Perhaps needless to say, I've been itching to go outside and go hiking for the last two months and was determined to not let April pass us by since we'd literally sailed through March. The worst is watching Mr. Hiker Jane hear again and again that his softball games are canceled since the all the parks in San Francisco have been calling "Uncle!" since late January. He hasn't had a game in almost three months and each Friday night before we go to bed, he's been leaving out a chicken wing for the great god Jubu, saying a little mantra over his softball bag and hoping that maybe, just maybe, they'll get to play the next day. It hasn't worked. The nastiest trick is when it will rain the night before and then we'll have a glorious Saturday day, but with the fields looking like chocolate pudding, the games are still called off.
The forecast was for 'partly cloudy' last Sunday, and additionally we were supposed to be 'springing forward' for Daylight Savings. We had three who'd said "yes," I made four, and we had a handful of "maybes." Now I've learned after doing this for the past four years, that pretty much 99% of your maybes are really a "no," but they just can't bear to say it. However, one thing I have yet to realize is that there are many people who say an enthusiastic "Yes!" with a thumbs up sign and really at best they are a "maybe." I don't think it is solely a San Francisco phenomenon, but I'd be willing to venture that people that live in the Bay Area have a slightly above average flake factor, and are pretty much overly enthusiastic about everything. Perhaps it is because many live in the state of a perpetual contact high from the wafting green fog that settles in to parts of the valleys at around 4:20PM each day. Just a guess.
Anyway, Sunday rolls around and while it is grey it isn't raining so I pack my bag full of trail mix, apples, and string cheese and head on over to Muddy's coffeeshop to get some Sunday fuel. People can say what they want about Muddy's, but it is the most perfect slice of the Mission district if I've ever seen one. While I love where I live now, it can get a little Lily of the Valley out here and nothing brings me back down faster than a visit to my old stomping grounds.
Eleven in the morning strikes and out of the mist appears Miss Monique. She is ready to go, hiking pack in hand. I glance at her shoes and worry for a moment since she is wearing tennis shoes and even though the trail won't be too hard, it is going to be very muddy and hiking boots are probably a necessity in spots. No matter. We sit and wait for the other two hikers, witnessing the ever amusing show of characters out in front of the coffee shop and inside. We wait...and wait. "Maybe they didn't spring forward," Monique offers. I agree and try calling the one other hiker whose number I have in my cell phone. No answer. I don't like to leave a "yes" behind. We decide to wait until noon and then if no one either calls or shows by then we'll head off. A half hour into our wait I get a text message from one of the hikers saying they can't come today since they went hiking yesterday and "lost one of the hikers" and they are not feeling too good and will explain later. "Lost?! What do they mean by lost? Did they...? Jesus, I'm not going to think about that." We wait the other half hour speculating on the lost hiker and our final hiker doesn't show. A "yes" that was a "maybe." Oh, San Francisco.
In our hour wait it has started to sprinkle. Just a few drops, but they are taunting me. Quickly I hustle Monique into the car and we start driving North. "Maybe it will stop," I say hopefully. "Do you mind hiking in a little rain?" Monique says that she's fine with it sprinkling and I lie to myself thinking that it will be fine and we keep driving. About an hour later we reach the trailhead and we see some backpacking diehards wandering back to their cars after spending the night out in the park. They are covered with mud, but smiling. I decide to myself that it will be okay.
We begin the trail and for the most part it is pretty easy going, the inclines are pretty moderate, and for once I don't feel overwhelmed by the first hike of the season. In fact I feel downright great. It is the first decent sign that all the trips to the gym these past three months have been paying off. Thank Jubu.
The scenery is gorgeous and although Monique is playing advanced outdoor "Frogger," leaping cautiously onto spots of minimal mud on the trail, we are both blown away by the beauty. There are wisps of fogs rolling over the hills and all the rain has produced an abundance of wildflowers; they burst over into the trail with their flecks of yellow, purple, and red. To the left we can see the Pacific ocean and the stormy waves crashing onto the cliffs.
After hiking for about an hour, the trail turns inwards under greater cover and we pass by a the first of a series of lakes. I don't quite remember the names, but I believe this is Bass Lake. Monique is indicating the lake for you...:
Monique and the lake. Doesn't the rain make her complexion look dewy? I thought so.
Our final destination is a place called Alameda falls and if there is one thing that rain makes more spectacular for viewing, it is waterfalls. Before we hit the turnoff for the falls, we passed by Pelican Lake, and the picture below doesn't do it justice. Try squinting at it and picture ducks swimming. If you try really hard you can almost see a young Ricky Schroder running around it and the credits rolling for "On Golden Pond".
