While I usually don’t make location specific posts about birding, I did want to call out Palo Alto Baylands as one of the San Francisco Bay Area’s great birding spots. Located in Palo Alto right along the bay, it provides the birder with a variety of species, from water birds to song birds to raptors – there is always something interesting to see here. It even holds one of the best viewing areas for the elusive (and endangered) clapper rail. Here are a few photos of what I found there on a recent morning.
A song sparrow perches on wild fennel in the morning sun
Song sparrows are one of three most common sparrow (along with white and golden-crowned) species seen at Baylands. The ubiquity of the house sparrow in the suburbs gives way to the song sparrow this close to the water. With common birds such as this, I try to create photos that go beyond just showing the bird, but also show some behavior or interesting background. In this photo, I liked the way the sparrow is tilting downward (he was eating from the wild fennel) – it creates more of an action pose.
Baylands has the occasional visit from a bird of prey. Kites are seen anywhere from the water up into the foothills, hunting large, open spaces. Other birds of prey I’ve seen include fly-overs by osprey, red-tailed and red-shouldered hawks, and norther harriers.
A female yellow warbler pauses briefly on wild fennel in the morning sun
The smaller passerines get me excited because they are much harder to photograph than water birds or sparrows. The are small, fast, and rarely stay in one place for more than a few seconds. The most common warbler here is the yellow-rumped, but orange-crowned and yellow warblers are not uncommon. There are many many others, from chestnut-backed chickadees to bushtits – all of them equally hard to photograph. I loved the tonality of this image – the yellow on yellow really works here, blending the bird into her background.
A domestic goose swims through still water reflecting fall color foliage
Palo Alto Baylands also has a man-made pond that attracts a wide variety of migrating ducks throughout the year. There are also quite a few year-round residents, including this domestic goose. Most of the resident ducks here are cross breeds of domestic ducks and mallards. But this pond is also a great opportunity to see migrants up close, including ruddy ducks, greater and lesser scaup, northern shovelers, american wigeons, and a variety of teals.
An american avocet stands in shallow water, catching the first rays of morning sun
Finally there are the water birds. Habitat here includes plenty of tidal wetlands, so these species abound. All the usual suspects can be seen here, and there are good viewing angles in morning and evening. In this photo, the earliest morning light is lighting the feathers of this american avocet. In spring, there is a popular nesting area for avocets and black-necked stilts. Photographers line up to capture cute photos of hatchlings venturing for the first time out into the mud flats.
For birders there is always lots to see at Palo Alto Baylands. If you live near or are visiting the San Francisco Bay Area, be sure to put this on your list of bird spots to visit.
In the late 1800s, the Yankee Girl mine was one of the most profitable mines in the history of silver mining in the United States. At its height, Yankee Girl produced 10 tons of ore on a daily basis.
Last month, I took a great trip out to Colorado to shoot fall colors in the Rockies with some friends. One of my favorite locations to visit (we went back several times because the area had so much to offer) was the Yankee Girl Silver Mine, south of the town of Ouray. Nestled in the San Juan Mountains, Yankee Girl was operational until the early 1900s. In the late 1800s, the mine was one of the most profitable mines in the history of silver mining in the United States. At its height, Yankee Girl produced 10 tons of ore on a daily basis, some of which was carted out by 75 mules every day.
Silver ore was carted out by 75 mules every day. Here the old mine is front lit with dramatic dark skies beyond.
A dirt road winds up into the mining area from the highway, which is comprised of several sites, all of which are in various stages of decay. While these abandoned buildings are interesting enough to explore and photograph, being surrounded by intense fall color foliage added an extra layer of interest to the photos.
There remain many small details of interest scattered about this area.
When covering an area photographically, it is important to look at a subject from many angles and to incorporate elements that help the viewer understand what the scene was like. Here I used old weathered boards to lead the viewer’s eye up into the frame, showcasing the main building. I’m sure if I spent an afternoon roaming the hill on which the mine buildings were perches, I could find many more such elements (old rusted pipes, mined rocks, etc) to incorporate into interesting compositions.
