Secret Marin

Bring on the Night

2010-07-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of my nighttime favorite things to do in Marin when summer really hits its stride. Do you have your own nocturnal haunts this time of year? Post a comment and share with Marin's other night owls.

Aug 12: Perseids Meteor Shower

It's coming, that August night when the sky gets streaked with up to 60 meteors a minute. This year, mark your calendar for August 12. One of my favorite spots (you want it to be really dark, well away from city lights): Muir Beach overlook--you get the added drama of crashing waves with your falling stars.

Aug 24: Muir Woods at Night

Owls hoot from the canopy, bats swirl from their roosts in the crevasses of redwood bark, deer walk like forest ghosts to get a drink from Redwood Creek--Marin's best-known grove of coast redwoods is way, way cool after the sun sets. Join a ranger-led dusk-to-night walk through this national parkland--unforgettable.

Aug 25: Full moon

That one this past week, big and globular, rust red as it rose above the East Bay hills, reminded me to mark my calendar for the next moonrise on August 24. Favorite spot to watch it rise: Lowrie Yacht Harbor, Pt. San Pedro Rd. in San Rafael. Truly worth the trip.

And one that takes all day and ends with a good night:

Aug 7: Marin Century

Okay, this 100-mile tour of the county takes place during the DAY on August 7 (you can still sign up!), but at night, a cold Mt. Tam Pale Ale at Marin Brewing Company never tasted so good.... This year's jersey is pretty funny (if it's a Jersey cow, that's even funnier).

How to love an oyster

2010-07-18T18:35:00.001-07:00

Oysters. They've been a topic of conversation around my home lately, mostly on whether it's okay to hate something that is supposed to be such a delicacy. It seems the texture is at issue --the certain vaguely gelatinous quality that doesn't set well with some of my family--in fact, the word "wretch" comes to mind when they think of the shellfish.

Personally, I think oysters are wonderful, like blasts of fresh seawater, as inviting as the spray blowing off of a wave while you're out at Rodeo Beach. A splash of mignonette sauce (champagne, shallots, red wine vinegar) and the oyster captures the best of the ocean. At least for me. But I have to honor those in my home who strongly beg to differ.

Solution: oysters fresh Tomales Bay. And my barbecue grill.

A summer at my Marin home means barbecued oyster,s a solution for the (alledgedly) unpleasant gelatinous quality of the bivalve, and a wonderful way to avoid the frustration of trying to pry open the @(&$# things. I've watched the guys at Hog Island Oyster in the Ferry Building Marketplace wield their oysters knives like sushi masters--flick flick flick and the shell pops open to reveal the nugget of meat inside. Me? It's more like hack claw stab, as my futile attempts to open the shell prove completely and utterly fruitless. Then again; I shouldn't feel so lame: there are things known as shucking gloves that look like fashion statements for King Arthur--definitely more armor than glove.

Ah yes, but that's where my barbecue comes to the rescue. First, buy a bag of insanely fresh oysters from on of our region's local oyster farms. True, you can buy them fresh at Whole Foods or other outlets but fresh oysters make a nice excuse (as if you need one) to head to Pt. Reyes and Tomales Bay.

Bring an ice chest (you'll need one to bring the oysters home). Buy enough to feed everyone at least 3 or 4 (a dozen costs $14 at Tomales Bay Oyster Company, one of my favorites if only for the fact that they have their version of the St Pauli Girl, here a buxom brunette with a startling resemblance to Jane Russell, holding aloft a huge back of oysters like it weighs about an ounce).

Oysters on ice, head home quick. Heat up the grill. Have on hand your favorite barbecue sauce, or just melted butter and garlic. Toss the oysters--still in their shells, onto the grill. Close the lid, but keep an eye one the oysters--soon they'll pop open all on their own. Akin to Woody Allen's Annie when she tossed lobsters into boiling water, it might feel a little murderous, but it works. When they open, use a turkey baster to squirt a little of your sauce into each oyster; cook about 2 minutes more. Remove carefully with tongs (they are VERY hot). Cool slightly, then eat. Beyond perfect.

Sound like too much work? Head out to Olema and order up some barbecued oysters at Olema Farm House, or continue north to Marshall and dine on the deck at Nick's Cove. There might not be anything better.

Let me know if you try to barbecue your own oysers, and what your family thinks. Or share your summer barbecue favorite, especially if it takes advantage of something as distinctly Marin as fresh oysters from Tomales Bay.

Our Busy (and Threatened) Bees

2010-06-03T23:06:00.000-07:00

On a bright afternoon this week, walking up a trail in Marinwood, I heard buzzing--lots of buzzing--and looked up the slope ahead of me. There, whirling in and out of a hole in the side of a dead tree, rose a tornado of bees. I'd spied a natural hive--but I wasn't the only one. I noticed a little handmade sign dangling from a nearby bush, warning folks to be mindful of the bees, and to let them, well, be. I watched the little winged workers, coming, going, buzzing off in the bright sun, carrying a message somehow programmed into their tiny brains by watching their sisters dance a magical pattern that showed where to find nectar-filled flowers on this warm summer afternoon.

Bees are having a tough time in Marin--and elsewhere. In a recent article in Marinscope's Twin City Times, local beekeeper Jerry Draper (he has 10 hives in San Anselmo) noted that all honeybee populations are in bad shape, mostly due to mites and diseases that have wiped out entire colonies. Since bees are needed to pollinate a third of the food we eat, that's not just bad news for bees--it's bad for us too. In fact, one out of every three things you eat is here because of tiny, remarkable, pollen-dabbling bees.

