Two-Heel Drive

This is a first: meeting not one but two Two-Heel Drive readers for the first time on the same day. I decided to tag along with Mike Wimble’s FOMFOK gang because they were heading out to my all-time favorite Bay Area park: Sunol Wilderness. Yes, it’s madness to go there in August, but we had nice breezes, relatively mild heat and gorgeous, smog-free skies. Mostly made up for the punishing climbs up out of the Sunol canyon.

First, the readers:

Beth, who comments as Baychic around here (note you must be a Xanga member to see her page), signed up with FOMFOK a few months back and decided it was time to go along on one of Mike’s hikes before getting booted from the list (Mike is decent and generous to a fault but he is a stern custodian of his e-mail list: if you don’t come and hike, you get bounced). Beth is tall and thin, which I always translate as “will stand zero chance of keeping up with her on the trail.”

Ron, AKA Grey, was the first guy to arrive after me at the Sunol parking lot. He told me he found Mike’s group from a link here. He lets his geek flag fly at this copious compendium of links. He even has a South Bay hiking blog.

Enough introductions. On to the hike. Fearless leader Mike apparently had not endured any significant bodily discomfort of late, so he opted to go straight to Flag Hill, one of the meanest ascents at Sunol. Actually, “mean” is a bit unkind. It’s steep, but it’s also a nice single-track trail with abundant views on the way up.

That’s Donna Jones throwing her arms wide for the world. Or something. She covers Watsonville for the Santa Cruz Sentinel and is an old pal of ex-Sentinel reporter Dan White of “Cactus Eaters” fame. We have the same boss, ultimately, and we often talk shop on FOMFOK hikes. But not with other people around, it just bores them silly.

Mike, with his back to the spectacular Sunol backdrop.

My latest thing is: get people in the picture. I started with this excellent Flag Hill Trail snag.

Axis of Evil, meet Nexus of Niceness. (Mike with FOMFOK co-chair Kathy).

Here we are at the top of the Flag Hill Trail. Approaching hikers ask us “which way to Little Yosemite.” Only, about three miles back the way you came.

Hikechic flashes her winning smile at the Flag Hill Rocks. Kristen, right, is always trying to talk Mike into taking longer, more strenuous hikes. Mike always explains that he hikes for fun, not strain.

Dirk studies his map at the Flag Hill rocks.

The other Ron on our hike, adjusting his shades at the moment, is a former San Francisco State biology professor (evolution is his niche, as I recall). When Mike and I broke out our iPhones on one rest stop, he noted “humanity has gone from hunting and gathering to pointing and clicking.” OK, you had to be there.

Ron munches an apple at a bench near one end of the Eagle View Trail, which dives down into a canyon along a nasty-steep hillside where one slip will plunge you into a tangle of nasty brambles that will probably save your life but make you wish you were dead. It’s one of my favorite Sunol trails.

Mike needs dramatic imagery for his annual hike DVD. He’s still working on the 2007 edition, so this one might take awhile to see the light of day.

So those are this week’s highlights. More links:

Kathleen used to work in the research library at the paper. I used to take a shortcut through her office, right past her desk. Probably passed it a thousand times.

Yesterday I was at the Sunol Regional Wilderness, sitting on a rock at Cave Rocks along the Indian Joe Trail. Kathleen was sitting directly across from me on another rock. Her face looked tantalizingly familiar but I couldn’t place where I knew it from. Call it a senior moment.

“Did you work at the paper?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I worked in the library.”

That’s me, highly trained, skilled observer my surroundings. I’d seen Kathleen pretty much every working day of my life for five years, but hadn’t seen her around the paper she’d taken early retirement a year and a half ago. Sitting on her rock, Kathleen was having similar “can’t place the face” issues, though in her case it was more like “yeah but that guy had a much bigger beer gut.” (I’d hiked off about 35 pounds during her last year at the paper).