One of the smaller mine structures of the Yankee Girl Silver Mine sits perched over a valley of colorful fall aspen, Ouray, Colorado
Here is one of the smaller buildings in the mining complex. While not as attractive as the main building, it was perched on the edge of a hill with a magnificent color display on the opposite slope. I stitched multiple frames together to create a large resolution panorama.
Stay tuned for more posts based on photos from this trip.
If you missed part one of my JMT adventure, you can find it here.
Waking up the second morning of my JMT attempt, I felt rejuvenated and ready to go. I had dried out from the previous day’s afternoon thundershowers and the elevation gain did not look as grueling as the day before. Top that off with a 6AM start, and I was ready to get some miles under my feet.
Our day’s journey was supposed to take us at least to Tuolumne Meadows. If we made good time, we would consider pushing up into Lyell Canyon. As soon as we hit the trail, we were greeting by morning views of Mt Clark. The rising sun cast the peak in side-lighting, accentuating its scabrous textures.
The rising sun side lights Mt. Clark and casts sharp shadows across its face, Yosemite National Park
As the trail climbed ever upward, it moved through areas of dense pine forest. As I often do in changing conditions, I made sure my camera / lens combo was set up for any rapidly unfolding situation. In this case, I attached my 70-200mm lens in case we happened to see wildlife stirring in the early morning. I was not disappointed!
A black bear cub climbs a tree to escape from unknown potential predators, Yosemite National Park
We heard a rustling off to our right side and sighted a large black bear standing next to the trunk of a tree looking right at us. Movement above caught my eye and I realized that this was a mama bear who had just treed her two cubs in order to get them to safety. My heart instantly started thumping in my chest. It was very exciting to see so many bears at once, but a mother and her cubs can be a very dangerous combo. Luckily my camera was ready to go, and my ISO was raised high enough to manage the dark morning of the forest.
After a while, the mother turned and walked away from us, and her cubs realized it was time to go. They nearly ran backward down the tree and lumbered off toward their mom. This made four bears sighted in less than 12 hours, as we had seen a large male the evening before just after the rain stopped.
Soon we were on the well-worn train between Sunrise camp and Tuolumne Meadows. We made quick work of this portion of the trail as we had both done it together before. Of course, we had to stop for some of the prettier vistas.
Cathedral Peak stands tall overlooking the surrounding wilderness, Yosemite National Park
The day grew hot and we slowed down. The backpacker’s campground seemed an endless distance, always just around the next corner. Finally we arrived in the early evening, definitely not able to continue further that night, as we were feeling the day’s 15 miles. We camped in Tuolumne, ready to hit the trail early and tackle Lyell canyon. As soon as we set up camp, rain visited us again. At least this time we were done for the day and could retreat into the relative comfort of our tents.
Next morning dawned clear and cool. Perfect weather for blasting up a relatively flat and open canyon, trying to get to Donohue Pass as early as possible. However, as soon as we began our climb, those ominous clouds began to form again, this time much earlier in the day.
Upward we climbed, ever closer to the pass, as the clouds gathered and darkened. Soon the familiar patter of rain filled the air, picking up intensity with every step. At first I hoped the clouds would pass on by, but finally I gave up and stopped to put my camera gear away. I was prepared with a dry bag big enough for my camera body and the two lenses I carried with me, but this meant hauling my ten pounds of photo gear without the benefit of being able to use it.
As the wind picked up and lighting started to test the distant peaks, our morale plummeted. Finally, Steve had enough. He stopped and yelled to the sky, “If this is the misery you’re going to put us through, at least show us a lightning bolt up close!” Not five seconds passed before the air concussed around us with the boom of thunder, as a lightning bolt hit a peak a quarter mile from the pass. “OK! That’s close enough!” I blurted out. We stared at each other wide eyed, instantly appreciating the potential ferocity of Mother Nature.
Noon stretched into a long, rain soaked afternoon. We reached the pass and descended through a pretty alpine valley, one I must visit again in better weather conditions. The storm demanded a forced march, as stopping in such wetness was even more miserable than moving through it. Our desired campsite for the day came and went; our problem this time not a lack of drinking water but that of a dry place to sleep. Finally we reached Thousand Island Lake, and after 20 miles, our exhausted bodies required we stop, dry campsite or not.
