Sant Rosa Creek on Hood Mountain

A real hike in the woods seemed like just what the doctor ordered this morning, so we headed up Hood Mountain, which rises just behind our house. A narrow curvy road, reminiscent of Alpine routes--steep drop-offs with no railings--leads to a beautiful vista point and the gates to the regional park, then drops down into the woods to a parking lot and trail head.

The air, which seemed warm enough for just a light jacket, became refrigerator cold as we dropped down to the creek, where there is a marked drop in the water level for January when it should be near full spate. I took the picture from the place where the trail crosses the creek and begins to climb steeply up the mountain on the other side. (No Lady F, I did not caper across the log as I once might have, but took my shoes off and waded through the ice cold water).

These hills are only about 4,000 feet tall at their highest point, but they are rugged volcanic rock, slashed by deep creases and dotted with rocky outcroppings. Ferns lined the trail at one spot, a welcome sight after so many months without rain. Trees reached skyward and leaned toward the light, their trunks cris-crossing and making interesting patterns of light and shadow.

We toiled uphill for a couple of miles until we came to a well appointed campsite (outhouse, picnic table and a little cupboard for food storage). Ozzie crawled under the table to lie in the cool soft mulch of leaves and dirt, while we sat and took in the forest scents and deep silence, and wished we had brought a little snack.

We cruised back down the hill, able to keep our heads up and notice some unusual shiny rock formations and occasional openings in the trees revealing a well tended vineyard on impossibly steep elevations on the ridge. I don't know where their water comes from, but I do know that vineyards in such locations are no longer allowed.

Back to the creek and not desirous of taking my shoes off again, I handed my camera off to OilMan who scampered across the rocks with Ozzie, awhile I hiked beside the creek through tussocky blond dried grasses and rocks, and clambered over fallen trees covered with moss as thick and soft as an alpaca blanket. I finally took a leap of faith across a narrow trickle, and landed with dry feet on the other side.

As we were nearing the parking lot, Ozzie took off through the trees, ignoring all calls shoutsdemands to return. OilMan, muttered profanities drifting behind him, toiled up the hill to find him happily crunching on a deer carcass. The perfect end to a perfect hike as far as Ozzie was concerned.

Tired now, we took what we thought would be a shortcut back to the parking lot but turned out to be a lengthy switchback up the hill. All in all, a pretty nice day for us too.