for a picnic lunch of crackers, cheese and salami before we headed back home.

Locating the swans.

M. found a shell within a shell

Through the tules.

Scenes from Surprise Valley

View of the Warner Mountains from Surprise Valley.

Rainbow obsidian scatter on the alkali flats.

Geothermal action in Surprise Valley.

Boiling pool.

Although the rest of the valley had barely awakened to spring, Mimulus guttatus (common yellow monkeyflower) was in full bloom on the warm, moist pool edges.

Without Snow, Part II

We have also spent a fair amount of time walking out into the woods, which would be impossible in most years.  Our ramblings take us up small hills, down logging roads, past rocky outcroppings.  Old snowshoe hare tracks caught M.’s eye on a walk up Dead Dog Hill, and she decided to make what she called a “Rabbit Catch.”  The idea was that if she collected some enticing food items for the hare and set them out along with a soft place to sleep, she would be able to hide and observe the hare when it came by to nibble and rest.

I followed her direction as we collected dried out manzanita berries and evergreen leaves from greenleaf manzanita plants (Arctostaphylos patula),  a miniature bouquet of coyote mint flowerheads (Monardella odoratissima), and tufts of chartreuse wolf lichen (Vulpia sp.)  These were all carefully arranged on rocks and sticks in a small hollow that M. thought looked just right for a hare to inhabit.  We have returned to check on her set-up, and so far there are no takers.  I love that she has learned to navigate from our house right back to the same spot.  I watch as she follows a logging road, peels off at a skid trail, climbs past a feature she has called the “Sitting Rocks”, and looks for three small firs that mark the spot.

Dried manzanita berries

Manzanita leaves

Old coyote mint flowerheads — I never noticed how pretty these are, with their downy white calyces still attached to the plant.

Biking at Lake Almanor

Adventure is relative when you’re three, and for my daughter, an hour-long excursion to the lakeshore via the Lake Almanor Recreation Trail certainly qualified.  While M. was out cutting wood with her Papa, A. and I had a rare excursion together, just the two of us.  The path twisted through dense forest and at times was barely visible under a dense carpet of needles.  I trotted along on foot beside her, providing emergency braking on the downhills, and a few pushes on long uphills.  We walked out to the lake on the far end of our journey.  As always, A. filled her pockets with treasures, including feathers, fuzzy mullein leaves, and snail shells.  The reward for her efforts?  Whole-grain waffles, fresh-baked quiche, and hot cocoa at the Lakeside Cafe in Hamilton Branch.  Yum!

North Table Mountain Ecological Reserve, 2013

You would think, that as a botanist, Table Mountain would have been a priority destination when I arrived in California eight years ago.  But spring after spring rolled by without a trip to see what many consider to be one of Northern California’s most stunning wildflower displays.   Finally, last weekend, we made the journey.  North Table Mountain Ecological Reserve perches above the Central Valley on a sprawling basaltic plateau.  Table Mountain is peppered with vernal pools and criss-crossed by basalt outcrops and ridges.  Grooved swales carry water west, where several end in waterfalls that plunge off the plateau toward the Central Valley below.

We walked northwest from the imposing valley oak at the parking lot, and made it to Fern Falls.  Not bad for a party that included four babes and preschoolers!  Our timing was perfect.  Above, A. checks out bright magenta owl’s clover (Castilleja exserta), pale bird’s eye gilia (Gilia tricolor), sunny goldfields (Lasthenia californica), and white and purple sky lupine (Lupinus nanus).  Other showy species included Kellogg’s monkeyflower (Mimulus kelloggii), johnnytucks (Triphysaria eriantha), bitterroot (Lewisia rediviva), and yellow carpet (Blennosperma nanum).  But hands down, the highlight for the girls was this California newt that we found at the top of Fern Falls.

I had in hand a book that I purchased at the Chico Farmer’s Market the day before — Wildflowers of Table Mountain: a Naturalist‘s Guide, by Albin Bills and Samantha Mackey.  Gorgeous photos, with helpful text on blooming periods and microhabitats found within the reserve.  While most of the flowers were familiar to me, the geology was not.  I loved the helpful explanations and illustrations that told the story of Table Mountain’s formation in a way that even to a geology layperson like myself could comprehend.

Mountain Meadows in Winter

Out for a ski date.  Our destination was just a few miles from home, yet we skied in total solitude as far as human company was concerned.  Mountain Meadows hums with wildlife this time of year.  The lake remains iced over, save for pockets of open water near springs at the edge of the lake.  And this was where hundreds of tundra swans congregated, before they were spooked into flight by the rasp of our skis on icy snow.  They are over-wintering here, preferring our version of winter to their arctic breeding grounds.  Bald eagles spun lazy circles overhead, while at our feet lay evidence of animals unseen.  Bobcat, coyote and raccoon had all complicated the smooth snow with a jumbled web of tracks.

Tundra swans take flight beneath Keddie Ridge

Tundra swans on open waters at Mountain Meadows.

A solitudinous ski.

Lassen Park in Winter

Up to Lassen Volcanic National Park on a blue-skied but bitterly cold day.  My sainted husband took the girls sledding near the Kohm Yah-mah-nee Visitor Center at the southwestern entrance, which freed me up for a short ski.  Apparently my 4-year-old was flying headfirst  down the hill so fast that bystanders gasped.  Yes, there are some things that it is better that a mother not see.  Meanwhile I skiied the well-trod path along the Park highway to Sulphurworks, roughly 2 miles roundtrip.  Though over six feet of snow blanketed the highway, heat from hydrothermal activity had melted away every last inch at the Sulphur Creek crossing, leaving the pavement exposed.

Then back into the toasty warm Visitor Center for hot chocolate.  M. began working toward her Junior Ranger badge this visit.  I love that earning a badge requires a bit of time and effort!  Good motivation to return to the park this summer so that she can finish up.

Papa heads out to sled with the girls.

At Sulphurworks, with Mount Diller in the distance.

Mount Lassen towers above.

Susan River High Water Mark

Yesterday I walked along the Susan River where it winds behind Susanville east of the old Sierra Pacific mill.  The water has certainly receded from its peak during the past week’s rainstorms, but the high water mark was still evident in a horizontal line of plastic bags that caught up in the willows when the river flowed high.  This stretch of river never quite looks pristine, and the high water event has suspended and exposed the litter problem for all to see.

Marking the Equinox

Out to Mountain Meadows yesterday evening to mark the passage from summer to autumn.  I am happy to be at this fulcrum; to begin the tilt toward winter.  Our summer fairly burst with hard work and play as we spun off in a million different directions to drink in the light while we could.  We endured the frantic summer schedules of a botanist and a forester, where we must accomplish much work within the limited window that summer offers.

And now, I am ready to retreat, to pull back indoors, take a few deep breaths, and await our seasonal return to slightly simpler days.  A crackling woodstove, extended evenings, falling snow.