The plan was to start from the meadows near the visitor center, hike through the ancient Douglas-fir forests on the leeward side of Inverness Ridge, then descend through Bishop pine and ceanothus to the coastal scrub and the Pacific Ocean. We’d stop at Arch Rock on the coast, then come back through the densely forested Bear Valley.

Elizabeth and I started our hike at 9:20. We walked across the meadows surrounding the Bear Valley visitor center and then climbed the forested east side of Inverness Ridge. The air was cool and fresh. Sunlight came in through the trees at a low angle. Elizabeth and I had both been a little cranky from waking up to an alarm early on a Sunday morning, but being out in the mountains quickly improved our mood.

Blue and white forget-me-nots (Myosotis latifolia) lined the trail. In the understory were California hazel (Corylus cornuta var. californica), California bay (Umbellularia californica), and tanoak (Lithocarpus densiflorus). Douglas-firs (Pseudotsuga menziesii var. menziesii) grew above everything else. Showy irises (Iris spp.) and huge cow parsnip (Heracleum maximum) grew in the forest clearings.

We stopped in a meadow for a break once we reached the top of Inverness Ridge. In the distance, the golden cliffs of Point Reyes’s western boundary dropped into the Pacific Ocean.

I looked behind us at the short spur trail to the summit of 1,407-foot Mount Wittenberg. I must have walked by it a dozen times, ignoring it each time. But not this time. We hiked to the top, but I’m sorry to report that it was not worth the effort. The summit was indistinct and covered with patches of dense Douglas-fir that blocked any views. I don’t think I’ll be going back.

We hiked north to the Fire Lane Trail. Two years ago, I’d hiked it too late to see all the blueblossom ceanothus (Ceanothus thyrsiflorus) blooming on it. Would we catch them blooming today?

Through the gaps in the trees I saw the dark green hillsides ahead of us dusted with blue. The blueblossoms were blooming! Their boughs were weighed down by masses of blue flowers. Tiny blue petals completely covered the trail.

As we approached the ocean, the forest thinned into Bishop pine (Pinus muricata) scattered between clumps of California blackberry (Rubus ursinus), coyote brush (Baccharis pilularis), poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum), and bracken fern (Pteridium aquilinum). Fluorescent-orange scarlet pimpernel (Anagallis arvensis) and bright yellow bird’s-foot trefoil (Lotus corniculatus) lined the trail.

When we got to the beach we sat in the sand below the cliffs. We had lunch and watched the surf. The wind blowing off the water was cold enough for me to put on my jacket.

After lunch we walked for miles along the ocean on the Coast Trail. We were in coastal scrub, a plant community that bears some resemblance to chaparral, but that I’ve never been able to bring myself to like. Maybe that’s because it’s usually choked with poison oak.

Lovely creeks trickled from Inverness Ridge down into the ocean. The combination of a sheltered ravine and fresh water supported surprisingly lush vegetation: alders (Alnus rubra), willows (Salix sp.), horsetails (Equisetum sp.), cow parsnips, big yellow monkeyflowers (Mimulus guttatus), and ferns stumbled all over each other above the creeks.

Next to one of the creeks a small, inconspicuous flower caught my eye. A closer look revealed it to be a species of Calochortus I’d never seen before: pussy ears (C. tolmiei). Their three petals were a dusty lilac covered with fine hairs on the inside.

Our last stop was Arch Rock, a popular headland with excellent views of the ocean. As usual, it was crowded, so I had to ask two guys if we could sit next to them. One of them looked familiar. Then I realized it was Stuart, whom I’d met on a hike with a mutual friend years ago. He was there with his friend Dave. We talked out for a while, and then walked back to the Bear Valley visitor center together.

We all talked and joked, a welcome break from the solitude Elizabeth and I had had all day. We finished at 6:15—Elizabeth and I were out for nearly 9 hours! A great day in the wilderness. We all stopped at the Marin Brewing Company on the way home for an excellent dinner.

