Soaking up Culture in San Francisco

San Francisco, Ca - Pat and I spent a lovely day at the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park last week, a welcome change of pace from what had become a daily diet of either boat chores or snow shoveling.

This is the "new" de Young, which replaced the old one with much fanfare a few years ago. It seems we have been to the Academy of Science across the park often enough to watch the albino crocodile grow old, but haven't visited the city's art museums in a long time.

Two major exhibits are being offered right now, one on the Olmec culture's art (big carved stone heads, no photos allowed) and the other on Balenciaga's textiles (lots of red dresses and handbags, not my thing).

Pat and I enjoyed most the great sampling of art we experienced on three guided tours: a look of the entire museum's highlights; a detailed tour of the American art collection, and the Olmec sculptures and carved icons, a convergence of art, archeology and history.
And, the building and grounds are among the most thoughtful anywhere, from the ironic cracks in the courtyard (fault line art) and the greening copper sheathed structure, to the spectacular views of art, architecture and scenery everywhere you look.

Our volunteer tour guides made the day, particularly the serendipitous presence of one docent who turned out to be a neighbor of our old friend Frank McCulloch. (Frank, one of my journalistic heroes, happened to be my boss and mentor at The Bee in the 1980s.)
The guide, named Joan, was knowledgeable, witty, clear-voiced and friendly. She was as delighted as we were to find out we have a great friend in common, and I was able to tell her a few Frank stories she had not heard. Pat sent a hug back to Santa Rosa with Joan for Frank.

Joan was particularly knowledgeable about early American portraits, telling stories about the people and their place in history. Every painting seemed to have a story, whether it was how the subject was too cheap to have his or her hands painted (that cost extra) or why drapes figured so prominently in the background so often (cheaper and easier to paint than detailed landscapes or interiors). Even artists have to make a living.

I enjoyed hearing, for the first-time since Fourth Grade Art Appreciation Class, the role that painters played in different eras of our history, whether reflecting Manifest Destiny, sanctifying John Brown, or preserving a Boston Sea Captain's vanity.

The most surprising moment at the museum for me came when were looking at an abstract sculpture (construction?) made of burned pieces of wood suspended from the ceiling into a giant hanging cube. Not much to look at.

A museum guard, standing against the wall, quietly told me that the pieces of wood came from the African American Church in Birmingham, Alabama, where four little girls were murdered by a racist bomber in the 1960s. The museum's official description of the work discussed the work in abstract terms, but he made it more real than he could have known.

I lived in Alabama in the 1960s, briefly covered Civil Rights as a journalist in that era. The ashes of that destroyed church, and four lives destroyed by hate, will never be an abstraction for me.

It never occurred to me to take a photo. I just looked and thought about where it came from, and where we came from and where we are heading.

The art wasn't all that moving. There were satirical paintings, grand landscapes, and a very nice portrait of George Washington made from one dollar bills.

One of the world's ugliest vases (pictured at the top) was adorned by a bird singing his or her heart out.

The museum is far too full of delightful stuff to go into more detail, but you owe it to yourself to visit the next time you are in the Bay Area.

And the view from the observation tower is one of the best you will ever see anywhere in San Francisco.

Sailing on "Good News"

A happy moment for Pat at the helm on a sunny windy day.

San Francisco Bay -- If you can sail on this bay, according to local sailing instructors, you can sail anywhere.

Conditions can go from dead calm in thick cold winter fog to the winds howling at 35 knots on a chilly summer afternoon. Once in a while in the lee of an island, it is actually warm. But not often.

It is challenging and fun for us aboard our 37 foot cutter-rigged sailboat "Good News."

We have grown to love it, particularly the challenges.

After grumbling about having to do boat chores this past week, I pulled out this collection of pictures taken over the last year or two to remind me how wonderful it is, and so you could share the experience.



Looking aloft, a purist might criticize the sail trim but when you are going as fast as possible it doesn't really matter.

The approaching boats have the right of way as they blow down from Alcatraz Island.

We spend the night at Pier 39 occasionally, sharing the harbor with our furry friends.



It's usually a nice quiet sail along the city front, surely one of the best looking cities in the world.

The Bay Bridge isn't as famous as the Golden Gate, but still a stunning sight from underneath. And noisy too.

Real sailors do not worry about silly hats, so long as they keep the sun off.

Heading for the marina on a starboard tack.


The smile comes with the position and place.

The wind dies down a bit inside the South Beach area, looking out to the Slot.

These cranes at the Port of Oakland are rumored to have been the inspiration for Star Wars battle machines.

The workers at the port never seem to rest, particularly loading containers heading for China from the Oakland Estuary.

There's hardly anything better than messing around on a boat. Even chores can be fun at our berth at the Oakland Yacht Club across from Jack London Square. I'm oiling the teak step into the companionway.

Good News has all the amenities of home, including internet service at the dock.

Digging out at Bear Valley

Camp Connell, CA -- The big March storms have passed, and daffodils are actually appearing at the lower elevations.
The temperatures are up into the 50s and 60s, and the snow is melting fast -- except at the highest elevations.
Bear Valley is at 7,030 feet, and they have had a winter to remember. Longtime residents compare it to the big storm years of the early 1980s.
Our son Zack works at the ski resort, another thousand feet up the mountain, and he spent six days straight shoveling snow so the lifts could carry the skiers.
Today we went with friends Gary and Jeri to check out their cabin at the village at Bear Valley.
The pictures tell the story, even when I bounced the camera around a bit.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Camp Connell, Ca -- Mar. 25, 2011 -- As of yesterday a neighbor had measured approximately 27 feet of snowfall this winter. And it is still snowing.

