New moon?

… The moon is nothing
But a circumambulating aphrodisiac
Divinely subsidized to provoke the world
Into a rising birth-rate

The Lady’s not for Burning
Christopher Fry

The moon was new last night, which meant there was a chance of seeing a very slim crescent moon in the first few minutes after sunset — and possibly seeing the rest of the moon, the part the sun can’t reach, faintly lit by earthlight. Only a chance, the moon sets 5~10 minutes after the sun today, and being such a thin crescent it will be very dim and easily obscured.

So I went for a beach walk at sunset.

Well… The moon is an excuse really, I go out to watch the sunset most Sundays.

And to watch the ocean, and the birds.

Usually the sand on the beach migrates away for the winter and returns in the spring, and today the sand is still sparse and the beach quite steep. There seems to be a fair amount of surf which gives the waves a chance to show off and break impressively against the rocks uncovered by the winter storms.

And the light is nice right before sunset.

The sanderlings are out today, doing their little dance with the water — chasing the wave as it recedes, probing hurriedly into the wet sand, and then running from the next wave in a futile effort to keep their feet dry. Silly little things. Their legs move so fast… (I wish I had their turnover

The sun is burning a path into the sand for me to follow (the moon is yet invisible), and follow it I do.

Everyone else seems to have the same idea and we all walk into the setting sun.

The evening is hazy. I fear the moon will not show her face. But a hazy evening with occasional clouds gives more color to the sunset even while it obscures the moonset. So not all is lost.

I watch a little longer, but there is no sign of a moon.

Three months ago, the sun set well out to sea. Now it is setting over UCSB, and in a few more months it will be behind the mountains and out of sight. As close as Santa Barbara comes to seasons.

Then I head back home. Along with everyone else on the beach.

The quality of light has changed now, the world no longer glows, but if I look behind there is an ember in the west.

The sanderlings are still playing their eternal game with the waves, and a pair of plovers have joined in, but without the same zest — the legs of the sanderlings move so rapidly — the plovers look clumsy in comparison.

Ahead the trees on the wilcox bluffs are fading into the evening’s mist.

I pass a man with his head down talking into his cell-phone. How can he deaden himself that way? Here he is, surrounded by fading beauty and his attention is fixed on a small piece of plastic. The crashing of the waves, the calling of the birds are just annoyances to him, they mean he can’t hear the phone.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Surrounded by beauty we chose to focus on something ugly.

Yuck.

I think this is the same reaction I have to iPods and such. I live in Santa Barbara. It is a beautiful place, why would I want to drown out all the natural world, why avoid all the beauty? Why run with an iPod?

Now if I went for a walk, or a run, in downtown Los Angeles, that might be a different matter, I might be glad to stifle the sounds of the cars, and obscure the grime of that smoggy city. But I live somewhere beautiful, I walk in beautiful places, I run into beauty. I want to enjoy it.

I find it sad, a sign of sickness in our culture, that so many of us will huddle over our cell-phone and not look behind to see the sunset.

But… Where’s the Orchard?

Orchard to Ocean, 2008

I set out on the bike at 5:30. It was dark. And cold. It’s ~16 miles to Carpenteria Main School and I wanted to be there at 7 to register and warm up. And I wanted to travel easily on the bike and not burn up all my glycogen.

There was a full moon setting in the west. Ah, of course, the day before easter, the day after the vernal equinox, the moon must be well nigh full.

The moon is at my back though, I rarely see it. The cold gets into my fingers and toes. They go numb by the time I’ve gone 5 miles. Summerland, at 10 miles is warmer, and the extremities start to thaw, but after a mile or two the road drops down to the Polo field and it gets cold again. Well, it will probably warm up with the sun, and even if it does not, once I start running I’ll be fine.

Many orchid and other flower farms, but I pass no orchard.

It’s lighter now. There seems to be an awful lot of traffic leaving Carp, on the frontage road (not the freeway) at 6:40am. Where on earth are they all going this early on a Saturday morning, and why aren’t they on the freeway?

When I get to the school it is definitely light.

They have maps inside showing the course route. Hmm. It’s rather different from when I last did it — good heavens — five years ago. I had intended to run the 5K loop as a warm up, and here’s even more reason to do so — I don’t want to get lost. Not that I’ll be in front.

And there’s Shiggy, well no chance of being first in my division either :-).

The map says go out Palm to 4th street and turn left. Unfortunately 4th St. does not really exist here; there is an unnamed road inside the State Beach, perhaps that’s it? There is no chalk arrow to mark the turn though, and it means running the wrong way over some tire-shredders, so I decide I must be lost already, and I go back, and try to recreate the start from 5 years ago.