This whole thing reminds me of my college days, when the wisdom passed down from upperclassmen to us plebes was that if you were sky high on amphetamines when you were cramming for your biology final last night, you’ll do better on today’s exam if you’re brain’s in the same condition; I doubt this would pass the Snopes test, but it was an excellent excuse to avoid the ravages of sobriety. Oh, yeah, the point: memories dwell in context. I had a “Kathleen at work” memory that would’ve been triggered immediately if I’d seen her in the hallway. She had no “thinner Tom in dark shades and hiking shoes” memories.

I know what you’re thinking: Tom, for God’s sake get on with the pretty pictures of the outdoors already. Sorry, at these prices you have to suffer my keen mastery of the glaringly obvious.

So, OK, this week’s hike narrative happens at Sunol Regional Wilderness, where I had met Mike, Kathy and more FOMFOK folks (Kathleen and her husband, Rick, were first-timers with the group; I had even introduced myself to her as if she were a total stranger. The great thing about utter incompetence at just about everything is that I’ve always got stuff to write about here.)

It was another of those days we learn to not mention to folks living in places that have actual weather that actually sucks nine months of the year. Sunshine, clear skies, light breezes, about 70 degrees at mid-afternoon. Such weather happens in such abundance around the Bay Area that it causes only a mild bump in the size of the crowds at Sunol, one of the prettiest places for 50 miles in any direction. This week’s scenery:

I have to include a sun-behind-the-trees picture so you’ll know it’s me and not an impostor posting this week.

Mike ponders a tree near the Indian Joe Trail. Sunol starts out in a valley and there’s really only one way to go to see the good stuff: up.

Old dead trees lying along the trail have thoughtfully been left in place so hikers’ll have someplace to pause and enjoy the view.

Pausing again to take in the view. We get a lot of that around here.

This pond is full of frogs, turtles and salamanders, which bob up for air and then dive back down into the murky waters. Playing “spot the salamander” is a good way to keep the kids occupied, and grownups find it quite amusing as well.

I just liked the natural arc formed by the hill in this picture.

Flag Hill is an excellent locale for plopping down on a rock and taking it all in.

Fomfok mainstay Peggy, with the hills of Alameda County behind her. Peggy’s an intrepid trekker — ask her about the time she hiked four miles with a broken ankle.

2007 continues to be a great year for California poppies. We’re starting to see large collections of them on open hillsides.

Picking our way down the Flag Hill Trail — which seems to be far steeper than it needs to be in many places. It can be fun, interesting and challenging right up to the moment when gravity overcomes a hiking shoe’s grip.

So that was this week’s festivities. Next week we’re off to the Pinnacles National Monument, one of my all-time favorite hikes.

I knew I wanted to hike somewhere on Sunday; I just didn’t want to hike too hard, or think too hard, or drive too far. When the lazy gene kicks in, I start thinking about places where the pictures take themselves. California has hundreds of such locales, but none like Sunol Regional Wilderness, which is picturesque 365 days a year and strategically located mere miles (as the turkey vulture flies) from our East Hills homestead.

OK, so hiking 10 miles at the Wilderness is not precisely lazy, though I did walk very slowly most of the way. Sunol is in the middle of the Diablo Range, whose hills could fill a hundred photo albums, though I can’t imagine a sane shutterbug attempting such a feat. You’ve heard it said "the hills have eyes"; well, I’m not that paranoid but there were times when I’d have settled for "the hills have legs," if only I could borrow a couple.

Sunday’s goal was to return to the Maguire Peaks Loop, where I had hiked the winter before last, hoping get an up-close look at these twin rock formations visible from the I-680 freeway on the ride southward toward Fremont. Got a lot of fog in the picture frame that time, but not as much peak as I’d have preferred. Got plenty of sunshine this time (more than my sunburned arms would’ve preferred, no doubt. Yes, Mom, I neglected to apply sunscreen. I blame society.).

So the trick to hiking to Maguire Peaks is to make your way to one of the trails leading to the Maguire Peaks Loop. These trails are along Welch Road, which is a mile or so north of Geary Road, which leads to the park headquarters. The benevolent keepers of Sunol Wilderness require hikers to make a special trip to the park HQ to acquire a permit to park on Welch Road. The other option is to hike to Welch Road, which is what I did. Sure, I’ll hike four miles in the blazing sun to avoid a 30-second bureaucratic hassle that delays my hike by 15 minutes. Damn this lazy gene — so helpful at avoiding the dinner dishes, yet able to betray me on a whim.

