Point Reyes

One of my big goals before heading back to New Mexico was to spend a day at Point Reyes. According to their website, Point Reyes is one of the premier birding spots in the US, with nearly 500 species identified. As advertised, one would believe that you could point your optics in any direction and happen upon a dozen different species. Effortless.

This seemed like a prime opportunity to share this interest with my mom, to introduce her to a leisure activity that saved me for most of 2010. And what bounty would await us on the coast, on the ponds and lakes and lagoons of this National Seashore?

We came and drove and no bounty was discovered. We clumsily followed a buzzing hummingbird at our first stop, looking at an empty marsh. At Inverness, we happened upon Double Crested Cormorants sunning on a dock, but the rest of the lake was a ghosttown. "Where are all the birds?" my mom asked. I wondered the same thing.

We headed to north, to possibly catch a kite or snowy plover or a gaggle of wintering ducks at Abbotts Lagoon. I wanted my mom to be overwhelmed much like I have been when viewing thousands of cranes take flight or the eloquent stillness of a Great Blue Heron. How do you bring a moment to someone you love?

And naturally, there were no gaggles to speak of, but what we did happen upon at Abbotts Lagoon were three black tailed deer grazing in the distance. And as our eyes followed the rolling hills out to the sea, we captured another family feeding in the distance, and yet another group, until we realized the hills were populated by 2 to 3 dozen deer, standing and laying in picture perfect conditions after several weeks of uncharacteristically cold and wet weather.

It was a good opportunity for mom to hone her binocular skills. I realized in the quiet that birding has brought me even this, this moment. In looking for a warbler in a tree or green winged teal on the water or an osprey overhead, my eye has been forced to truly see what was before me. Would we have just seen the 3 deer if we were scurrying along per usual? Most likely. Instead, we had a whole scene before us. In that, mom maybe got a peek into just what this has been all about for me.

Montara

On my little New Years CA excursion, I took along my old high school guitar. This is yet another eternally on-loan six string - a Mexican made classic guitar from my good friend's sister (I wonder if she realizes I still have it). The neck on this guitar is enormous, but has served my small hands well, as every guitar neck since feels like a school ruler in comparison.

This is the second trip this guitar has made to the coast. I remembered bringing it to the hostel almost 6 or 7 years ago, when I was brash and certain music was my primary path and played anywhere and everywhere I could. I met up with some fellow coastal ramblers. We sat on the observation deck under the lighthouse and played Moonshadow by Cat Stevens as the sun set.

I've had a fingerpicking riff for many years, almost 3 or 4 years old. I still struggle with fingerpicking after all these years, which I assume is why this song hasn't come to fruition. Either that, or I just want to make sure it's as right as it can be. Gone are the brash years, replaced by an inkling of patience and trust that it just needs time. The tune needs time to flesh itself out, for the just-right arrangement and lyrics to match.

I played this song in the morning before I headed back to Vallejo, sitting on a picnic bench, trying to match up my right handed technique to the easy rolling of waves. The song is still not finished, but I do believe the title will be "Montara." That seems right. And I did come up with the first line of the first verse:

"Say a prayer for Hallelujah / Maybe God is in here"

The Red Tail Hawk

One of the first songs my former instructor had me work on was a tune called "Red Tail Hawk". I wondered about this mythical creature, only to discover they are a dime a dozen in the Sacramento Valley. Still, as I started birding years back, the Red Tail Hawk seemed elusive, though I'm not sure if it's only because I was so tentative and unsure of myself as I started.

I'm still feeling much like a lousy beginner. This trip has reinforced how much work I have ahead of me if I want to get remotely competent at birdwatching solo. However, the red tail hawks have been plentiful. I see them on tree tops everywhere I drive, in Sacramento and in the North Bay where my mom lives. We took a drive through the Capay Valley and I showed my mom all the hawks that were resting on fence posts on telephone poles and barren trees in the afternoon.

On a drive through Napa, I happened upon a large hawk resting in a tree along Hwy 29. I made a turn onto a frontage road to get a closer look. I was a little disappointed that it was "just another" red tail hawk, but realized that maybe progress had been made, that I stuck with an endeavor long enough so that something so seemingly difficult years ago now came easier. I identified this year long Valley resident with some confidence, finally.

Persistence. Confidence. Who knew?

Sunset

One of my favorite places on earth is the San Mateo Coast, right around Half Moon Bay. I drove from the Sierra Mountains to the coast on the second day of 2011, through traffic and periodic drizzle and consistent grey skies.

As I transitioned from I-280 to the Pacific Coast Highway headed south, I saw a glimmer of the sun. After check in at my favorite hostel, I went back out to retrieve some bags and my binoculars from the rental car, only to find the sky had opened. The sun was setting, the show was spectacular. I could care less about adding the seabirds to my list - it only mattered that they were soaring.

Another Radio

I've been in California for a couple of weeks now, ringing in the New Year, winding down from graduate school, and rediscovering my home state before heading back to the desert to start my work life. This has resulted in an unusual amount of driving, of which I am thankful for and rejuvenated by time and again. The longest trek was 391 miles from Santa Barbara to Vallejo. My second leg has taken me from the Sierra Nevada mountains to the San Mateo Coast, near Half Moon Bay.

I probably spend an inordinate amount of energy and exercise some remarkably careless driving when deciding what songs should be playing on the radio. It's an evolving art form. When I was a kid, my brothers and I would sit in the backseat and dive forward to dial in the perfect station. One cross country trip in particular involved 80s Secret Love songs. I have a distinct memory of hearing the song "Never Going to Let You Go" by Sergio Mendes and imagining an entire video in my head while spying a tour bus on the Interstate.

By adolescence, roadtrips from Northern to Southern California would involve a precise selection of cassette tapes for either the car radio or a cheap Sony Walkman knockoff. My favorites were Def Leppard's Pyromania, Sparks In Outer Space, and Thriller, of course.

Now I fumble with an iPod while simultaneously trying to keep any eye on the road.

My favorite roadtrip moment so far has been playing Grub Dog & the Amazing Sweethearts God Damned Rock and Roll as I drove through Monterey County. Grub Dog used to host an open mic I regularly played at Old Ironsides in Sacramento back in 2001 or so. He was and remains the genuine article when it comes to rock and roll - played some of the loudest fucking shows I've ever been to and when he drank he played and performed even better. It was interesting to trek north on Hwy 101 and marry the songs to the landscape. I imagined Grub as an awkward teen, looking out at the farms, wondering when he was going to break the hell out of dodge. I've always like that CD, but fell in love with it all over again.

My second favorite moment was the Fleetwood Mac portion of a roadtrip, passing through San Francisco. Gypsy came on the the speakers and I held still momentarily understanding things were just perfect, even just for a few bars.



In the end, I wonder if I'll ever be able to separate the road from the music on the radio. I took a few breaks as I drove through post-holiday traffic today, opting instead to listen to football. But there is this tendency for me to want to set moments to a soundtrack. I wonder if I think when the right song comes along at the right time, that the moment might not pass. Or when I hear the song again, I can come back to Salinas or San Francisco or Grass Valley and never have to leave.