After quickly throwing our tents up and dumping out our gear, we huddled under Steve’s rain fly to eat a quick dinner. Passing out in my tent finally brought some somewhat dry relief.
Dawn breaks over Banner Peak and Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness
Tired as I was, I woke before dawn to a dark gloomy sky. But at least it wasn’t raining. I got out of my tent to enjoy a few moments out in the air, and to see if I could grab a couple of pre-dawn shots of the lake. Even with the foreboding weather, this lake and Banner Peak that towers above it create a gorgeous scene. I converted the shot above to black and white, because the early light cast everything in a pale blue, flattening out the contrast. Using black and white allowed me to pull some of that contrast back into the photo, showing off the subtleties of the rocky shoreline and face of the peak.
Just as I walked back into camp and started packing my tent, the rain greeted us once again. This was too much! The only reason we were out here was to enjoy the long journey along the trail, and we certainly weren’t enjoying ourselves. We discussed abandoning, and after meeting up with a group of JMT hikers who had already decided the same, the deal was sealed. Seven short miles of descent and we were boarding a shuttle bus to Mammoth, where a shower, beers and burgers awaited.
Abandoning the trail was a disappointment, but turned out to be a good decision. As it poured in the mountains for another seven days, it turns out it was just not our year.
Last July, my friend Steve and I set out to hike the John Muir Trail, something we had been talking about for several years. We had already canceled the trip once before several years ago when a 70 mile training hike along the PCT aggravated some cartilage damage in one of my knees and it swelled up for several weeks. But this year, we had been careful with our training, planned all the food and mailed off our resupply. We were ready to go!
We met mid day in Bishop, and drove down to Whitney Portal to drop one of our cars at the trail head, which would serve as the terminus of our trip. After more than 10 hours of driving, we were finally back in Bishop, getting an early night sleep so that we could get an early start.
Five AM rolled around and we drove back to Yosemite, stopping in Tuolumne Meadows to drop a food resupply that we would pick up the following day along the trail. Finally, we got back down to a jam packed Yosemite Valley, bursting at the seams with summer visitors.
By now, it was almost 11AM, a very late start for a full day on the trail. In addition, we were unfortunate enough to start our trip on one of the hottest days of the summer. It was north of 100 degrees when we began our laden slog up the switchbacks to Nevada Falls. There were safety volunteers all along the trail warning people of heatstroke and helping those who were in danger of passing out.
Liberty Cap looms above Nevada Falls, showing mid summer flow
Being midsummer in a dry year, Nevada Falls was flowing at far less than maximum. But the stunning beauty of the Sierra Nevada more than made up for a somewhat anemic waterfall.
After a grueling afternoon, we finally got off the veritable highway that is the Half Dome trail, and continued along the more secluded JMT. The crowds faded away and it finally began to feel like the start of our journey. Soon however, afternoon storm clouds started rolling in, followed in short order by the ominous rumbling of distant thunder. Rain drops, softened by their journey through the forest canopy, began to splash around us.
A rainbow peaks through the dark clouds of an afternoon thunder storm, Yosemite National Park
Worried glances were exchanged, but not solely due to the increasing rain. During the entire climb from the falls, we had seen creek bed after creek bed, all bone dry. The light snow pack of the previous winter had rendered the high country a dry zone, punctuated only by year-round mountain lakes. Ironically (considering the downpour), we had to find water before setting camp, or we would go to bed hungry and thirsty, risking severe dehydration.
We stopped for a short time under a towering redwood watching the storm pass through. But time was marching on and the afternoon was growing old. Continuing our climb at an anxious pace, we passed grand views of Mt Clark.
A late afternoon thunderstorm moves across the sky over Mt. Clark, Yosemite National Park
Finally, using his uncanny sixth sense, Steve “sensed” water and left the trail. Off trail, over a low rise, we finally came to a narrow trough in the forest floor. Water bubbled along its bottom, giving us just enough volume from which to pull drinking water. Exhausted, we set up camp, ate a quick dinner, and collapsed in our tents, forgoing a camp fire. Secretly I hoped we had seen the worst of the rain. If only I knew what was coming….