If you bullheadedly insist on walking, the easiest route to Welch Road is up Hayfield Road to High Valley Road (hang a left at the windmill), then follow the signs pointing toward Maguire Peaks. The trail goes rather sharply down into another valley, requiring the brain to enter Full Denial Mode to avoid thinking of hiking back this way.

The trail ends at Welch Road; it resumes at a parking area about a quarter-mile to the west.

These remnants of pine trees are one of the coolest sights on the trail.

After more climbing than seems entirely necessary, the peaks appear. They’re not terribly impressive, I admit, but are entirely in keeping with the ambition-challenged theme of this outing.

I accidentally stumbled upon the Lower Maguire Peaks Trail, which has these nifty old-fashioned trail arrows.

The sign-maker for the loop trail thoughtfully selected an alternate spelling of Maguire. Nothing like having all your bases covered.

There’s a couple steep spurs off the loop trail that go to the top of the tallest peak. A few of the season’s remaining wildflowers temper the drudgery a bit.

The view from the taller peak is stunning. I could see Mount Diablo to the north and across the San Francisco Bay to Mount Tamalpais (features typically lost in the summer haze).

After hiking down from the peak I paused for lunch in one of the few shady spots along the loop. A couple hikers coming up the trail had a beautiful German shorthair hunting dog tagging along. The dog trotted up next to me, lifted one paw in the air and, as if on cue, pointed his nose directly in front of us as if to say, "do something about that quail in the hedge over there." A second later the dog was gone. Riddle of the day: was there something out there or was the dog just being polite?

Don’t let them lie to you, the cows love having their pictures taken. It makes them so happy that they leave large piles of aromatic droppings for hikers to step in.

So I’m well into the last mile of my hike and I unthinkingly gaze over upon a large stand of cactus I had noticed during a previous hike. Damned if there weren’t blooms sprouting all over those things. My lazy gene was practically screaming about the 50 yards of tall, burr-infested grass between me and the blooming cactus, but a time comes when the lazy gene must be ignored. Cactus in bloom is one of those times.

Definitely worth a closer look, even if it took me 15 minutes to pick all the burrs out of my socks.

A cactus bloom is a rugged little number — it has bright petals but it’s encased in a thorny pod which gives the impression that if you tried to pick it, it would pick back.

Another 50 yards down the trail, a live tree grows from the trunk of a dead one. Stuff like that just seems to happen at Sunol.

Another Sunday, another ramble with Mike and Kathy’s hiking club at Sunol Regional Wilderness. You can’t go wrong at Sunol, though we have tried, time and again. Mention Sunol to anybody who hikes in the Bay Area and wait for the smiles of recognition. If you get no smile, it’s because they haven’t been there. It has hills, canyons, rocks, trees, birds and scenic splendor around every second corner. It’s almost never crowded here, except during wildflower season.

We hiked for a couple hours this time with only mild climbs and a visit to the Alameda Creek spilling over the rocks in Little Yosemite. Uneventful, in a good way, which means nobody fell in the creek or got chased by angry cows.

I don’t know why, but I just like this picture.

This is Dirk, who’s been hiking with Mike & Kathy far longer than I have but our paths never crossed till today. He was born in Germany in 1939; suffice to say he grew up during interesting times.

There’s something inherently visual about this watering trough. The reflections in the water just beg you to snap off a few frames.

See, my enthusiasm for dead trees is catching!

Dirk and I scrambled over a bunch of boulders to get down to the Alameda Creek. It wasn’t in full roar because it’s been a fairly dry winter (a condition being corrected as I type this; it’s supposed to rain all week).

Dirk was highly enamored of these tree roots growing right up against the rocks. They look like driftwood still attached to the tree.

Our small group bumped into a large group of hikers from another club. Mike showed them his "club cards" (like business cards, only for the club); they were suitably impressed.