How are Jerry's 10 hives doing? In past years, he has collected up to 10 pounds of honey. So far this year? None. That might be due in part to the late spring, but whatever the reason, these little guys (rather, gals--all worker bees that collect honey and pollinate are female) are suffering. And Marin isn't some were blip on the bee screen. U.S. reports show a 33 percent drop in managed honeybee colonies nationwide. Even at Sunset Magazine, staff-managed hives have struggled with mites and disease. (You can read about the escapades of "Team Bee" on the staff's award-winning blog, One-Block Diet.

But let's get back t Marn's bees. Jerry Draper and others are part of the Marin Survivor Stock Queen Bee Project, aiming to boost local bee populations without chemicals to kill off the bad stuff--the theory is that resistant bees will be able to survive, and will lead to a genetically resistant bee (it's feared that chemicals might simply lead to genetically resistant mites and diseases--bad idea). This spring, the project has recorded over 70 Marin colonies that have been healthy on their own for two or more years. Let's hope they keep thriving, along with my little Marinwood hive.

To see the Marinwood wild bees, take Marinwood Dr. exit off U.S. 101; head northwest to Queenstone Drive. Turn right and park at the dead end 1 block ahead. Hike the fire road up about 200 yards--and listen...

You Otter Know

2010-04-24T08:04:00.001-07:00

Three feet long. Slick black and wet, and slithering out of a still lagoon. Beady eyes. Long, long tail. What bizarre and unexpected creature burst out of the water on my evening run around the Marin Lagoon this week? An escaped rat snake? A misdirected eel?

Try a river otter.

I've seen golden and bald eagles whirling and screaming overhead, coyotes chasing jackrabbits, male deer going head-to-head (literally) in the autumn rut. Hummingbirds building delicate nests out lichen and spider webs, salmon in final gasp in redwood-shadowed creeks. But I've never EVER seen a river otter here in Marin.

But there it was, appearing out of a flat-surface, trotting onto the dry gravely ground where I stood, taking a quick look at me not 10 feet away, then taking off in a galumphing gate. With its long body and short legs, its arching gait made it look like a furry inchworm with whiskers.

I followed Otter for a while, a few hundred yards along the flat horse corral area near the Showcase Theater, where the otter slipped into the tall grass by the canal that flows of the lagoon towards Santa Venetia. He periscoped once or twice to see where he was going--the grass was significantly taller than him, then slipped away in a rustle of grass blades, heading towards the bay.

But what the heck was he doing here--he's a RIVER otter, not a SEA otter. Turns out these guys aren't uncommon in San Francisco Bay's estuaries and lagoons--in fact they're well documented.

But why Marin Lagoon, filled with monstrous rubbery catfish and overloaded with mallard ducks and Canada geese. What's in it for the otter?

Rubbery catfish, mallards, and geese. And catfish. The otter eats them.

Back in 2006, a rash of Canada geese deaths made the news. Interestingly, it also occured in April. Here's the report:
04/15/2006 04:34:00 AM PDT
"A mysterious midnight predator is preying on a beloved flock of geese at the otherwise tranquil Civic Center lagoon, baffling officials who say it could be a coyote, dog, or, most likely, a river otter." The report continued: "Bob Wyatt, a county landscape services supervisor, said he believed a North American river otter was to blame. He recently spotted two otters in the lagoon. Then this week, Wyatt said a man walking in the park reported an otter feasting on a goose." And here I end with the report's very intriguing final line: "The voluminous rain this season may have helped the otters find their way into the lagoon, Wyatt said."

While I would question the use of the term "beloved" in conjunction with "geese," the report did have a jarringly familiar ring. I dug deeper, and found another startling series of reports in which river otters were drowning and eating brown pelicans in Rodeo Lagoon.

Twenty-five pound otter versus 15-pound pelican flapping its 8-foot wingspan? Guess what: otter wins every time. Apparently, for big birds like pelicans and geese, the otters are stealth hunters, swimming up underneath and grabbing the birds' feet or legs with needle-like teeth, then they pull the bird under to drown. Oh my.

I didn't see that kind of violence on my still spring dusk, just an impossibly cute fellow coming out of the water and going on an evening run with me. I hope I see him again. Hopefully he won't grab my feet.

I Hate Broom--and You Can Too!!

2010-04-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

I don't usually go out of my way to destroy my hands, I mean absolutely tear them up. Don't worry, I'm not including a photo of their sad state. But a couple of weeks ago something made me MAD, I mean really MAD, and I did a very good job of wrecking my hands in the midst of that madness, leaving my paws blistered, battered, and aching from overuse. I had taken on a formidable enemy, armed with nothing but brute force, stubborn determination, and a crummy pair of gardening gloves. My enemy: broom.

Anyone living in--or even merely driving through--Marin this time of year can't miss broom. It's that lush shrub smothered in yellow flowers. You might even think it's pretty. But broom has become Public Plant Enemy #1 here, as it chokes out native plants and creates nasty fire hazards all over the county.

Broom most commonly grows in two forms in Marin: Scotch broom (tiny leaves growing on a tough stem, yellow flowers sometimes with tiny red polka dots near the flower's base).

Much more prominent is French broom (shown below, it's leafier, up to 5 or 6 feet tall, loaded with yellow flowers).

The plants are incredibly invasive, moving into cleared areas, burn sites, or really anywhere they see fit and taking over--fast. In a year a hillside can turn from nice leafy meadow dotted with wildflowers into a sloped choked with broom. It's estimated that over 100,000 acres of broom now clog California hills.

