In the Coastal Mountains of Central California Lives....

I found a campground run by the BLM on the top of a mountain in the coastal mountains of central California.

The morning broke with the mountain smothered in coastal fog, thick enough to obscure a view beyond 20 or 30 feet. I jumped up and walked quietly around the mountain top taking in the forced isolation in a place that yesterday evening I could see into the valleys to the east and west and see the next coastal range with infiltrations of fog brimming over passes and low ridges from the Pacific ocean.

Now everything was different. This is again a coastal chapparal as I had been in a few days prior, however it is mostly intact. With large manzanita bushes, sage, juniper and more Digger Pine.

Some small grasses set off nicely from the geometric form of the rocks. I enjoyed the Manzanita enough that I made a small study of them.

Finally the sun began to burn off the fog and things got a bit clearer as I started to pack up camp.

The manzanita has such a sinewy smooth bark that offsets its often gnarled form. It has a human quality almost like muscles in an anatomy illustration. The branches always have sections of dead wood the bark gracefully forms around or from which dead limbs protrude.

Here in the coastal mountains the regular presence of fog like this one is evident with the thickened encrustation of light green lichen. It adheres to the dead patches of trunk and limb

A Peahen

When I awoke in the thick shroud of fog this morning my eye caught the halting movement of a large bird at the edge of camp. One part of my morn-befuddled brain said ‘Turkey, a large bird on the ground in this climate is a Turkey.’ Another part of my waking mind struggled for another identity and eventually was insistently saying ‘Peacock! look at the little feathers on the top of the head bouncing with each step. The cautious turned assertive strut.’

And so this silent argument proceeded in my head in the early monochrome pre-dawn light. But in the end it had to be a peacock and later after the fog had cleared and the sun was broadcasting its warm rays across the mountain top I saw it again. It was in fact a female, so a Peahen. A feral one, so surprising as there is not a farm or ranch for twenty miles. What must the coyotes think?

After I left camp down on the highway I found this wonderful vista in the hills and amongst the growing vineyards.