Related posts:

1. Mount Diablo three-peaks loop
2. Mill Creek Trail loop hike, Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park
3. Cataract Falls loop hike from Rock Spring

Elizabeth and I got to the trailhead at the Juniper Campground at 9. It was a sunny morning with a crisp, cool breeze. We had an excellent view of the sprawl-filled San Ramon Valley and the broad green hills that bordered it.

We didn’t hike for long before we found wedgeleaf ceanothus (Ceanothus cuneatus) covering entire hillsides with white blooms.

An hour and a half later, we got to our first summit of the day: 3,849-foot Mount Diablo. There were no cars on the summit parking lot yet, only some cyclists and a trail runner. The summit was cold and windy and Elizabeth and I took shelter behind the walls of the visitor center for a snack.

The flowers had been just OK so far, but as we descended onto the north side of Mount Diablo on the North Peak Trail, they became great.

We found bright yellow Goldfields (Lasthenia sp.) all over the ground, and orange wallflowers (Erysimum capitatum), fiddlenecks (Amsinckia sp.), and California poppy (Eschscholzia californica) shooting up above them. Red larkspur (Delphinium nudicaule) grew from the rocks.

Our next stop was North Peak, a 3,557-foot summit northwest of Mount Diablo. The road to it was so steep, Elizabeth and I had trouble climbing it—I couldn’t believe it was used by wheeled vehicles. But the summit bristled with radio antennas, so they must make it up there. We enjoyed the views, then made our way back down. On the way I noticed that the road was lined with pink-blooming gypsum springbeauty (Claytonia gypsophiloides).

Our last stop was 2,369-foot Eagle Peak. I wanted to get there via the Bald Ridge and Eagle Peak trails, a route I first thought of on my direct hike up Mount Diablo a year ago. The Bald Ridge Trail was brushy, and we had to dodge poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum) and wade through clouds of bugs, but the views and wildflowers were excellent. There were beautiful bird’s eye gilia (Gilia tricolor ssp. diffusa), purple larkspur (Delphinium sp.), and lovely but inconspicuous checker lily (Fritillaria affinis). Indian warrior (Pedicularis densiflora) lurked in the shadows.

It was warm now and the tall chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) on the trail to Eagle Peak blocked the wind, making us hot. Once on the summit, we stopped for snacks and a rest.

All that remained was the walk back to Juniper Campground. The best part of this was a huge patch of blooming white wedgeleaf and blueblossom (Ceanothus thyrsiflorus) ceanothus near Deer Flat Creek on Meridian Ridge Road.

Their flowers mottled the hillsides with blue and white and scented the air. We finished at 4, wrapping up our excellent hike in seven hours.

Related posts:

1. The most direct hike to Mount Diablo’s summit
2. April wildflowers on Mount Diablo
3. Mount Diablo Falls Trail

A storm soaked the Bay Area a week ago, but it was followed by warm, sunny days that would continue through today and the coming week. The hills are luminous green, wildflowers are blooming everywhere, and the wet season is coming to an end.

We started on the Briones to Mount Diablo Trail, walking through miles of pasture and rolling hills dotted with budding blue oaks (Quercus douglasii) and valley oaks (Quercus lobata).

Next was a lovely blue oak woodland on Wall Point Road. The meadow below the trees was filled with white-flowered miner’s lettuce (Claytonia perfoliata), violet blue dicks (Dichelostemma capitatum), and orange fiddlenecks (Amsinckia sp.).

From the woodlands we walked onto a chaparral-covered ridge, weaving through through a variety of shrubby plants—chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum), black sage (Salvia mellifera), and a couple types of manzanita (Arctostaphylos sp.)—growing among gray pines (Pinus sabineana).

We stopped under a grove of coast live oaks (Quercus agrifolia), where Elizabeth took out her huarache sandals.  She put away her trail runners, slipped on the sandals, and tied the laces around her feet. They were so simple: just Vibram soles and nylon laces.