Mike is concerned that nobody has taken a picture of one of his trademark silly poses in some time.

FOMFOK charter member Gwen took the rest of this week’s pictures.

Yours truly, with Flag Hill in the background (which is a good place for Flag Hill to be; the trail up there is brutal).

"I only have one pace," Gwen explains. Which means she has plenty of time to rest up and take people’s pictures as they attempt to keep up.

Hereford alert!

Kathy and I make sure MIke isn’t trying to smuggle any cattle out of the park. .

Industrious acorn woodpeckers leave their marks.

Non-rolling stones do gather moss.

UPDATE: Mike’s account of this hike here.

One of the excellent rewards of hiking every weekend is seeing the seasons change. Most of the trees in the Bay Area are evergreens so we don’t get New England-style, knock-your-socks-off autumn colors, though we do get a few splashes here and there. You know what happens with fall colors: the trees get gorgeous and stay that way till the first strong rain, which knocks all the leaves off and leaves barren branches till spring. Last year’s autumn was so rainy that I don’t recall seeing any color to speak of. With that memory in mind I’ve been thankful for whatever bits of brightness I happen across.

So Sunday’s outing was to the ever-popular Sunol Regional Wilderness, which has great hills, great trails, great trees, great rocks and a few great examples of soon-to-fall leaves on this mid-autumn day. I met Mike and Kathy’s hiking group at the park headquarters, where we kept having to tell these young-hot-singles-hiker types, "no, we’re not the Bay Area Link-up hike." It was of course flattering for them to mistake us for young-hot-singles hikers, though I would imagine them taking one gaze at the likes of yours truly and thinking "I gave up good music and margaritas in the city for him?" I’m sure those warm breezes I was feeling were the collective sighs of relief from hot-young-singles hikers noticing my wedding band.

Anyway, on to the hike. Here we go in the Indian Joe Trail, which hasn’t been renamed to avoid insult to the indigenous peoples of North America. Perhaps it would’ve been until it was realized what a great bit of brand placement this is for the state’s many tribal-run casinos.

Blue, green and brown were the only colors all I was expecting to see.

Stopping to discuss our various medical procedures. Hilarity ensues during a discussion of "so, how big was the needle they poked you with?"

Hey, there’s some colors that aren’t green.

Dave and Chris at the Singing Gate. One time when we were up here, the wind blowing through this gate made a strange howling sound.

Kathy and Peggy admire the Maguire Peaks. I was obliged to admit with no small amount of pride-bordering-on-hubris that I had climbed to the top of them. Of course there is nothing special about the Maguire Peaks up close; they’re not much higher than where we were standing here, at about 1,400 feet. (Mike brought his GPS along so we always knew how high we were; once you outgrow illegal controlled substances, these devices become a handy means of measuring the highs and lows.)

The moment we hiked 3.5 miles and climbed 1,200 feet for: Lunch!

We set off on the Eagle View Trail, which is dug into an extremely steep hillside. There’s a sign warning bike and horse riders to stay away. The trail isn’t really all that dangerous, truth be told, but if you were to fall down the hillside you’d stop rolling about where that pond is down there.

Another for the Cool Trees of California file.

We appreciate the stunning scenic vista, and the fact that it’s all downhill from here.

We meet a couple equestrians coming up the trail. Earlier in her ride, this woman told us, a rowdy group of young backpackers put a scare into her steed, who decided the best course of action upon meeting our group was to come right up to Chris and breathe heavily a few inches from her face. How close was this encounter? Well, Chris now knows all she needs to know about alfalfa breath.

Another vivid splash o’ color.

They call this park a "Wilderness" because it’s so much sexier than calling it "somebody’s cattle ranch rented to the county to keep people from wearing out the highways."

Dave and Chris think, in the lingo of the Old West, "much obliged, pardner, for kicking dust all over our overpriced hiking apparel."

Last year I had hiked in the rain a half-dozen times by this late in October, but it’s nothing but sunshine around here this fall. The last time I hiked through the Sunol Wilderness, my camera died on me, so I brought my new one along to Sunol on Sunday.