These Mediterranean natives have no problem elbowing their way into our ecosystem here. In addition to being remarkable hardy woody perennials and perfectly adapted to our monsoon/drought weather here in Marin, they have insanely effective means of reproducing.

Each flower produces a pod loaded with tiny black seeds. When they ripen in early summer and begin to dry, the pods snap open, flinging the seeds like tiny cannonballs from a catapult, ever increasing the spread of the plants. On any given hot day, if you're in an area with broom, listen for the snap-snap-snap of the pods springing open and flinging their seeds wide.

So back to my hands. I hate broom, and yank it out along trails throughout the county. I'm not alone in my loathing. The county hates it too, and has volunteer broom-cleaning days throughout Marin County Open Space public lands (here's how to help). Volunteer groups like Think Blue Marin pitch in; here Terra Linda Students yank out broom. (Thank you, Think Blue....)

Marin Municipal Water District hates it, and has launched assorted pilot programs to find out how best to kill broom, which has remarkably deep roots and doesn't like to die. MMWD has tried vinegar spritzes--doesn't work. Goats don't eat it. Poison works, but it's not acceptable on watershed lands. The best route appears to be good-ole elbow grease. The county has broom-yanking tools (the lady below looks far too happy using one), but even with these devices, the job is no fun.

Best to do it on damp days like we've had this winter, when the roots come out easiest.

That's what I decided to do on my little patch of hillside--yank yank yank--by hand and aided by loppers,
until I had completely cleared an area under a pretty live oak that I see out my window. I estimate I pulled about 3,000 (yes, a 3 and 3 zeros) plants.

Once choked with broom, the oak now has lots of clear space for natives, and even baby oaks, to move in. Turkeys and quail and other critters already forage there, in space that was once impenetrable and monocultured with broom. I will broadcast native wildflower seeds there come fall, and keep my eye on broom seedlings, which I'll rip out with morbid pleasure.

Die broom die.

David Douglas, what's in a name?

2010-03-28T12:09:00.001-07:00

On yesterday's walk up an emerald green hillside (can it be any prettier out there), I noticed how many irises we have this year. Sprays of deep purple in the grass, petals splayed wide to show a splash of white and a bit of yellow at the center.

I love these flowers, the way they seem to just appear all of a sudden in spring, poking their furled blooms above the grass, then boom, spread their petals wide, trumpeting the season.

I look them up in my plant book: Douglas iris, Iris douglasiana, an extremely variable iris (that would explain why I sometimes see white or pale lavender blossoms in amongst the dark purple) that thrives along the Northern California coast. This all seems fine and right, but it's the name that stops me: Douglas iris. Douglas-fir. Clinopodium douglasii, taxonomic name for one of the most wonderfully aromatic plants in the West (and more in it another time), the ground-hugging yerba buena. Who is this Douglas, I wonder.

Turns out he was really quite something. Born in the village of Scone in Scotland in the last year of the 18th century, David Douglas grew up in a time when exploring and discovering--and naming--was in its heyday. As a burgeoning naturalist employed by the London Horticultural Society, he explored the Galapagos Islands 10 years before Darwin; on the iconic islands, he collected over 200 plant and animal species, most never identified before. In his fascinating book about Douglas called The Collector (Sasquatch Books, 2009), author Jack Nisbet notes that, once the naturalist settled in the wildly undiscovered Pacific Northwest (it must have been nirvana for young Douglas), it was estimated that he had already traveled 7,032 miles by foot, horseback, and canoe. In two years.

Not all that's written about Douglas is flattering; in fact, it's noted that he probably "stole" a plant or two from others, renaming them to contain his name, not the original discoverer's. The Douglas iris might be one of these plants. He was called cantankerous, cranky, not an altogether lovable guy. His death hints at some possible--and quite literally fatal--social flaw. In July 1834, while living on the Big Island, he tumbled into a pitfall trap set by a local hunter, where he was gored by a feral bull (in the trap with him? how horrible).

But mystery swirls: did he slip on the Mauna Kea track, or was he pushed by bush robbers? Did he really die in the pit with the crazed bull, or was he possibly murdered by a local ex-con? All we know are the tales, and that he died at a very young 35. Buried in an unmarked grave at Kawaiahao Church in Hilo, he later was acknowledged by locals who knew of his contributions; a plaque was put on a church wall, and a marker was put at the spot where he fell and died. A small grove of Douglas-fir marks the spot.

The Hills Have Eyes (and tails and noses)

2010-03-23T10:35:00.000-07:00

Coyote. When I was a little girl growing up here, saying that word conjured up images of New Mexico mesas, Dakota grasslands, dry riverbeds snaking across a Nevada desert. Not the parking lot behind the Embassy Suites in San Rafael.

Canis latrans. Prairie wolf. American jackal. It's yipping and broken howl now echoes not just off the walls of red-rock canyons and saguaro-studded expanses, but also off the wood-siding walls and asphalt-shingle rooftops of my home here in Marin. A family of coyotes lives near my home, up on the hill that I stare at through my kitchen window, one of those typial oak-and-bay hummocks that bump out of the wetlands surrounding the North Bay wetlands. A beautiful rusty male and a slender, dusty brown female. I haven't seen pups yet but I suspect I will soon--the parents are already progressively bolder about winding down from the hills to slip between our homes, used the paved roads as easy routes to their key hunting grounds, the marshlands and shrubby chaparral flanking Las Gallinas Creek (no shortage of rabbits and voles there).