One thing I've failed to mention is that while we were hiking, we were passed by one of those cute hiking couples. Two JCrew models had sprung from the pages and were jaunting along and passed us at one of our break spots. What blew me away was that they didn't have a backpack or even a bottle of water between them -- like they were just taking a quick stroll on what is an eight mile loop. Yeah. Perhaps when they got thirsty they just licked the dew drops off the nearest branch. Who knows. In any case, they come into our story later on and I thought I should mention them before I forget.
So, we turn onto the Alameda Falls trail and we know our final destination is near. We brush past the "unmaintained trail sign" and slog through a bunch of smelly mud and finally come to a clearing where the trail basically ends in rocky mudslide. Standing at the end of the trail looking down is another couple. Not the JCrew people, fairies had whisked them away for the moment. This was a normal looking couple who stood there in their LLBean barn jackets and muddy shoes. We approached them to see what they are looking at. Oh. Down below are the Falls, but there is no real trail down, just a slip n' slide of mud and make shift "steps" where the trail once was.
They look up at Monique and I and say, "Are you going down?" "Are you?," I counter. They laugh. I look down and try and assess the situation from a safety perspective as opposed to the "Dammit I'm going to see that waterfall" perspective. Both voices interfere, however, and they decide it isn't that bad. I declare to the group that I'd like to go down, and the guy in the couple immediately jumps to my side as if I'm somehow some kind of authority on hiking. The woman hems and haws, but eventually gives in and we make our way down the first tier of mud and rock.
It turns out their names are....well, I can't remember so I'll say Christine and John, since those are nice names and they were very nice people. Apparently they were on vacation from Atlanta. How in the hell they found themselves on this trail about an hour outside of San Francisco remains a mystery to me, but I was happy they were there. John was a big guy and willing to be our "spotter" on the one point where we had to leap across the water. It wasn't too far of a jump, but just seeing all that rushing water and knowing that a few hundred feet away this water crashes about fifty feet onto a beach...well, it messes with your head.
Do you see why Monique gets a gold star? Good.
Below is a shot of the top of the waterfall -- the first tier -- and the picture doesn't really do it justice, but it is all I have. Please act impressed.
It is at this point that our JCrew models come back into the picture. We'd made it down the first section, but we still weren't at the beach which is where there is the most dramatic drop for the waterfall. We are looking around and debating, and peering over the side of the cliff to see where the waterfall drops, when our two models popped their heads out from behind a massive wall of rock. "The trail is over there," they say as they continue to scamper back up the trail to the top. "It's steeper than the first part, but less muddy." Oh goody. They prance away and the newly created foursome of myself, Monique, Christine and John decide that if those little pixies can make it so can we.
We make our way down the granite slope to the beach, and indeed the models were correct -- it is much steeper and we've now swapped rocky mud for just plain rocks. But as you can see the hike down was well worth it. It was magnificent:
(That is Christine in the foreground)
Just when I was about to congratulate myself for not getting any water in my shoes on the hike, yours truly got hit by a wave crashing onto the beach. So much for my speech. My boots fill up with water and sand. I try to clear them out, sitting on the beach and trying to brush the grains from my wet socks, but it is like trying to clean a wet floor with a saturated sponge. That said, nothing can dampen my spirits since we've made it down and the four of us frolic like we've climbed Mt. Everest. Christine took this photo of Monique and myself in front of our accomplishment.
And just as I'm about to set up a momentary camp down there, it starts to rain. Not sprinkling, but raining. A group of seals have popped their heads up out of the waves and they look at us like we are crazy. "What are you doing out there?," they seem to say. "Are you nuts? It's raining!" Meanwhile we can't stop starring at them.
"Are those seals," squeals Christine.
"Yes," I say adding, "either they are seals or really stupid humans, but I think they are seals."
"Maybe those are birds," says John.
"Those are not birds." Christine counters, "Besides she says they are seals."
"Yes and I encourage you to use me as an authority when you tell your friends in Atlanta. Just say, this local San Francisco girl said they were seals. See? It's perfect."
The rain is staring to come down even harder, so we do our best to scamper back up the rocks as quickly as possible. If there was any attempt to try and keep ourselves somewhat dry and mud free, it has been abandoned by the desire to get back to the trailhead as quickly as possible. Chatter makes the trail go fast and I finally feel good about bringing all the food I had with me since Christine and John are famished.
We manage to get back to the car before some serious hypothermia sets in and pull off the first layers of wet clothes and dump them into the trunk. Christine and John take Monique's e-mail address and promise that they will send her a copy of their pictures. So far, no pictures. I guess they were really a "maybe." Oh, well. No matter. They still get gold stars.
Oh and that hiker? They found her. Apparently she went off alone into the fog and lost her way, but she did find her way back after a few hours. Yeah. Mother Nature can be scary solo, so remember that before you do some trailblazing, kids.