I’d first heard of huarache running sandals years ago on Scott Carrier’s wonderful Running After Antelope story on This American Life. In it, Carrier describes the Tarahumara, an indigenous people of Mexico whose long-distance running ability is legendary. In the early 1990s they shook the American ultramarathon scene when they entered some of the toughest 100-mile foot races in the Rocky Mountains and set new course records:

In the 1993 Leadville….Tarahumaras took first, second and fifth place. The most amazing thing about the Indians was their pace. The winner was fifty-five years old and only ran the second half of the race twenty minutes slower than he ran the first!

But what I found most intriguing was their footwear:

They wear sandals called huaraches made out of old tire tread and leather straps.

I knew hiking in running shoes was better than hiking in boots, but could sandals be even better than running shoes? Hiking with nothing but a sheet of rubber strapped to your foot seemed a step too far. I kept hiking in sneakers, but the thought remained: if the Tarahumara wore them on hundred-mile races in the Rockies, why couldn’t I wear them on a little day hike?

So when Elizabeth heard about huarache running sandals and wanted to try them, I got her a pair from invisibleshoe. Now I was curious to see how they would work out on a real hike.

Elizabeth cruised along dusty Wall Point Road in her huaraches with no problems. They were light and comfortable.

Poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum) was Elizabeth’s first challenge. We were on the Secret Trail, a narrow, overgrown path winding down into Pine Canyon. Poison oak reached toward the trail and sprouted underfoot. But Elizabeth gamely tiptoed around it and avoided touching any.

In the meadows at the bottom of Pine Canyon came another challenge: thick mud that had been rutted, and perhaps defecated upon, by cows. But again, Elizabeth avoided it by finding enough patches of solid ground to keep her feet clean.

Next was Burma Road, a flat gravel road next to Pine Creek. Apparently the creek had inundated the road during recent storms and turned it into a braided river. The huaraches were excellent here, letting Elizabeth walk right through the water. Meanwhile, I had to zigzag across what remained of the road and jump over rivulets to keep my shoes dry.

After two hours of hiking, Elizabeth started to slow down. The soles of her feet were tender from the rocky ground and her skin was getting chafed by the Vibram. She put on her socks and trail runners and said they felt like walking on pillows compared to the sandals, ending her experiment. We hiked out of Pine Canyon through lush and beautiful Buckeye Ravine and finished our hike at 4:30.

So what did I make of Elizabeth’s experiment? Huarache running sandals offer some of the lightest and most natural walking possible, but getting your feet used to them needs to be a long, careful process. Sandals also leave your feet exposed to bugs, snakes, animal dung, and poisonous plants. But then those aren’t always real threats on a hike. Could I see myself ever doing a full hike or backpack in them? Sure. And I think they would be excellent shoes for fording rivers and wearing around camp on a backpacking trip.

Related posts:

1. Mount Diablo Falls Trail
2. April wildflowers on Mount Diablo
3. The most direct hike to Mount Diablo’s summit

We got out, crossed the road, and hiked up a minor hill for a view. It was about 50 degrees and the sky above us was perfectly clear. The mountainsides were covered in bright grass; the valleys brimmed with dark conifers. An uneven fog filled the air below us, thinning to a haze in places, piling into clouds in others. It covered the Pacific Ocean to the west and San Francisco to the south. We saw only the sky, the fog, and the silhouettes of mountains.

We turned around and started our hike. Our goal was Cataract Falls, reputedly the most impressive in the Bay Area. We’d never been there, but I thought they might be flowing well after all the recent rains. Most people don’t hike to the falls from Rock Spring. Sure, we could have driven up to within a mile of the falls, which is what most visitors do, but I wanted to make a dayhike out of our visit. We’d make a loop, descending 1,300 feet to the Alpine Lake reservoir and climbing past the falls on the way back.

