Gold rush
Yesterday Ms. Jolie and I headed up for a shortish hike in Placerita Canyon, where gold was first discovered in 1842. We were mostly there for the wildflowers, though, and not so much for the panning. It's the end of wildflower season down here in Southern California, and while we were too late for the sweeping fields of poppies and mustard (apparently it was a very good year for those, what with all the wintertime rain), it was a good time to see smaller patches of wildflowers in situ. So we drove north for half an hour and set out to find wildflowers.
But before anything else, before seeing even one flower, almost immediately after getting into the park proper, we found a movie shoot instead. I was wondering why the guy walking towards us wasn't in hiking gear but instead in what looked like Civil war reenactment gear (except for his sneakers) until I saw the rest of the shoot behind him. My god, making movies looks so unbelievably boring. So much sitting around. Although maybe if you're in a nice park it's not so bad.
Anyway, it wasn't soon before we hit flowers for real. In this part of the world, they are usually purple, yellow or white, with occasional red flowers showing up. The purply ones tend to be my favorites, and seem more delicate than the rest (with some exceptions).
although the red ones are nice too, especially when they are opportunistically growing out of what looks like bare rock.
Yellow flowers appear to be the most common. On top of all these, there were three more species that I somehow didn't manage to capture on film.
Meanwhile, despite visiting three, yes, three California wildflower ID websites, I still have no idea what any of these are. Seriously, not even one. How could they have all these wildflower pictures and still be missing all of the ones from yesterday? I'd think this little number would be easy as pie to identify: just three white petals with a distinctive reddish dot in the middle of each and a poppy-like bud and greenery. And yet, unfindable. What gives? 
But this I could identify with certainty as wild cucumber. Although it looks kind of like a stress-relief koosh ball, those spikes are really unpleasantly pokey -- it's not a vegetable you're going to walk around carrying in your bare hands, I'll tell you that.
This canyon was swept by two wildfires in recent years -- in this part of the park, the big fire was in aught six. Two years later there's all kinds of regrowth, but the charred remains of many plants and trees fill the landscape. They're dramatic, both set against the ground,
and against the sky.
This tree remnant seemed like nothing so much as a demonic "we're number one!" At about 15 feet, it was much taller than your usual foam hand. 
As usual, there were some lovely textures to be found in sunlit tree bark.
An unexpected bonus in the park, about which I knew almost nothing before I went, was the presence of this teeny tiny tar pit. It bubbled like a witches' cauldron, except out in the middle of the woods, and smelled like new asphalt. Which is not a smell I expected to find a mile from the nearest road. I live in walking distance of the famous tar pits, but had no idea there were others still bubbling up elsewhere.
The creek running through the park was algae-strewn, but otherwise appeared to be clear and tar-free.
It was filled with squirming tadpoles, who seemed especially fond of sunny rocks in the shallows. There were two kinds, tiny and black,
and bigger and more froggy-colored.
Just above them floated water skimmers (a bit hard to see -- this one is right in the middle, just below the rock).
It was a nice day, especially when capped by a desperate search for food (when will we learn to bring picnic lunches on our hikes?) that led us through a national forest (it was the most direct route, as it turns out) and to an Armenian kebab shop with a nice lunch special. I got some hummous and lavash to go, and will be enjoying mediterranean sandwiches for the rest of the week, which will be a bit more appealing when we get out of the 50s and drizzly (the weather as I type) and back to the 80s where we belong.
But before anything else, before seeing even one flower, almost immediately after getting into the park proper, we found a movie shoot instead. I was wondering why the guy walking towards us wasn't in hiking gear but instead in what looked like Civil war reenactment gear (except for his sneakers) until I saw the rest of the shoot behind him. My god, making movies looks so unbelievably boring. So much sitting around. Although maybe if you're in a nice park it's not so bad.
Anyway, it wasn't soon before we hit flowers for real. In this part of the world, they are usually purple, yellow or white, with occasional red flowers showing up. The purply ones tend to be my favorites, and seem more delicate than the rest (with some exceptions).
although the red ones are nice too, especially when they are opportunistically growing out of what looks like bare rock.
Yellow flowers appear to be the most common. On top of all these, there were three more species that I somehow didn't manage to capture on film.
Meanwhile, despite visiting three, yes, three California wildflower ID websites, I still have no idea what any of these are. Seriously, not even one. How could they have all these wildflower pictures and still be missing all of the ones from yesterday? I'd think this little number would be easy as pie to identify: just three white petals with a distinctive reddish dot in the middle of each and a poppy-like bud and greenery. And yet, unfindable. What gives? 
But this I could identify with certainty as wild cucumber. Although it looks kind of like a stress-relief koosh ball, those spikes are really unpleasantly pokey -- it's not a vegetable you're going to walk around carrying in your bare hands, I'll tell you that.
This canyon was swept by two wildfires in recent years -- in this part of the park, the big fire was in aught six. Two years later there's all kinds of regrowth, but the charred remains of many plants and trees fill the landscape. They're dramatic, both set against the ground,
and against the sky.
This tree remnant seemed like nothing so much as a demonic "we're number one!" At about 15 feet, it was much taller than your usual foam hand. 
As usual, there were some lovely textures to be found in sunlit tree bark.
An unexpected bonus in the park, about which I knew almost nothing before I went, was the presence of this teeny tiny tar pit. It bubbled like a witches' cauldron, except out in the middle of the woods, and smelled like new asphalt. Which is not a smell I expected to find a mile from the nearest road. I live in walking distance of the famous tar pits, but had no idea there were others still bubbling up elsewhere.
The creek running through the park was algae-strewn, but otherwise appeared to be clear and tar-free.
It was filled with squirming tadpoles, who seemed especially fond of sunny rocks in the shallows. There were two kinds, tiny and black,
and bigger and more froggy-colored.
Just above them floated water skimmers (a bit hard to see -- this one is right in the middle, just below the rock).
It was a nice day, especially when capped by a desperate search for food (when will we learn to bring picnic lunches on our hikes?) that led us through a national forest (it was the most direct route, as it turns out) and to an Armenian kebab shop with a nice lunch special. I got some hummous and lavash to go, and will be enjoying mediterranean sandwiches for the rest of the week, which will be a bit more appealing when we get out of the 50s and drizzly (the weather as I type) and back to the 80s where we belong.
posted by Pangea at 6:36 PM
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