My frequent sightings seem to be in the norm these days. According to the CA Dept of Fish & Game's "Keep Me Wild" campaign, coyotes are found just about everywhere in California these days, from Sierra peaks to and Sonoran deserts to suburban LA and San Francisco. As for the latter, I think I was one of the first to report seeing coyotes in the Presidio a handful of years ago; officials suspect the animals used the Golden Gate Bridge to get to city parklands.

So are these human-tolerant coyotes a good thing? A bad thing? Are they a terrifying addition to urban wildlife landscape? True, they don't mind raiding garbage can or compost bin if it smells interesting, and they do nab Persians and Chihuahuas if they stray too far from home. There have been scary incidents with small children, and some folks in my area are freaked out that coyotes lope along the streets of San Rafael (and most other Marin communities). It's not really practical--or even possible--to catch them and move them away: GGNRA spokesperson Chris Powell was quoted in the Marin IJ as saying the coyotes are so smart they "see our people coming in the vehicles and they run away. The even recognize the uniforms."

So these savvy, uniform-savvy coyotes are likely here to stay. I for one love them--their wild stare through my fence, their hunched gait as they weave through the (aptly named) coyote brush, their propensity for letting loose wth a big "ah-wooooo!" when a fire truck goes blaring by. Makes my skin tingle. For now I'll grab the cat, scan the tall grass on the hill, and search for that little bit of wild.

-----
Just in case, here are tips from the Marin Humane Society (though Item 2 makes me laugh--I mean, so we have to worry about some Marinite pulling a "Grizzly Man" on us and going native with the coyotes?? Spare me...)

COYOTE TIPS
o Never leave a food or water source outside.

o Do not attempt to approach coyotes or make friends with them. (!)

o Make coyotes visiting your property feel unwelcome: Shout, make loud noises, spray them with a hose.

o Keep your pets safe with proper confinement, especially at dawn and after dusk.

o Walk your dog on a leash.

o Don't let your dog approach a coyote.
o Make your yard "coyote proof." Remove bushes against house walls, enclose decks and staircases, reduce rodent populations, contain waste and compost, and remove fallen tree fruit.

o Report sightings to the Marin Humane Society 415/883-4621.

4 Marin Wildflower Hot Spots (and one guest appearance)

2010-03-18T00:38:00.000-07:00

Recently, an editor friend asked me to weigh in on some of the best places to see in wildflowers in Northern California. Moi?! Well, anyone who has followed this blog since its inception a few weeks ago can already gather that I'm kinda partial to wildflowers, so I thoroughly enjoyed traipsing around the state--at least in my brain for now--conjuring up my favorite spots and why. Whether or not any of these places will make the final cut is up to the gods (okay, editors at Sunset Magazine), but in the mean time, I can share some of my faves with you, since they're right here in Marin County. Plus you'll have to wait until next year for Sunset, and these flowers are blooming NOW, perhaps in the biggest profusions in a long, long time. Of course, these are by no means the ONLY places to see the springtime show, just some of my favorites--and I do get to keep a few secrets, don't I? For more local wildflower hot spots, check the website for the Marin Chapter of the California Native Plant Society.

Mt Burdell Open Space Preserve, Novato. You like poppies? You got poppies. Simply the best I've seen in Northern CA--barring the stuff that is spray-seeded along the freeways. Those don't count. Climb the fire road off San Andreas Drive and keep climbing. You'll hit a valley sprinkled with buttercups (and false tidy tips in the wettest spots). Keep climbing to Hidden Lake and continue east on Middle Burdell Fire Road. On the steep slopes rising north, you got it, poppies. Gazillions of them. Just add Dorothy.

Big Rock Open Space Preserve, Lucas Valley. Climb about two miles up the main trail heading east. The first half-mile flanks you with poppies. Once you pass through the cow gate and boot a cow or two out the way and start climbing the switchbacks, you'll be greeted by a month-long show of all the Marin classics: blue dick (yes, that is its name), baby blue eyes, paintbrush, mules ears, checkerbloom, wallflower, iris, sage, on and on.

Mt Vision, Pt Reyes National Seashore. The trail to Chimney Rock gets deserved attention--and crowds. But there are more secret blooms here. The most spectacular ceonothus (wild lilac) shows I've ever seen--bushes 10 feet tall, completely covered with pale-blue blossoms, line the trails climbing the west side of Mt Vision. Bloom coincides with yellow bush lupine, which are not only spectacular but smell like classy French perfume. Lots of Douglas iris and paintbrush too.

Miwok Trail, Marin Headlands, GGNRA. Start to climb north from the junction of Bunker Rd. First you'll notice the orange day lilies as high as your head. Next its the profusion of poppies on the slopes flanking the trail. Then, at the summit, sweeping views of the Pacific and Mt Tam framed by irises. Not bad.

And one further afield…
Bear Valley, Williams (about 30 mi east of Clearlake, but that's not saying much). So out in the middle of nowhere you really need to wanna get here, but when you do, OMG. Consistently noted as one of CA's best wildflower displays. Mid-April is usually peak. Even in a crummy year it's amazing. Only drag is there is truly nothing nearby. A huge trek for a day from the Bay Area., and you would do your body good by staying over in Napa or the Clear Lake region. Gotta houseboat? Here's a shot by garden photographer Saxton Holt. Enjoy.

