Journal
Notes from familiar ground
These are short records, not guides: a little weather, a few details, and whatever seemed worth remembering after the walk.
June 28, 2026 · Coyote Creek Trail
Morning light along the creek
I started earlier than usual, while the air still felt cool enough for a light jacket. Near the first bridge, a pair of egrets stood on opposite banks as if they had agreed to watch different parts of the water.
The cottonwoods were louder than the traffic. Every gust turned the leaves over and changed the color of the whole canopy for a second. I stopped at the same bench twice—once on the way out and once on the way back—and the view already felt like a different morning.
May 17, 2026 · Almaden Quicksilver
A slow loop without shortcuts
The exposed sections had already taken on their summer color, but the shaded turns still carried the last green of spring. I left the phone in my bag and followed the longer bend whenever the trail offered a choice.
Nothing dramatic happened. A lizard crossed the path, two cyclists passed, and the wind picked up near the ridge. It was exactly the kind of uneventful afternoon that becomes easier to remember than a busy one.
April 6, 2026 · Equipment note
What stayed in the day bag
After carrying too much for years, the useful list became short: water, a thin layer, a pencil, a folded paper map, and a small cloth. The camera stays home more often now.
The pencil matters more than expected. A sentence written down at the trailhead usually brings back the whole day later—the temperature, the color of the hills, and even the sound of the parking lot settling down.