I hadn’t been on the mountain since the end of October. It kicked my butt today. I failed to make the summit. But eleven miles hiked, and just under 3,000 feet climbed, and if I hike four more miles I’ll have passed 400 miles hiked in 2006. That’s something. I’m also 3,342 feet shy of a 100,000-foot year. Next weekend I’ll make the summit, which will put me over that mark by about 450 feet. And I’ll still have two more weeks of hiking left in the year.
Today my destination — once I realized I couldn’t make the summit without more discomfort than I thought really necessary — was Juniper Campground, which I had to myself. Sort of. I lay atop a picnic table eating lunch, watching the undersides of Townsend’s warblers as they flitted around the branches of a canyon live oak. A pair of what I thought were Hutton’s vireos pretended to be woodpeckers, grabbing insects off the ground and bashing them repeatedly against branches. (Looking at the blurry photos I took, I’ve decided they’re ruby-crowned kinglets instead.)
The rains have not yet filled Mitchell Creek below the head of the canyon, but the mountain bears a fresh coat of low green, seedlings and rejuvenated moss, and the steeper slopes along the roads show evidence of sliding. Gray pines are sending up long candles: they will leaf out before long. The toyons are wearing fresh crops of berries. Quail and acorn woodpeckers sing up and down Mitchell Canyon. Before long the rains will return with a vengeance.
