Swans of Marysville

Every winter the California Department of Fish and Wildlife North Central Region puts on swan tours in the rice fields of Marysville. I'm not sure why I waited until 2014 to go on one of these tours, but finally, from the urging of my swan-loving mother, my adventure-seeking brother, and my own constant drive to be outside watching birds, I signed us up for a tour on January 4th. January is the best time to go, as it is the heart of the winter migration through the Sacramento Valley. While traveling back roads from the Sacramento area to Butte County via Marysville, I had seen agricultural fields blanketed white with hundreds of tundra swans, with no time to stop, so I was glad to dedicate a whole day to it.

Wintering  and migrating waterfowl such as swans were once sustained by a vast, connected complex of wetlands throughout the Central Valley of California. However, with about a 90% or more loss of wetland habitat in this state, these birds adapted to making their living at this important migration stop-over in flooded agricultural fields. The crop type most suitable for migrating swans is rice, because rice farmers routinely flood their fields to control bacteria, and many of the  farmers participate in wildlife-friendly agricultural practices through conservation easements or their own sense of stewardship. Marysville is a hotspot for such waterfowl friendly agriculture, and District 10, a 23,000-acre expanse of privately-owned rice fields and restored wetland habitat, draws one of the highest concentrations of swans and other waterfowl in all of the Central Valley. So we were definitely privileged to have access to these private properties by joining this tour.

We met the other participants and the guide at the big rice dryers on Matthew Lane, just north of Marysville off Woodruff Road. After a short walk to where groups of swans and other birds were gathered near the meeting spot, the group followed the guide in a caravan along the narrow checks and levees between the flooded fields, heads and binoculars hanging out of our windows. Besides the graceful white tundra swans, we saw white-faced ibis, great blue heron, American crow, pintails, red-tail hawks, snow geese, Brewer's blackbird, red-winged blackbird, great white egret, northern shoveler, American coots, killdeer, American widgeon, turkey vulture, and heard a marsh wren. We had the advantage of a naturalist/professional wildlife photographer join us on the tour, and he saw and pointed out what we didn't see, and gave us a lot of good stories and information. Even the landowner (rice farmer) came out to say hi while we birded one of his levees. Not bad for a day of birding.

When the tour ended, our birding didn't end. We said adieu to the crew and went on our own back-road birding drive to the city of Marysville. On Kimball Lane, we saw the most gorgeous spread of swans in the wetlands with the Sutter Buttes in the background (so awesome I made the photo my Facebook banner), and on Hallwood Blvd. we caught a few more birds such as western meadowlark and American kestrel. In Marysville we had lunch at the 100th best Asian buffet in America. Well, it was OK, maybe why it's the 100th best. Then headed home as the sun started setting. It's nice to live so close to such birding hotspots.

Sacramento River Cruise and Old Town

Most of us don't do the tourist thing in the area where we live and work. Who has time? We're too busy living and working, and then we do our sightseeing far away from home. That is until we have out-of-town guests, holidays, or birthdays, and the question comes up: What's a fun thing to do in this town? The city I work in and live near is Sacramento, California. I spent several of my adult years here, and only recently discovered Old Sacramento and what it has to offer. On Father's Day two years ago we were trying to figure out something we could do that Dad would enjoy. He wanted to see ships in the Port of Sacramento, but something better caught my eye. An hour-long history cruise on the Sacramento River on the Hornblower. Then we'd go try to see cargo ships.

Delta King

The Hornblower departed from its dock in Sacramento's historic Old Town, next to the permanently moored Delta King, a paddlewheel steamboat with a rich history as a passenger boat in the 1920s, on military duty during World War II, an excursion boat on the Hudson River, a home to laborers in British Columbia, and a mysterious sinking in Richmond, California. Now it serves as a hotel/restaurant and nightclub. The Hornblower provided a narrated history lesson as we cruised north up the river in the hot sun. First we learned about the building of our Tower Bridge in 1934, and the historic I-Street drawbridge. Known as a metal truss swing bridge, it swings open horizontally instead of rising vertically.