Seems like every time I come here, I’m so dumbstruck by the scenery that a small detail escapes my grasp: Hiking here requires climbing lots of hills. But the park’s just down the road (our house is on the other side of that ridge over to the right) and always has stuff worth seeing.

Cattle are a fixture of Sunol. This little guy was separated from his mother and started following me for a little bit.

Then I spotted this totally cool tarantula. It’s tarantula mating season, so these big furry arachnids are all over the trails looking for love.

Wispy clouds decorate the sky. The cow is indifferent.

Close-up of an old tree trunk. Looks like a Halloween mask.

Come to think of it, next time I’ve got a bunch of boring lo’ blue sky, I’ll brush in some clouds to liven things up.

Great rocks at Sunol, as always.

Nice place to wrap up.

A year ago last weekend I visited the Sunol Wilderness Regional Park for the first time. Since then I’ve been back to the park at least a half-dozen times. Sunol has just about everything you’d want in a park — scenery, wildlife, trails, campgrounds — and is nearby. Lately I’ve been doing a lot of training hikes (definition: getting so sweaty you can’t see the scenery) to get ready for the vacation in Yosemite National Park that we’ve had planned since January. I’m also planning to hike to the top of the 10,000-foot-plus Lassen Peak in Lassen Volcanic National Park next week. As a warm-up, I hiked nine miles Saturday from Mission Peak to Ed Levin County Park and another nine or so in Sunol on Sunday; certain leg muscles are complaining this morning.

I took my camera along Sunday so I’d have something to post this morning.

I started out on the Flag Hill Trail, which is up there on the other side of those rocks. The trail isn’t especially long — a little over a mile — but it is especially steep, about a thousand feet of climb. The reward for making it to the top is going right back down the other side of the hill for several hundred feet of elevation loss, till you get to the next trail going up the next hill for several hundred feet. I concluded there’s no earthly reason to climb Flag Hill except for the workout. The view up there is nice, but hey, Sunol is run rampant with scenic vistas, and you can find almost all of them on less-brutal trails.

Speaking of vistas, here’s one looking to the northwest.

Those are the rocks at the top of Flag Hill. Monument Peak and Mission Peak are way off in the distance. Another great thing about Sunol, from my way of looking at things: I can almost always find my way around by looking for those huge radio towers over near Mission Peak.

I’m all sweaty in the sun and these cows seem to be saying, "even a cow has enough sense to find some shade."

Though brown is the operative tone in the East Bay Hills this time of year, the hillsides have splotches of bright, vivid color.

Quite a bit of green on these hillsides, too. These hills are dotted with little springs, which keep the trees green all year. The grass hibernates in the summer, then comes back bright green when the winter rains return.

The far end of that reservoir is just a few miles from our place. The hills in the far distance, beyond the cloud layer, are the Santa Cruz Mountains on the west side of Silicon Valley.

This young lady wishes her keeper had better taste in earrings.

Another required dead-tree photo.

Yeah, there’s a bit of color happening this time of year, but you have to look a bit closer to see it.

Starting next weekend I’m on vacation for two weeks, so posting may be spotty, but what I post should be worth seeing, as it’ll be from volcanic peaks and the Yosemite high country.

Saturday dawned gray and bleak, a gloomy reminder of the storm that drenched the Bay Area on Friday (and hailed all over Melissa’s freshly planted garden. She’s still a little miffed). Within a couple hours, though, the skies were back to the familiar California blue, embellished by a few lingering cloud banks.

Turned out to be a perfect day for a walk in the outdoors, which was nice because Mike and his FOMFOK crew had a hike planned at the Sunol Wilderness. We had a special guest to be named later, who seemed to instinctively understand the path to the hearts of his hiking companions (yeah, there was alcohol involved …. nobody tell the ranger, OK?)

Lots of people had similar notions about taking to the trails. We saw a couple dozen backpackers in a few hours. Crowds on these trails are rare, though they do tend to show up about this same time every year.