Our average, we think, is around 15 feet, so this has been an unusual year.

Long-time locals recall a similar winter in the 1970s, or maybe early 1980s.

Several neighbors have found they have urgent business down the hill, usually in the Bay Area with family or friends. After a certain point snow just becomes, well, snow.

The snow plow operators are worn out, and deserve a break.

I admit I am ready for a real Spring, not one on the calendar only.

But it is still pretty.

The video is very amateurish, shot with my little Flip Video camera. The editing -- such as it is -- is all my fault.

I do hope you notice the music. It was as appropriate as I could find.

Come see us.

Bring a shovel.

Spring Break in the desert

Anza Borrego State Park, California -- Winter means lots of snow in our mountain home, and sand is what we spread on icy roads.,
The desert is not something I really know, despite a few visits over the years.
So when friends Gary and Jeri invited us to explore the desert country that bumps up against the Mexican border we jumped at the chance.It was an easy choice: they provided the giant RV, food, and friendship. We contributed our charming personalities and a few bucks for gas.
Our base in the desert was the giant Anza Borrego State Park, more than 600,000 acres of sand, mountains, hills, dry washes, oases, and lots of things that fly, crawl or run. Plus a lot of snowbirds in their RVs escaping winter, just as we were doing.
Campgrounds in the desert are not like the tree covered plots we know from the mountains or back east. Until you look closely the desert has a lot of sameness to it, and RV camping areas look a lot like RV sales lots. But the neighborhood is quieter, dominated at night by the yowls of coyote off in the brush,and the hoots of owls.
Definitely a lizard of some kind, maybe a Blue-tailed Skink?

At daybreak birds sing including the cooing of dove and western Quail calling their distinct “Chi-CA-go, Chi-CA-go,” sounds. (Seems like a western bird should be saying "Camp CON nel, Camp CON nel" or something more localized.)
Gary and Jeri have been coming to this spot for almost 40 years, and were our tour guides and enthusiastic encouragers when the trails got hot and dusty.
Among the highlights were spotting a group of Big Horn Sheep on the canyon wall and rim, and spotting a rare Red Diamondback Rattlesnake about four feet long who moved slow in the proper direction -- away from us.
The desert is full of life, waiting for you to visit.
The photos tell the story.

A landslide in the sandstone canyon blocked our four-wheel excursion after about 15 miles into the back country. But the tire tracks indicated someone got through!
Big Horn Sheep survive in this remote place. They keep their distance from hikers, and a watchful eye from the rim of the canyon wall.
Pat, Jeri and Gary take a close look at the complex geology. This used to be the bottom of the Salton sea when it was connected to what is now the Sea of Cortez.

The oases near the top of Palm Canyon was almost wiped out by a flash flood a few years ago, but is making a comeback.
Jeri takes a break in the shade, and a chance to dry her boots which were soaked crossing a creek.

Pat enjoying the warm weather and sunshine.
The start of the trail.
Toward the end of a perfect day, the perfect sunset.

Snowmobile excursion to Spicer, Union and Utica

Camp Connell, CA. -- Twenty years ago my friends Ralph Coley and Alan Christie would cross country ski from Highway 4, high in the mountains above where I live, into a trio of reservoirs miles off the highway.
Their annual adventure included hours of slogging along, often in bad weather, sub-freezing temperatures and camping in the cold wet snow. I was tempted, but declined, preferring the comfort of a lodge's roaring fire.

Today, courtesy of my neighbor Bill Minkel's snowmobiles, I retraced their trip in about 30 minutes in reasonable comfort. Our biggest hazard was sunburn.

Sorry Alan and Ralph, but it was a lot easier this way.
(Notice the stop sign which normally stands eight feet above the ground.)

Bill and I met at his house, had a cup of good coffee, hooked up the trailer for the trip up the mountain. The hardest work of the day, with one minor exception, was getting the trailer free from its bed of snow.


Bill managed to flip his machine on its side, but the snow was soft and it was not a big deal.

The forest roads into the reservoirs are not plowed, but they are groomed like a ski slope to make access easier for snowmobiles. We wandered around in the frozen wilderness all day and saw six other people, plus forest service folk digging out directional signs.


No cross country skiers were anywhere to be seen.


Lunch included a nice white wine from Indian Rock winery in Murphys, and a view to die for.

Ski Day

Bear Valley, CA -- One of the great advantages of living in the mountains is proximity to a ski resort.
Bear Valley Ski Resort is 20 miles up the road from our house, and the pole that measures snow depth is ten feet tall -- and it disappeared more than a week ago under a blanket of new snow.

So this week when neighbor Bill Minkel called to see if I was interested, the answer was yes.

For a season pass holder I have not gotten in as many days skiing as I expected, only about ten days so far, but you get spoiled when you live this close. If the snow is not perfect, and the crowds minimal, I tend to stay away.

But this was about as perfect a day as you'll ever see.

Nothing fancy on this video clip because I am a determined intermediate skier, preferring groomed runs to powder and moderate slopes to terrifying steeps. And my video skills, even with Bill's help, are minimal. I was going to attach music, an Irish tune "Catch Me If You Can," but could not figure out how to do it.

The first portion is from the top of the mountain, around 8,000 feet, down to the lodge on a blue diamond run called Mokulume. Then a brief break at the lodge (we actually ate inside at the bar) and back to the top of Porridge Bowl, one of the few black diamond runs I am comfortable with.

All in all, a great day.