Tower Bridge

I Street Bridge

Then we passed a ship-like dock--the historic air force docks. The "bow" (front side) of the dock measures the depth of the river. The oddly wing-shaped building sits on the "deck", walled with glass windows decorated with colored circles. I have no idea what this building houses or what it's for. A weather vane sits between the two wings. Further upriver, an historic power house. Further up, a shipwreck, and a whole story about how that happened and why the remains of the ship are still there--apparently providing good fish habitat. We passed riparian woodland, and the restaurants, docks, and marinas along the Garden Highway. We turned around at the confluence of the Sacramento and American Rivers, where people partied on the beach, in the park, and on the water.

Historic Air Force dock

Sunken ship

We cruised back to Old Town and disembarked. Unfortunately, that day we never made it to the Port of Sacramento, because I ran the Prius over a curb, broke it somehow, and we had to be towed to Folsom. Now we spend a lot of fun evenings in Old Town. Elegant dining, flavorful martinis, and live Irish music on a Thursday, or Americana-pop-classics on a Friday, at the Delta Bar & Grill has become a night on the town for us. And on an evening of extreme indulgence, we feast like sea lions on a bucket filled with a whole garlic-buttered crab at Joe's crab shack--sitting on the deck over the river, drinking a fancy cocktail, and watching the tie-died clad wait staff suddenly break into some silly dance. And then when that's done, the blues bar across the street or down the stairs is still open, in case we want to dance to a tune and have a beer.

So when my sister asked us if we wanted to do the Sacramento river cruise and Joe's Crab Shack for her birthday in October the following year, it was "hell yea!" I'd do it a third time if the occasion again arises. And I have yet to explore the other fun vacation-like options Old Town has to offer, such as underground tours, visiting the railroad museum, or showing up on Gold Rush Days, when Old Town closes itself to modern-day traffic and historian actors re-enact the early days of wagons, saloons, and gold prospecting. Now that's a whole lot of fun for a home town, where just blocks away I spend most of my time in a cube.

The Saga of Sunburn Revisited

The last time we heard from Sunburn, we were going over his heritage: born in Mexico of German parents at an assembly plant in Mexico City. It took 10 hours to cast all his engine parts, debus them, and assemble his 2.0-litre incline 4 engine made of German steel.

Sunburn was born in April of 1995 on a Wednesday. He is a Wednesday’s car. He is 18 years old, with 255,000 miles on his odometer. Needless to say, he has been to college and gone around the world 6 times. 18 years old for a commuter car is quite old, and he would be considered a Senior in a human lifetime.

This past week Sunburn wasn’t feeling so well. He called me on his telepathic new Alpine receiver, and I listened to what he had to say. He said, “Master, I’m not as fast as I once was, but I’m fast. My exhaust system has cancer, and I have a hole in my heart. My instrument cluster is only half working. My reply was “OK. Would you like to go to the old muffler shop in Fairfield? He blinked his headlights, “Yes.” So I got on the Internet, and low-and-behold, Dick’s Muffler and Hitches shop was still in business on North Texas Street. I called Rich, who has been working there 33 years, and made an appointment.

I told Rich I was in my second childhood, and that Sunburn wanted an exhaust with an attitude. This German kid was getting tired of being smoked by the rice burners. So Rich went to work and tore out both the old mufflers, installed a blue streak straight through the glass pack, and fixed the hole in his large intestine.

On the way home, Sunburn was a new man, looking for a rice rocket to devour. We were on North Texas Street, and pulled up beside a twin-turbo VTEC Honda with racing stripes all over it. Quite a formidable machine. His driver called us an “ugly piece of shit crout car.” Sunburn blinked at me through his half-lit instrument cluster, and I nodded my head, “Yes.” We told the Jap Honda that the Germans won the war, and we challenged him to a drag race to the freeway.

As the light turned green, we both put the pedal to the metal. Sunburn pulled ahead in third gear at 5200 RPM on the Tach. We (Sunburn and I) hit the freeway in the fast lane. I have his head at 85 MPH with the radar detector set at 360 degrees. The black knight Honda VTEC was never seen again.

Moral to the story: Never insult a sleeping Golf III; he might wax you with a “hole in one”.

20 mi(i5)-75 mi = 525 Ans: Hwy 25

It is the year of the snake, and the hibernating Gators have had the worst losing streak since 1979. Trivia: Did you know that a Gator can wag his tail like a dog?