Gary, right, was our special guest; that’s Kathy just behind. He’s the paramour of Molly, the popular Fomfok mainstay last seen on our Pinnacles excursion. Gary’s a retired IBM guy who now works part time selling wine up in Oregon. He treated us to a wonderful sample of a pinot noir (hey, I’ve seen the movie "Sideways" so I’m all about the pinot these days) when we broke for lunch. I’m thinking, say Molly, on those weekends when you can’t come along, how about sending Gary down our way? We’ll keep him outa trouble, I promise.

Sunol is wildflower central after the rains we’ve had.

Speaking of rain, it was mud central on a lot of the trails.

One of about 19000 scenic vistas included in the $5 park admission fee.

Peggy and Joanne gaze into an underwater ecosystem evolving in a watering trough. You gotta get outdoors to see this kinda stuff, folks.

The Alameda Creek was a mad gusher in the area of the park they call Little Yosemite.

Speaking of madness, I suspect this guy is rehearsing for an appearance on "Men Behaving Badly."

A thistle is a harsh mistress.

Say cheese, folks!

Broken-down fences … can’t get enough of ‘em.

A cool tree, but perhaps not a totally cool one.

Nobody could figure out what these little guys were, but we liked the looks of them.

Trail’s end … as James Brown would say: "Meet Me at the Bridge!"

Another Sunol Wilderness hike; I was going to go here last week with Mike & Kathy, but that one got rescheduled to yesterday. Same hike, same club, different day.

I can’t get over how great this park is. Small crowds, wonderful scenery, excellent trails; it’s also fairly close to home.

Theoretically, I can hike here from my house. It’s four miles down the road to Ed Levin County Park, another four miles up the Monument Peak Trail, two more miles along the Bay Area Ridge Trail, then five more miles down the Ohlone Wilderness Trail to the Sunol park. Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to test this theory.

Blue skies finally showed themselves after a couple weeks of soggy weather. That’s Kathy, in the cowboy hat, Peggy and Maurice, a newcomer to the group. Maurice is a professional landscape photographer and author of a book on digital darkroom techniques. Proof again there’s no end to the interesting people you meet on the trail.

Peggy polishes her stream-crossing technique. We hiked up the Indian Joe Trail, which requires about a half-dozen stream crossings.

These are the Cave Rocks — Maurice tried to squeeze through that opening but wisely turned back before he got stuck.

Mike’s reading something that sounds like pidgin Mark Twain, an oration alluding to a geocache nearby. A geocache is booty left behind by somebody who uses a Global Positioning Satellite receiver to determine approximate longitude and latitude. The geocacher saves the coordinates and hides something nearby, then posts clues online to help people find the prize. We never did find the cache, nor, come to think of it, did we even go looking for it. As soon as they start the International Society of Tequila Geocachers, I’m there.

It looks sorta like a blooming fruit tree has asked Mike a question in a low murmur and he’s straining to hear.

Pretty wildflowers are becoming more common as spring nears.

"Please Remove Manure." Always wise advice — I may post this on my desk at work.

Mike took these pictures and was kind enough to share:

I had to do three minutes of actual rock climbing to get to this point. That’s this year’s quota.

She’s got HUUUGE …. tracts of land … (this could be amusing only if you’ve seen "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." Even then, perhaps not).

This fence is atop one of the steeper hills in the park … Mike and I passed first and heard this strange hissing sound — kind of like a train far in the distance — but we soon realized it was the sound of the wind passing through the gate. A silly pose seemed appropriate to commemorate the aural oddity.

OK, I admit the side trip through the creek was a bad idea.

I was just about done with a 12-mile trek through previously unhiked (by me) sections of Sunol Wilderness Regional Park. The day had two distinguishing features: fog and mud. The fog went away after awhile but the mud stayed. I had this six hours’ worth of it caked on my shoes and as I got closer to the parking lot, the more I thought of that stream I crossed as I started out. If I could rinse my shoes off there, there’d be that much less to rinse off once I got home.