Marin's 2-Pound Bigfoot

2010-03-12T12:00:00.001-08:00

There's a furry beast lurking in Marin's darkest corners, living in self-made tunnels snaking through the County's densest brush and chapparal. It's that shadow you can't quite see, that fleeting "what was that?" as you turn the corner on a lonely trail, the phantom of Pt. Reyes.

Okay, perhaps I oversell a bit. After all, this "beast" weighs in at a modest 1 to 2 pounds, has almost no snout and a little wudge of a tail, and, even if it stands on its hind paws, would probably not be able to sniff your knee.

It's a beaver, a mountain beaver to be exact, which isn't really a beaver but a muskrat-size rodent with large teeth, dull brown fur, and a propensity for soft greenery like the young cow parsnips and fern fronds poking up all over Pt. Reyes National Seashore right now. As a lifelong resident of Marin, I'd never even heard of these little critters, scientific name Aplodontia rufa phaea, but I prefer mountain beaver or another endearing nickname, "ground bear." That moniker would fit the little bundle that I saw scurrying across the trail as I climbed up the Drakes View Trail on Mt Vision at Pt Reyes last weekend.

Apparently I'm very lucky to have seen it. The mountain beavers at Pt Reyes are a very select subspecies of mountain beaver--they aren't found anywhere else. And they were almost wiped out by the 1995 Vision Fire; apparently retreating to a little burrow carved out of blackberry brambles and coyote brush isn't a good place to retreat in a wildfire. Of the roughly 5,000 individuals that called Mt. Vision home, less than 20 were estimated to have survived. Less than 20. Maybe I saw one of those hardy (or just lucky) originals. Maybe one of their babies, or grandbabies. All I know is I hope to see more. Marin needs more ground bears and mini-Sasquatches.

Alice's Other Rabbit Hole

2010-03-08T22:03:00.000-08:00

If you are one of the roughly 26 million people in the world who saw Alice in Wonderland over the weekend, then you've seen the current interpretation of Lewis Carroll's entry to an altered reality. But here in Marin, we've got our own twist on the classic porthole, this one experience on a walk down the western flank of 1,282-ft Mt. Vision, within Pt. Reyes National Seashore. Burned to a crisp in 1995, the peak isn't really a peak, but more of a sizable a bump in the Coast Range as it ripples through West Marin--the same as Mt. Tamalpais. While the "Vision Fire" certainly proved devastating--several homes were destroyed and the endemic mountain beaver was nearly wiped out--it had its inescapable pluses, most notably, it breathed new life into the elegant bishop pine.

Towering, twisted, and wind-carved, the endangered bishop pine makes a noble sentry in Pt. Reyes National Seashore. But it doesn't reproduce very well. The tree's grenade-like cones don't open like most cones we know; they need heat, either from a very hot day (and that happens, like, NEVER at Pt. Reyes) or fire. And so we turn to 1995, when mature bishop pines (like the skeletons shown above) burned as their cones cracked open and spewed thousands of seeds into the mountain's quartz-diorite soil (primo habitat for finicky bishop pines). Baby trees sprouted everywhere: easily 20 or more in a square yard. They grew, and grew, spidery and dense, like spindling toothbrushes with pine needles for bristles, first 5, then 10, and now, a decade and a half after the burn, towering 15 feet tall. Bending in gentle arches over Bucklin Trail, they create--you guessed it--the illusion of Alice's magic portal.

Check it out now and you'll also see lovely and rare Marin manzanita in bloom, plus Douglas iris, enormous wild lilac (ceonothus), day lilies, yellow violets, and a tangle of other wildflowers. We didn't see a rabbit or a hare or a hatter, but we did see one of those rare mountain beavers. More on that next time. Until then, have fun in the rabbit hole. Trail map and directions: Take Mt. Vision road and park at the end of the road; hike down Bucklin and up Drakes View trails, then back on Inverness Ridge Trail to your car.

A Dog's Life

2010-03-06T16:21:00.001-08:00

Tromp any trail in Marin and you're bound to run into a dog. Ears flopping, tail wagging, exploring and snuffling, Marin's dogs love the outdoors even more than I do. They can certainly smell more of it than I can. For several years I had a dog, an extremely spirited, smart, and strong shepherd husky mix named Dingo. Like so many other canines in this county, he was a rescue from the Marin Humane Society. Dingo did many a mile with me on fire roads and trails, until a leg injury and a divorce meant I could no longer give him the miles of exercise he needed, and he found a new home. I missed my furry companion (though I'm sure legions of traumatized squirrels breathed a collective sigh of relief that Dingo wouldn't be terrorizing them again; he had a way of yanking the leash out of my hands--I said he was strong--and he could do a pretty good job of climbing trees).

But now I have a new buddy, Dre, 40 pounds of tongue-lolling happiness. That's him in the picture. Technically, he's my friend Catherine's dog, but I kinda think of him as mine too, since I see him several times a week. He trots along beside us as we ride or run all over the county. Lucky dog. Like us, he is allowed on acres of Marin County Open Space lands, so long as he is either on a leash or under voice control (click here for rules). While he would love to run in China Camp, that's a doggy no-no, since that and Mt. Tam State Park forbid pooches from its trails (click here for general details on dogs in CA State Parks). But there's plenty of acreage to go around: he can take to the fire roads and trails all over Mt. Tamalpais, so long as he stays within the Marin Municipal Water District acreage and is on leash (here are the rules and a map). He can run on some of the beaches (Rodeo and Muir beaches, and Stinson's North Beach is always dog heaven) and some trails within the Marin Headlands (click here for the rules). Happy trails, Dre.