Of the 4 million sports car enthusiasts that use their rides to get away from it all and change their focus from everyday problems to “the challenge of a mountain road”, California Highway 25 is a well-kept secret only shared by a few. When I was on it a few weeks ago, I only met one car on my 2-hour excursion near Hollister, CA.

Now, the saggers in high school all wear sweatshirts with HOLLISTER on the sleeve. When asked what “HOLLISTER” means, they say it’s just a brand. HOLLISTER is a real place, and you will find the start of Hwy. 25 downtown.

The Hollister hills are a study of geological phenomena. On one side of the highway are rolling hills, and the other is mountainous sheers. In the hills you will occasionally see a farmhouse in a crease.

Highway 25 is a work of art, built right on the San Andreas Fault line, so if you are afraid of earthquakes, “don’t even think about it.” There are spots on the road you can go 100 MPH (not legally), and scare the crap out of yourself. In the beginning, about 15 miles out of Hollister is the coolest mom & pop restaurant that serves fantastic soup and crab crepes.

Halfway through this “stairway to heaven”, there is a turn-off called Peachtree Road. This is a desolate, two-lane road that narrows down to one lane and makes you believe that you are at the ends of the earth. If you are afraid of blind curves, “don’t even think about it.” This is truly a “stoner” road, with absolutely no danger of cops. If you want to get further adventurous, take the Indian Valley Road. Don’t break down because the imminent Indian attack is still prevalent.

Since all roads lead to I-5, keep on going and you will find your way home, wagging your Gator tail behind you. So good luck, be careful, and enjoy.

The spirit of the road,

Bamba

New Jersey Geocaching on Pyramid Mountain

After the hustle and bustle of New York City, we decided a day in the natural world was in order, and what could be a better place for that than the beautiful deciduous forests of the State of New Jersey in the fall. Our cousins were our guides, and they took us to the Pyramid Mountain Natural Historic Area, via the quiet little communities off Stoneybrook Road.  We wanted to hike, and we got more than we were asking for. We hiked about a two-mile portion of the Pyramid Mountain Loop, with some of the most beautiful forest scenery along the hills and ridges above Taylortown Reservoir and unusual rock formations called glacial erratics. We started from the bridge over Stony Brook, and began our ascent up the mountain through the rocks and trees.

But we didn't always stay on the the trail. We found ourselves, along with our cousins and 70-year old aunt, climbing the rocks and steep ridges looking for little hidden treasures, following clues downloaded from the internet, in a popular outdoor scavenger hunt known as geocaching. Clues ranged from the shape of rocks and Red Hot Chili Pepper lyrics to the life history of animals, and the prizes were generally little trinkets of junk wrapped cleverly in taped, camouflage boxes hidden beneath the rocks or duff of the forest. Apparently, it's the rage. I took home a geocaching souvenir, a rubber green key chain from some nature-oriented organization. Once we claimed our prize, we traded it with a souvenir of our own (like how about a coupon from a California restaurant), re-hid the box, and headed up the trail to the next spot.

At the northwest tip of the loop, after a short detour to Lucy's Overlook, we beheld the famous tripod rock--the glacial erratic phenonomenon of a huge boulder balanced on top of three smaller rocks, which appeared to be a physically impossible balancing act. It is unknown if this structure was formed naturally, modified by humans, or as local legend implies, levitated by some intervention of native spirituality. In any case, it was historically a spiritual location for the natives of Pyramid Mountain.

After much hiking and geocaching, we took a small rest stop on the spectacular overlook on the eastern side of the loop, bedding down on notoriously flat ledges of solid rock that served as both a resting and viewing platform. We saw miles of forested hills, but it has been said that on a clear day, one could see as far as New York City.  After almost snoozing in the late morning sun in this relaxing spot, we were re-charged to descend down the trail to the shore of Taylortown Reservoir. We tried not to get too confused following the blue, white, yellow, or orange tags painted on the trees and rocks that marked our trail back to the parking lot, especially when the "trail" was but a pile of boulders that needed to be traversed.