I forget the route after the first few turns and spend a pleasant time wandering the dead ends of suburban Carp. When I come out on Carp Ave, I see Aaron who assures me of the turn into the park, even without chalk, even going the wrong way over tire-rippers.

We get back to the school (which is not an orchard in any way shape or form), and I have to decide how many layers to wear. It’s much warmer than it was, but still feels a bit nippy. Hmm. I’ll bet I’ll only need a singlet once we get going. But I’ll take gloves to keep my hands warm. But when I reach the start line I think even the gloves may be too much — some friends are complaining about cold hands, and I try to palm the gloves off on them — with no luck.

I do my strides.
We line up.
No, says Paul (who starts us), the line is here. We all move forward a yard.
“Two minutes.”
“One minute.”
“Ready” (we all crouch down with our fingers on our watches)
“Go”

And we’re off. About 10 people are ahead of me. I see Monica’s back and figure I can run with her (much later, at the finish line, I realize that it wasn’t Monica’s back after all, it was Andrea whom I do not know, and who is faster than Monica). Fred passes me. Oh, well, with him here no chance of second place in the division either.

N’importe.

No one’s foot is punctured by the tire-destroyers, and there are now volunteers there to show us the route (but no chalk, I wonder why not?). We run through the State Beach. The Carp Slough has formed a lagoon which does not open into the ocean. A calm spot where birds float as we thunder past over the bridge.

I’m impressed at how fast Monica is running. I thought I was faster at the moment. I guess not.

At the end of the parking lot we’re on a trail. Finally some chalk. Little white dots showing us where to go. We come to a road and turn up onto it. Such a pity, 5 years ago we ran out on the bluffs here, but I’m told that the city only lets us to cross the RR tracks on roads, and I guess I can see why they’d insist on that.

Crossing RR tracks is always dicey in a race course — the freight trains seem to have no schedule, and the passenger trains only a nominal one. You never know, there might be a train just when you need to cross. You can lose a lot of time to a long, slow-moving freight. And trains cannot stop for runners as cars will.

Today: No train.

At the 1 mile mark I look down. 5:50. Oh dear. That’s too fast for me. Certainly today. I’d said I was going to treat this as a tempo run and go out at a sedate 6:24 pace. Somehow that didn’t happen. But even if I’m racing I’ll need to slow down. I’ll have to drop back from Monica. And then Martin passes me.

We follow the unfortunately named “Dump Road” to Carp Ave, and turn onto that (Damn it, why are there cars parked in our lane? Oh. It’s City Hall, doubtless they don’t care about runners) to the Bluffs’ park, and then we turn back to the ocean. A lovely view of the Islands, well mostly of Santa Cruz Island, though later I do catch a peak of Anacapa.

And here’s the two mile mark. 6:26. Erp. That’s too slow. I’ve given up on the tempo idea, I was hoping to do better. I notice with amusement that though I have dropped back from Monica’s back, and Martin’s, I haven’t dropped back by much. They’ve slowed too. That’s some consolation.

“Correopsis has set in!” The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

And we make a sharp turn (through fine white sand that shifts under our feet, not what I want for a turn) to run along the bluffs. I can’t really see the ocean now, the purple sage, in full bloom, and some mounding yellow daisy are blocking my views

But then, from behind one large shrub, a view opens up, and there are the cliffs dropping down into the sea, with the morning mist hazing the distant ones. When I first ran this course, this view just stunned me, it’s the main reason I love this race.

But all too soon we turn away from the ocean (years before we went along the edge for much further and then scrambled up an wonderful, steep hill on which I passed two people. But no hill today, nor do I pass anyone). Back to the main road, and then we dive once more into the shrubbery (Nee!), and here’s the 3 mile mark. 6:34? Ug. I had intended to speed up, not slow down. At this rate I might not even break 40 minutes. I’m in worse shape than I thought.

Still Monica’s back isn’t that far in front, so she’s slowed too. And Martin and Ricky and Shana. Onward.

On into the brush. Hmm. Why haven’t I seen anyone returning? I’d have thought Aaron would have turned back by now. But then it isn’t Aaron, it’s someone I don’t recognize. And then Aaron, with Fred number 4. And then I’m turning. And there’s someone behind me, and Jeff passes me. Sigh. And when mile 4 comes up I see 6:27. Well, no wonder. That’s quite discouraging. And now Monica’s back pulls further away. I seem to have lost heart.

At mile 5 I see 6:12. Well, that’s a surprise. I guess it’s downhill. But even though I’ve actually sped up, the people ahead of me have sped up more.

And the ones behind too; someone else passes me. And then Joe Hilton does. We’re on the road now. Dull. At mile 6, 6:13. And then round the corner, and there’s the finish. A final burst, and I see the time ticking down 38:56, 38:57… I’m sure I’ll end up with 39:02 or something, but no, for once the second drops on my side and I sneak past at 38:59.