This Blogger's Secret Mission

2010-03-02T12:11:00.000-08:00

With the sun peeking out after another night deluge, some words of reflection on why I'm doing this blog.

I'm lucky enough to call myself a travel writer and editor. Over the years that I've been doing this "job," I've had the good fortune to scramble over Utah's red rocks and ski down Colorado's snowiest slopes, climbed up Mt. Rainier in Washington State, petted whales in Baja, toured ancient churches in England, pedaled around France and Switzerland, and sprinted out of the way of charging warthogs in South Africa. As a contributor to and now coordinator of California's official tourism publications and web content through Sunset Publishing, I have written about virtually every corner of this remarkable state. While I could post about far-flung places, or just focus on California, I keep my blog much closer to home--in fact, I aim to blog here about nothing more than exactly that: my home, the place where I was born, Marin County, California.

It shocks me how often visitors buzz through this small but stunning county en route from San Francisco to the Wine Country and points beyond. They might make a glancing blow at Muir Woods National Monument after crossing the Golden Gate, or maybe swing through Sausalito to snap a photo of San Francisco's skyline across the bay. But what about the thousands of acres of wide-open parkland they never see--the mystery of Pt. Reyes National Seashore, the golden strip of Stinson Beach, the fun of China Camp State Park's mountain-biking trails, the thrilling waterfalls and miles of trails in Mount Tamalpais State Park and the Marin Municipal Water District (all open to exploring). What about the charming downtown shopping districts of Mill Valley and San Anselmo, the artisan cheese-makers in Pt. Reyes Station, the renovated movie Smith Rafael Film Center with talks by the likes of Sean Penn and Katherine Bigelow in San Rafael?

My goal is to open visitors eyes to help them see this spectacular place I get to call home. To share ideas, news, bargains, happenings, and yes, my favorite secrets. If you feel like sharing YOUR Secret Marin ideas and information, please do--I'd love to read your comments or answer your questions. And if you disagree with anything in my posts, share that too! This virtual world works both ways. Thanks for reading.

Warriors gone wild at China Camp

2010-03-01T18:01:00.000-08:00

Marauding bands of warriors are sweeping through the forests at China Camp State Park. Screaming red, arms raised high, and three inches tall. Indian warriors, one of my favorite wildflowers, have begun to bloom in vermillion carpets at this San Rafael parkland--and elsewhere throughout Marin. I saw uncountable "warriors" poking up when the trail looped through their favored habitat, underneath the smooth tan trunks and spreading branches of native madrone and smaller, rust-trunked manzanita, which has distinctive peeling bark. I came home to read more about Indian warriors, and was faced with the harsh reality that this personal favorite of mine is as welcome as a tick.

My grim discovery began with my seeing inordinate numbers of this wildflower always growing in the same place: under madrones and manzanitas. I got all excited when I discovered the Cal Academy of Sciences California Wildflower ID tool--you can just click on a button and it gives you a bunch of possible wildflowers--but alas I just ended up with the equivalent of "does not compute," even when I put in descriptors (frilly red flowers, dark feathery leaves), and the Latin name (Pedicularis densiflora). So I did a little more poking around and cobbled together the facts that those feathery flowers are really just leaves pumped full of red chlorophyll, and the plant grows where it does because it actually latches onto root systems of members of the heath family--you got it, manzanita and madrone--and takes what it wants. Kinda like sticking your straw in somebody else's milkshake. Or having him pay for gas and filling up your car. I still like the plant even if it doesn't sound socially respectable.

Proof in Novato: Catch a great show by March 7!

2010-02-27T23:15:00.001-08:00

Little secret: Novato Theater Company is doing an excellent production of Proof, which, if you haven't seen it, is probably the best play you'll ever see about mathematicians. Actually, they're bitterwseet, loving, thoughtful, annoying, charming, sad, wild, funny, sweet, good and bad--just like the rest of us. Excellent work by a tiny ensemble. Touching in all the right ways. Now through March 7 at Novato's Pacheco Playhouse. Great job directing by my friend Buzz Halsing!!

Spring Awakening

2010-02-26T19:13:00.000-08:00

Living in a land of live oak and redwood, bay tree and Douglas fir, it's easy to think that Marin doesn't really shed many leaves. While it's true that a vast amount of our mountain (and meadow) greenery is evergreen (hangs onto needles and leaves throughout the year) versus deciduous (goes bald in the fall), we do have some pretty spectacular seasonal shedders. A stunning example grows right outside my front door. The crown you see here is of a tremendous heritage oak--a valley oak--that towers above my home in north San Rafael. It was here long before my house sprung up; it will (hopefully) be here long after--these magestic monsters, which can soar to nearly 100 feet and have branches as big as tree trunks, can live for six centuries. That means the acorns of "my" tree, a staggering number of nuts that clatter to the ground each fall, once fed Miwok Indians, and probably foraging grizzly bears, both long gone from this region. But the oak lives on. I give you a shot of its elegant crown right now--within a week or so it will be floating in a lime-green fuzz of new growth. A ancient and glorious harbinger of spring.

Beating up ferns

2010-02-22T16:40:00.000-08:00

Whenever I go out in the Marin hills, I try to hit someone. Sometimes I just hit myself and that's enough.

No, mountain biking and hiking don't make me prone to violence. The reason I give a good smack, usually to a bike-shorted leg or butt--is to make a cool fern print using a frond of spore-laden (and aptly named) California goldenback fern (Pityrogramma triangularis). I made a quick video this afternoon after my ride to show you how you can have an excuse to hit your buddy next time you're out on the trails.