So, I eventually came across said stream, walked down a muddy path to its edge and realized my mistake: Even if I rinsed my shoes off I’d have to go back through the mud anyway. Suddenly the path on the other side seemed less muddy than the one I was on; I poked my hiking pole in the water at my feet. Barely an inch deep. OK, must be safe to cross, I figured. My luck lasted about three steps and then plop — I was in over the tops my shoes (which are wonderfully waterproof except when submerged). Cold water rushed in and that old familiar squish became the new theme.

By now I was committed so I went on across the stream. Along the way I noticed something remarkable: My feet were soaked, but they weren’t cold. See, I’ve got these high-tech hiking socks (14 bucks a pair, no less) that are supposed to keep insulating even when wet. I never put much stock in such claims — I just bought the socks because other people recommended them. But here I was with soaking feet that were toasty warm. Cool.

So that’s the end of the story, let’s get on with the beginning. It was so sunny on our hilltop yesterday that I knew I’d need my sunglasses and wondered if I’d need my windbreaker and extra layers I’d stuffed into my daypack. As I drove down the hill, though, I got a clue to what the day would be like: See, all the hilltops were poking up out of cloudbanks that had settled into all the valleys. My hike would start in one of those valleys but I figured, heck, I’ll just hike up to the sunny heights and take some cool pix of the carpet-of-white hanging at ground level.

If only. I started out on the Flag Hill Trail: The steepest in the park, climbing a bit over a thousand feet in elevation in a mile or so. The plan was that once I got up this high, I’d just spend the rest of the day at the higher elevations and have most of the climbing out of the way early. Did I mention I’d never hiked this part of the park before?

You may have noticed I can’t resist taking a picture of old dead trees. This is about halfway up the Flag Hill Trail. Normally there’d be spectacular views of the countryside nearby but this is about as sexy as it got with all this pea-soup fog.

The climb was tough but it was over in a mile or so. The summit was completely socked in. I dug out my trail map and decided I’d head over to the Maguire Peaks — a pair of hilltops that poke up out of the northwest end of the park. I set off down the trail, following the markers pointing to these peaks. Eventually I came to a paved road and realized I’d just walked down all the elevation I had gained at Flag Hill.

I came across a sign pointing to the Maguire Peaks Loop Trail, which is about five miles. My old plan was dead but I had a new one: Hike this loop and go back the way I came. There must be another way back to the parking lot without going back up to Flag Hill, right?

I know, more dead trees. I liked the way this one’s peak seemed to disappear into the fog, like if you climbed up it you’d find some really big dude screaming Fee-Fi-Fo-Fumb.

I stopped here for a moment and realized how green everything gets after a few weeks of regular rainfall. This is all brown in the summer.

Another of my weaknesses: the icy, empty stares of cows.

This is one of the Maguire Peaks. I walked all the way up there because, well, somebody left a trail.

Here’s the summit of the peak I climbed. I’m always amazed when trees grow out of rocks. Imagine if people had that kind of determination toward, say, world peace. (I know, it’d be boring as hell — Star Trek with no Holodecks).

Finally the clouds start to part. That’s Mission Peak way off in the distance.

The loop around these peaks was mostly uneventful, though I did manage to take one wrong turn that took me down three quarters of a mile’s worth of muddy trails. I was having so much fun mud-skiing down the really slippery parts (times like this are when it pays to have hiking poles) that I wasn’t giving much thought to the possibility that this wasn’t the way I came in. Finally the trail bottomed out in a peaceful glade: it was quiet because nobody ever comes here, I realized after I checked my map. Turns out I was at the park’s extreme northern boundary, about as far as I could be away from the parking lot and still be in the park.

So, back up the hill I went. The mud wasn’t nearly as much fun this time. And my reward for all this effort was having to go most of the way back up towards Flag Hill before I could come back down. After about 10 miles with maybe 12 feet of flat ground, this was starting to feel like work.

I found a slightly easier trail back to where I started. This swell windmill begged me to take its picture.

The great thing about Sunol Wilderness is that you never know when something amazing’s going to be right in front of you. Like this huge stand of cactus I came across.

This one reminded me of Mickey Mouse.

After that it was a mile back to where I started. And one more muddy patch of trail to put certain foolish ideas into my head.