And then I see “Monica”’s face, and she isn’t Monica at all. How could I have confused her with Monica? She doesn’t look a bit like her. I guess I’m not very good at recognizing backs. I discover she’s Andrea.

I head for the food. But it’s all wrapped up, and they aren’t ready for people yet, and they don’t want me to pick things up with my hands. It’s not worth fighting, I’ve got my own food at the bike. Ah, the bagels aren’t protected. I grab one (they tell me I shouldn’t have). It’s stale. Well water is the most important thing. Where’s the water? Big jugs of something. Coffee??!! What stupid idiot puts a diuretic out for people who need to rehydrate? Another large jug with McDonald’s stamped on the side. I’m not trusting that. Oh. Here. A tiny 6oz individually packaged thing of bottled water in a tub of ice. I don’t really want cold water either, it’s harder to absorb cold than warm. I’ll find a water fountain.

Grumble. What’s gotten into people? Why this recent set of over-the-top sanitary rules? They just make this whole race recovery process so uninviting that I’m repelled.

Food at the bike, and water too. Change out of light trainers for normal running shoes. Get rid of the gloves.

I’ve got a 6mile cool down to run. I might as well run the course again, but this time I’ll spend more on the bluffs and cross the tracks on a trail.

When I get back to the start/finish line there is the real Monica. How could I have confused her with Andrea?

And there is Fred taking off for his cooldown, so I run with him for a bit, but he turns back and I continue.

I don’t go up Dump Road, I continue on the bluffs. Tide looks quite high, crashing against the base of the cliffs, I look for harbor seals but see none here. Then on, past the Venco oil dock, and there, on the other side is the seal sanctuary. It’s the birthing season just now, and I pause at an outlook.

There’s a couple here already, looking down at the seals. They point out two new pups. There’s still a bit of beach below, one of the pups has clambered up it and found a comfy spot, but each time a wave passes over him, he gets washed away and has to clamber up again. It’s a struggle for him, he’s very small.

A larger seal flops up onto the beach, and those already there are disturbed and there’s some flapping of flippers. The couple comment they’ve not seen seals fighting before. I hadn’t realized it was a fight, but I’ll take their word for it.

The couple ask me if the race is over. They have a big hand-held stop sign so I assume they must be race volunteers, and thank them for helping out. It turned out they were seal volunteers, and the stop sign is to keep noisy intruders and dogs away from the seals and the cliff edge.

I see a Western Grebe in the ocean. A pelican, floating calmly on the waves some distance out looks like a great boat in comparison. A cormorant zips past.

A greater wave splooshes onto the beach and all the seals arc their backs, noses up, foot flippers up, they seem to form a perfect circular arch. I wish I could do as well when I try that pose in yoga.

But I can’t stay here all day, or shouldn’t anyway. I’ve got miles to go before I sleep.

So I head away from the bluffs, and cross the tracks (at the old location) and run on the path under the Eucalyptus allée. Hunh. I’d be willing to risk crossing the train tracks here, it’s a much nicer route.

But now I can’t find a path that would lead out to the hill I recall. Sigh. I gather there is no longer a trail in that direction.

Ah well, I’m back on the new course, and just follow that again. Out, and then back.

Shortly after the 5K turn-around (well on my way back) I start passing my some 5K walkers (the 5K race started about when I began my cooldown). And at the final turn before the finish line the corner volunteer cheers me on. I find I’m, well, insulted, that he thinks I could take over an hour to run a 5K, can’t he tell from my pace that I’m going faster (much faster, even on my cooldown) than that?

But I have my bib on, and no one else seems to have run the course twice, so I guess it’s the obvious assumption.

Silly me.

I get back to the school, and I hear them announcing the results, so I wander over. I see my friends in a clump on the grass and go sit with them. I find I didn’t even get third in my division, I was fourth. Oh well.

Back to the bike, and then the farmers’ market.

(The ocean was lovely, but I never even saw the orchard).

---

I spoke to Dan Cornet, who has always helped organize Orchard to Ocean. He tells me that when the race was first run it started up in the foothills amid orchards, but they moved the start. So like Roses to La Playa the name no longer reflects the current race. Maggie suggested “Pedrogosa to La Playa” for that, which alliterates, so perhaps “School to Sea” would work here?

Dan also tells me that there is no race director for next year, and some doubt as to whether the race will continue. Saying “I hope someone turns up.” seems a bit superficial, as it begs the question of why I’m not that someone.

Hmm.

Snow

Rain

It rained, and it rained and it rained. Piglet thought it would never stop.