Look for goldenback ferns growing in nooks and crannies, usually in shady moist areas like road cuts and rock crevices. Just watch out for a common neighbor, poison oak. Not cool to slap that on someone's leg...much less yours.

One of the first times I tried this whacking move was on a realtor who was showing me a San Rafael house with a cool, shady backyard--full of these little ferns. I plucked a frond, put it on her shirt and whacked. The shirt was silk. I thought it looked pretty. She was not amused. I made it up to her by buying the house.

Marin Rocks in Paris

2010-02-22T12:51:00.001-08:00

If you were in Paris right now instead of Marin, you could be enjoying views of the Tuillerie Gardens (above) or eating Nutella crepes (good job by my daughter wearing her Marin Rocks t-shirt in Paris). But you'd also be wrapping yourself up in huge winter coats and giant scarves and jumping over slush puddles and snow at Versailles (as shown here), NOT getting out in the gorgeous spring sunshine and knee-deep green that's covering our Marin hillsides now, making it one of my can't-believe-we're-so-lucky times to be here. So get out on the trails and enjoy! I will be--and I'll send posts all week telling you about more great nooks and crannies to explore. Stay tuned. (First I've got to put all that wool coat away--for good!)

Gestalt Haus Reopens

2010-02-22T10:57:00.001-08:00

Good news! Gestalt Haus (technically Gestalt Haus at the Beat, in Fairfax) is open again--pouring beer and putting brats in buns for the muddy throngs. Hopefully all's well now.

BAD MOVE IN FAIRFAX -- LIGHTS OUT AT GESTALT HAUS

2010-02-09T23:13:00.000-08:00

SOME BOBO-HEAD IN SOME DEPARTMENT SOMEWHERE IN THE BOWELS OF THE MARIN CIVIC CENTER SAYS GESTALT HAUS @ THE BEAT IN FAIRFAX NEEDS AN EXTRA DOOR AND SO THEY'VE SHUT IT DOWN. RED-TAGGED. C'MON!!!

In a time when it seems as if our collective spirit has hit a backwash, a doldrum, a sluice-pile, can't someone PLEEEZE have a little positive ju-ju for some guys willing to take a risk and open a new hangout? Feels like a giant thumb came down from above and went "squish." I know rules are rules but CRIMINY, is this how you promote creative spirit and community.

N. O. T.

Dodos.

Turn left at the Rockies and keep going

2010-02-08T23:01:00.000-08:00

While my heart goes out to the sore backs and blistered hands brought on my legions of snow shovels as Snowmageddon and other storms pummel the Eastern seaboard, I offer this simple suggestion: Dudes, move West. Check out where you could have been this Sunday. Better than looking for the dog under 4 feet of snow....

11 a.m. Sunday, Wolfback Ridge, Marin Headlands

Beers, brats, and bikes at new Fairfax hangout

2010-02-06T10:46:00.001-08:00

Remember when you were a kid and liked to build forts? I specialized in a simple toss-the-old-quilt-over-the-card-table approach, then climbed in with a book, a pillow, and a flashlight. My brother took a more elaborate tack: He and his buddies (I'm not naming names) would scour nearby building sites for "spare" lumber, then use it build a multistory tree house with extension cords strung across the fields, eventually finding an elicit plug in an unsuspecting parent's house. (That they never burned down the hillside with their activities is still one of Marin's mysterious secrets.)

This week I had a chance to check out Marin's latest fort for grownups: Gestalt Haus at the Beat, in Fairfax. Wearing the tagline "Beer, brats, and bikes," it's a magnet for both mountain bikers and road riders (roadies) in search of a place to chill after a ride, especially night rides in the surrounding hills. (Again, no names named here, but I hope they stay on legal fire roads.) Mud-spattered Lycra and lithium-light-topped helmets are the preferred fashions.

Guys (and gals) sit at long polished-wood tables, beer-hall style, inviting conversation. We walked in and immediately recognized friends. On the walls? Bikes. Patrons roll them right through the door and hang them on wall-mounted racks. Great way to promote gear envy (and not risk getting your ride stolen). Kids bounce around in the place on weekends, while their parents talk trails, sip a brew, and check out guides and magazines. Need a dog to pat? There's usually one or two hanging out by the door.

The minimalist menu offers not quite a dozen kinds of meat and vegan sausages, plus optional sauerkraut. (Sophia behind the counter says they focus solo on brats because "that's just what you want when you're done with a ride.) More items will come soon (think pickles and chips--this place will never be haute-cuisine.) As for drinks, the focus is on quality California microbrews and bottled German beers. And note the bottles of Coke: they're from Mexico (cane sugar, not high-fructose corn syrup as in the US batches, notes manager Jeremy Wright). So while Gestalt Haus wouldn't claim to sell health food, it's at least quality food.

A recent Marin IJ review caused some headaches: local health code guys noticed what they considered infractions, so there are some minor changes being made but no long-term impacts predicted by management. So c'mon down to the fort. Just bring your bike, your dog, and your mud.

Gestalt Haus at the Beat (in former Book Beat site)
28 Bolinas Rd.
Fairfax
gestalthausfairfax.com/index.html

Beetle mania

2010-02-01T17:27:00.000-08:00

My friend Sheila posted this photo of ladybug beetles carpeting a signpost in a densely wooded park this weekend. That got got me to thinking about these appealing insects, as shiny as a polished fingernail, believed to bring us good luck. (Maybe I'll send some ladybugs to the California legislature in hopes it'll get our state parks open again...need some luck for that.)

