In praise of pausing
I had some time, and the weather, while brisk, was dry last
Sunday. So I did what I often do under those circumstances: I threw
my leg over a bicycle.
In deference to the cold, and to a virus I’m battling, I
determined to set an even more leisurely pace than my typical
modest cadence. I rolled out of Hollister and up into Cienega
Valley.
In praise of pausing
I had some time, and the weather, while brisk, was dry last Sunday. So I did what I often do under those circumstances: I threw my leg over a bicycle.
In deference to the cold, and to a virus I’m battling, I determined to set an even more leisurely pace than my typical modest cadence. I rolled out of Hollister and up into Cienega Valley.
There’s a lot of traffic on Cienega Road on weekends. Between the urbanites on their way to sample selections from several wineries, off-road enthusiasts on their way to Hollister Hills State Park and motorcyclists out for high-speed thrills, one is seldom alone.
I’d venture that all those folks had a very different experience than I. That’s not bad; to each his own. But I wouldn’t swap their experiences for mine.
By checking my pace – I averaged about 12 mph for the 25-mile ride – the world opened a little wider.
When I was young, I went charging into the wilderness like a marathoner on a mission. Then I read an essay from pioneer conservationist John Muir in which he described the joys of sitting still in a place for a while, just watching as nature relaxes and reveals itself.
Eventually, I tried it, and I came to enjoy it very much.
It’s a fact that by the time we spot a wild animal, the animal has almost certainly spotted us, and is in a state of alert. Todd Newberry, a biologist and longtime member of the U.C. Santa Cruz faculty, talked about that a few months ago as we were birding together. We seldom see birds behaving the way they do when we’re not watching. That’s one of the simple pleasures in eyeing the commonest urban fowl, House Sparrows, pigeons and the like. They’re so used to us that they just go about their everyday affairs.
Sitting still allows animals to grow accustomed to your presence, and the change is remarkable. Successful hunters know the advantages to be had in going slow, but too few of the rest of us do.
One of the oddest wrinkles among the most passionate birders is something called a “Big Sit.”
The event involves putting a team inside of a smallish circle for as long as 24 hours. Observers must not leave the circle, but can count every different bird they see or hear from that spot in a given period of time.
It has to be the ultimate lesson in the advantages of holding still.
My ride was similar to sitting. Rolling along silently, I was moving slowly enough that I could look around a bit. Two wild pigs, coats a curious russet color, bolted up a hillside as I passed. A moment later, two more on the other side of the road snorted and danced out from under a roadside oak where they appeared to be gleaning the last of the season’s acorns.
A little further on, a flock of nine wild turkeys yodeled back and forth as they foraged, and an unseen flock nearby called back.
Rolling along on a bicycle also reveals the stunning toll they take on wildlife. Roadkill is everywhere, ranging from tiny anonymous spots on the road to the skunk that announced its presence long before it was seen Sunday. The toll also included wild pig, raccoon and one coyote.
A loquat tree marks the spot across from the old Vineyard School where an abandoned cabin once stood. The tiny walnut orchard that was the cabin’s reason for existence long ago disappeared.
Cienega Valley, which marks the trace of the San Andreas Fault, was the site of some of the first vineyards in the area, and they remain, along with the old farmhouses that accompanied them.
Sycamore trees along Pescadero and Bird creeks are mottled with bright fall colors right now. Cienega Valley is not alone. Back roads throughout our region have their own stories to tell.
There’s much to see, if only we slow down long enough to see it.