 

It was lunch time when we emerged and we were all a bit tired and hungry. So we headed down Boonton Avenue into the eclectic little town of Boonton, and had deli sandwiches at Don's Sandwich Shop on Main Street, a combination mom-and-pop deli and music store--specifically for drummers--so you can pick up your delicious sandwich and drum head or sticks in one stop. Then we were back on the interstates, returning to the maze of cities in eastern New Jersey.

Two Sides of New York

In October 2013, we took our second trip to the exciting Big Apple; the first one-day visit was in 2004. Back then we did the real touristy tour of the city—arrived in Grand Central Station, saw the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Times Square, Wall Street, New York Harbor, Ellis Island, and Brooklyn Bridge; climbed the Chrysler building; ate at an authentic Italian dive in the Bronx and in a fancy Brazilian restaurant in Manhattan; and saw Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. Then almost 10 years later we were back, but our one-day visit in the big city was much more low key. Hooking up with my awesome relatives, we took the bus and subway from New Jersey, and spent a good few hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

Had our lunch from the classic hot dog vendors on the steps of the Met. Being fans of Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and the 60s folk explosion, we decided to visit Greenwich Village and Washington Square—to catch a glimpse of one of the remaining music clubs or coffee houses from that era such as the Bitter End—but mostly to just walk around and take in the local scene. There is still live music in the park, and we stopped to watch a band featuring a saxophonist in a slick gray suit and a tuba player. Then with all the hipster coffee houses on every street, I went on a mission searching out a soy decaf latté, which was surprisingly difficult to find. When I did hit the jackpot at Porto Rico Importing Company on Bleecker Street, I paid only 47 cents, and we walked out with bags of gourmet coffee to bring back to Jersey and California. For dinner we went for authentic New York “pie” at John’s Pizzeria, also on Bleecker Street, probably dining amongst NYC’s bohemian artists and celebs. Then we headed back to Port Authority, where we had to experience Carvel ice cream before returning to Jersey. 

Band in Washington Square Park

Pie from John's Pizzeria

Washington Square

After a day trip to Long Island to visit another awesome cousin, where we dined on authentic Jewish food at the Bellcrest Kosher Deli in Merrick and braved the traffic of the George Washington Bridge, we took a journey away from the Big City to see the other side of New York. That is the natural upstate, small-town New York--where the fall colors of the deciduous forests displayed all the beauty and glory portrayed by the paintings and photographs we see out west, with picturesque small towns rich with character and history. We traveled north towards the Adirondacks to visit friends in the beautiful mountain community of Madison. It would have normally been about a 6-hour drive, but we decided to avoid major freeways and toll roads and take the exploration route through the Catskills. We mostly followed Route 17, had a delicious pasta lunch in Harriman at Marina Restaurant and Pizza on 17M, and took the scenic route through Harriman State Park. Then we stopped for a little gift shopping at the Beaverkill Angler in the classic Catskills town of Roscoe, walking out of there with a little bag of locally homemade fudge. From there we took Route 206 northwest until we wound up on a variety of small and smaller county roads (thanks to Google Maps’ bizarre directions). After quite a few wrong turns and a whole lot of farmland and countryside, we made our way to Route 12N and to our friends in the vicinity of the colorful hamlet of Hamilton. There we made burritos, popped open quite a few beers, and chilled in the trees for a couple of days.

Catskills

Hamlet of Hamilton

Our route back to New Jersey was meant to be a bit more straightforward. We took I-20 east and had a classic lunch at the historic Duanesburg Diner. We picked up the New York State Thruway (Interstate 87) in Albany, and thought we’d fly down that awhile, until we decided to do a “small” detour to the artsy town of Woodstock. Being 60s music fans we were just aching to walk around the town where that all happened. Except Woodstock is not where it happened. The "Woodstock" music festival was actually in the town of Bethel, in a field that is now the Bethel Woods Center for the Arts. So after getting gifts and coffees from the new rich hippies of Woodstock, my husband with his not-so-great sense of distance and direction suggested we do another “small” detour to Bethel on our “way back” to Jersey. He took us hours out of our way winding through the Catskills on state and county roads. We finally gave up in the town of Grahamsville, never found Bethel, but experienced a beautiful ride through the mountains. We were late for dinner at our cousins’ in Jersey and missed turning in our rental car on time. A small price to pay for all that we saw, right through the very heart of it, New York, New York.

Woodstock