But I digress. Ladybugs have an odd way of clumping together in winter, often in damp redwood forests like Muir Woods National Monument near Mill Valley, or Roy's Redwoods in the San Geronimo Valley. Dull and slow in winter, the beetles go through the bug version of hibernation called "dispause," often hanging out in gently quivering beetle-mats on logs, rocks, or old wooden fences. I remember wanting to cross a Marin creek one winter, with nowhere to step on a dry stone without squishing a whole bunch of ladybugs. I couldn't do it.

When the air begins to warm this spring, they'll open their hard shells, unfold their translucent wings, and lift off, hop-scotching inland. Some ride currents all the way to the Gold Country and beyond. We like them to land for a bit in our gardens and eat up our aphids, especially if the ladybugs are in fact ladies and lay eggs. Then their orange-spotted babies (technically called larvae, photo above--clearly only a mother could love that critter) will hang around and chow down even more nectar-sucking pests. Get the impression I'm not fond of aphids? Bingo. Love those ladybugs though.

So just remember when you plunk down cash or send away for ladybug beetles, thinking they'll hang out in your gardens all season, attacking aphids. More like a stopover, with wind and warm currents forever making these little buggers fly away home.

Rock On

2010-01-31T21:42:00.000-08:00

Rocks. We like throwing them (especially if we are boys). We like building with them (especially if we own a serious piece of property in Tahoe). And we like balancing them. It's just cool, rock upon rock, defying gravity. I know it's fun. I did it today, out at Muir Beach, on a surprisingly balmy Sunday afternoon with other Marinites who craved the sun as much as my daughter and I did after so many soggy days and moss between our toes.

Out there on the beach, other rock-pilers had made their mark. So we picked our plot of beach and our stash of stones, some pancakes, some risky blobs that threatened to fall and crush our toes. As our tower grew, my daughter added little side towers, like turrets on a rock castle. It didn't take long to make a respectable tower, a not-bad addition to an entertaining Marin phenomenon: rock piles on beaches like this wintry one today, rock piles up creek beds winding down Mt. Tam or in the wet folds of Big Rock Ridge, and trimming the edges of Phoenix and other mountain lakes.

Who started this Bay Area phenomenon? The guy with the magic touch in Marin and SF-and the guy who has inspired a legion of copy-rock-cats, is San Franciscan Bill Dan. He puts big ones atop small ones and somehow finds the sweet spot of balance, gently feeling the center point before letting go.Thanks Dan; you made our day at Muir Beach fun--and balanced.

On mud, kings, and mismatched socks

2010-01-28T10:22:00.000-08:00

I ran into royalty today. While pedaling along N. San Pedro Rd. in San Rafael, a rode past two young women, binoculars slung around their necks, standing near the entrance to China Camp State Park. Ever curious--and a birder too--I pulled on the brakes, swung around, and ask what they're looking for. Raptors, they tell me. When I ask what makes this mist-and-sun morning good for raptors, they tell me it's the king tide, traditionally one of the highest tides of the year, which flushes out clapper rails and other shorebirds from their usual hiding spots in the marsh channels. Zoom zoom, in swoop harrier hawks and white-tailed kites (one of my favorites--alas I can't claim rights to that photo) to pick off the prey.

King tide? Never heard of it, so I look it up when I get home. Sure enough, it's typically one of the highest tides of the year, and I do have to admit that yesterday's tide--maybe the prince or queen tide?--actually lapped up and partially flooded the roadway. On this morning, the tide was already turning and draining the marshes by the time I rode by, so I'd missed the peak--but it was still clearly very, very soggy and flooded across the marshlands.

My favorite tidbit on king tides follows:
King tides occur with the coming of new and full moons. Some traditional mythologies hold that such times cause madness, a possible origin of the word "lunacy".

While there was narry a raptor in sight this morning, I'll admit I probably fit the lunacy bill in my mud-spattered gear and fetching mismatched socks.

MARIN OVERRUN BY FROGS!!!

2010-01-27T12:37:00.000-08:00

Every frog within a thousand miles has moved in across the street, or at least that's how it sounds when they start chirping and croaking dusk til dawn. Horror movie stuff if they weren't so tiny. The wetlands surrounding Gallinas Creek in North San Rafael provide a soggy home for these seasonal peepers, technically Pacific treefrogs (Pseudacric rigilla). One of the best places to "hunt" for these gem-like amphibians when in their early stages (not much bigger than a baby's fingernail) is at Mount Burdell Open Space Preserve, in Novato. Take the pretty 1-mile hike up to Hidden Lake, a vernal pool that vibrates with frog-life come late spring. Take a step in the rushes and watch a hundred frog-lets--topaz, emerald, jade--fling themselves out of harm's way (e.g. your shoe). That's my daughter "hunting" at Hidden Lake in the photo above.

Here are some other facts I gleaned about Pacific tree frogs:

"...Adults are 3/4 - 2 inches long from snout to vent. Tadpoles are up to 1 7/8 inches long ( 4.7 cm) blackish to dark brown and light below with a broze sheen. The intestines are not visible." (Good to know...why waste time looking for them?"

"...The call ... is known throughout the world through its wide use as a nighttime background sound in old Hollywood movies, even those which are set in areas well outside the range of this frog." (Did they get paid for travel expenses? Royalties?)

"...Treefrog tadpoles detect that their pond is drying, they can accelerate their development rate so that they metamorphose earlier in the year."(Can this apply to teenagers as they sense their parents bank accounts are drying up?)