Above, this is actually the last climb of my run. I run out of Castle Rock from the right side of the picture, along the ranches, and then hand left, on the trail that goes past that dirt corral. Then its just a straight up, no shade climb over a ridge and down the other side to Borges Ranch. I love running next to the ranches and hearing and smelling the horses.
Heel striking like a champ. If I'm going to do it, at least I'm in some cushy HOka's.
Above and below - Burma. There's a point outbound on Briones to Diablo Trail, near China Wall, where you crest a hill and have this amazing view. I've posted it a ton of times, and I always take the same picture. Its never not amazing enough to make me stop and get a shot. If you're a Diablo fan, you have to go up/down Burma. It's exciting from either direction, and equally difficult. My favorite Burma memory was on a run down from the summit. We came down Mother's trail (which is killer steep) and got to the top of Burma...,my running partner turned around and started backing down it. : ) Still what I think of every time I see it.
Above, Burma looking deceptively tame.
An Oak Tree behind China Wall that I always wonder what or who lives in the bottom?
It's almost November and I was begging for some AC. Or at least a breeze. Nothing but hot air in the grassland. You can see a tiny piece of China Wall above my hair to the left. It's just a long line of jagged rock wall.
Heading down Little Yosemite. I always hear a lot of rustling and movement in that scrub over there. It's actually a pretty deep little valley, you'll notice the edge of the ridge I'm on just drops straight down, I can't actually see the bottom....so whatever is over there can't get to me very easily, but there's always "stuff" over there. I always look for the birds to take flight from the bushes when I get close because then I know I'm what's scaring them away and not some animal. If there's no birds that fly away, then something already spooked them out...at least that's what I figure. Anyhow, birds flew, so I was all good.
My favorite section of Little Yosemite.
I heard this long before I saw it..that is like a motorized wheelbarrow. It was full of ready mix concrete, they were doing some work on the park boundary fence. Little Yosemite crosses from Diablo State Park property to Castle Rock Park, which is part of the East Bay Regional Park District...so there are fences at the boundaries, mostly for cows. There are also different rules once you cross, especially if you have a dog.
Believe it or not....this was the Hoka's first dip in real mud. After about a mile I could smell that it wasn't just mud. Now that I see the picture, there's definitely a green horse pooh tint to it. I smelled amazing : )
I leave you with this. I've seen a lot in nature....but this was my first time seeing a real live birth of a baby fence!
Awesome pictures - this looks like it was a great run. You're making me really want to get back out to Mt. Diablo to keep exploring! Thanks for the inspiration!
ReplyDeleteHa ha ha - "birth of a baby fence"! I assume all the creeks are completely dry right now. Here's to hoping that gets fixed this winter.
ReplyDeleteNot just bone dry, more like ground up bones that are dust and then blew away...that sort of dry. I went out the day after we got rain last week...totally dry dirt. Like the water just went straight down into the ground and the top dried out in 24 hours. I know there was mud at some point because the prints. Not sure how that one puddle was left, but I was happy to see it!
ReplyDeleteIt would take pages to articulate why someone would find the smell of horse pooo amazing. As soon as I read it the flood gates were opened to memories of my daughters and horses. Not only that but my own memories of horses from my own childhood through adulthood. Then I look up at the picture of you at age four with the sun bonnet, jeans, boots and your 'bat' in our hands. Standing there with both thumbs hitched in the waist line of your jeans. Remember that one??? I am sitting here with the biggest smile.
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