We left the sunny meadow near the parking lot and entered a shady forest of lichen-covered Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii). A small fern-lined creek trickled by the trail. It was so chilly under the shade of the trees that we put on our jackets and gloves.

A few minutes later, we left the forest for the chaparral. The rocky ground was still wet from yesterday’s rain and sent me sliding a few times. The plants around us were tall and diverse. Chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) was most apparent. But there was also wedgeleaf ceanothus (Ceanothus cuneatus) and at least one kind of Arctostaphylos, hoary manzanita (Arctostaphylos canescens). I was delighted to find some Sargent’s cypress (Cupressus sargentii), a tree endemic to California that I rarely find on hikes.

We stopped for a break at Barth’s Retreat, a picnic area next to a stream. After the forests and chaparral we’d walked through, the place felt remote, so I was surprised to find picnic tables, a water pump, and a barbeque grill there. But as we left, we found a dirt road leading to the site, explaining the amenities.

We took the Kent Trail down the north side of Mount Tamalpais. The vegetation consisted of spindly trees and shrubs, but every so often we’d walk by an old Douglas-fir, its trunk a massive black column breaking through the brush to the sky above. Each change in aspect and elevation revealed new plant communities. We walked through a patch of manzanita so tall and thick that it formed a tunnel around the trail. We also found a nearly pure stand of giant chinquapin (Chrysolepis chrysophylla).

We hadn’t seen any other hikers for an hour. Then the trail grew faint and split. We could go left or right, but there was no sign of what either direction led to. My map didn’t help—it had plenty of intersections that could have been ours. Well. We needed to go downhill toward Alpine Lake, and with no other indication of the correct route, we took the trail that went downhill. If that didn’t work out, we could just come back and try the other one.

We could barely see the trail through the pine needles, leaves, and fallen branches. But we stuck to it, if only to see if the next intersection would give us a clue to where we were.

The trail wrapped around a marsh and disappeared into a patch of mud. But just beyond the marsh I spotted a trail sign: we’d just finished the aptly named Cross Country Boys Trail. I checked my map: the marsh we’d passed was High Marsh and we were right where we wanted to be.

Back on the Kent Trail, we descended another 800 feet to Alpine Lake. The trees became taller and the forest became cool and shady. Redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens) showed up. Wild-sounding calls of frogs, acorn woodpeckers (Melanerpes formicivorus), California quails (Callipepla californica), and northern flickers (Colaptes auratus) echoed through the forest.

Once at Alpine Lake, we hiked through a forest of redwood and Douglas-fir to Cataract Falls. Blooming next to the trail were Indian warrior (Pedicularis densiflora),  hound’s tongue (Cynoglossum grande), and fetid adder’s tongue (Scoliopus bigelovii).

Whereas we’d seen just two or three hikers for the last four hours, we now entered a stream composed of couples, families, dogs, kids, babies, dress shoes, denim pants, cotton shirts, and video cameras. Everyone had come to see the falls.

One look at Cataract Falls and we understood why everyone had come. They were spectacular. After a good soaking rain yesterday they were flowing at their peak, filling the air with mist as they tumbled out of the forest, splashed over boulders, and dropped down ledges before finally plunging into a pool below the trail. A local who’d been coming here for years said they were at the best he’d ever seen.

We took our obligatory photos then hiked uphill. The crowds thinned with each wooden staircase we climbed. By the time we got to Laurel Dell, there was only a handful of people sitting at its wooden picnic tables. We stopped for snacks, then walked the last leg of our hike to our car.

We got back to the parking lot at 5 and were stunned to see it entirely filled. So much had changed since the morning: the air was warm, the fog was gone, and the road was busy with cars and bicycles. We were glad we had started early.

Related posts:

1. Palmer Red Rock loop hike
2. Mount Diablo Falls Trail
3. Berry Creek Falls from Waddell Beach via McCrary Ridge