Winnie the Pooh, A.A.Milne

It has been three weeks since I last ran. Not since the resolution day race. Injuries are such a waste of time.

I still don’t know what happened. Presumably I somehow tore my right gluts. Nothing seemed to work for the first two weeks, and then it started to improve. Yesterday I decided I would try a run this morning if I felt up to it.

Well, I felt up to it, but it was pouring rain. I waited, hoping the rain would ease. It didn’t. Finally, at 10:30, I set out. Nothing too strenuous. I thought I’d run up to the Wilcox and then run the loop a couple of times, and then come back.

I’m not running very fast. Jogging really. Still, good to be out on my feet again.

It was wet. And cold. And the wind was strong against me.

Tame little Arroyo Burro was a thundering torrent as it spilled under the bridge at Cliff Dr. I climbed up the hill, and headed off to the bluff over the ocean.

Grey sea. Grey sky. Merging together somewhere. Whitecaps below, rain above.

A little waterfall where the rain spilled over the cliff down to the beach.

A view of Hendry’s beach from the edge of the bluff: A vast river of mud runs out into the sea and then turns and trails down the coast.

I reach the end of the park, and head back into the wind. No ocean to watch now. I start to notice my glut. It feels sore and tight. Not really painful, but probably I should stop running. For once, I’m not a total idiot, and even though I had intended to run around the park twice, I turn back.

But when I get home, I dash inside and come out with my camera. For once, I am a total idiot, and even though I had intended to stop, I go back and do the whole run over, and take pictures this time.

With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
And the rain, it raineth every day.

Twelfth Night, Shakespeare

Resolution Day 2008

For some peculiar reason I like to watch the sun-rise and sun-set on New Year’s Day. A little ritual of mine I’ve been doing for several years now. Sometimes it gets modified — last year I watched the sun-set on New Year’s Eve. Sometimes it rains. But I try.

Generally I watch the sun-rise on the way to the race. Of course for the last few years the race hasn’t been on New Year’s day, so last year I had the freedom to hike up Cathedral Peak.

This year I reached the harbor just as the sun rose.

I had no particular expectations about this race. Haven’t done any significant training since the marathon, and am still basically resting up from it. I knew I wouldn’t equal last year’s performance. I thought I might try to do the 5K at a 6 minute pace, and treat the 10K as a tempo run. I didn’t really care, I just wanted the thrill of running hard even if not very fast.

I did the first two miles a little below 6 minutes (5:55) and slowed markedly on the third (6:17). Oh, well, close enough.

The 10K surprised me. I had assumed I’d run somewhere around 6:30~6:40, but that was not too be. It was very hard to get started, and I was only running a 6:45, trying to chat with Travis, who was also taking it easy. But the third mile was above 7. Brrr. I was tired. Travis was appreciably ahead by now. I considered stopping once I reached the end of the first 5K lap. But I passed Ricky and figured if he could keep going so could I.

Ricky has very loud feet. Or perhaps his shoes are loose and slap. Or something. In any event I didn’t need to look back to tell when he started to gain on me again, and then he overtook me. We trotted on. On the slight rise by the bathhouse he faded again and I passed him for the final time (interesting that, I had the same experience when I passed Ricky in the Half).

I did not fade. I started to feel better. I think I just needed more of a rest after the 5K than I’d gotten — and somehow, 4 miles into this race I was starting to feel rested. Mile 5 was under 7 again. Then I started gaining on the two in front of me, by the time I reached Milpas I figured I could speed up a bit and take them. I presumed I’d slow down afterwards, but I didn’t seem to. Mile 6 was 6:31. Finally I was rested enough to run what I thought I should — but the race was almost over No matter.

First time I’ve put more emphasis on the 5K than the 10K in this race set. The ~26 minutes I get between races just isn’t enough for me to recover. Next year: back to the 10K!

My right gluts started to cramp up. I went for a cooldown with a couple of friends and they (the gluts) nagged at me.

I had invited people to meet me at Tunnel trailhead at 3pm to hike up and watch the sunset. When I went over to my bike to head up I realized I was in no condition to walk, much less hike. I figured I’d go up and apologize (I had no idea who would show so I couldn’t phone, I’d sent out a blanket invite).

Luckily no one else had wanted to hike so there was no need to disappoint anyone. After waiting a bit at the trailhead, I biked back down to find a sunset-watching-spot I could lurch to.

It was worth the lurch.

Dolphins!

Most Sundays I go for a beach walk to watch the sun set. Usually I take my camera with me in hopes it will be a pretty sunset. This sunset was not spectacular, but I did get some rather nice (I thought) shots of birds.

After the sun was down, I turned back to walk home… and saw a dolphin breach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dolphin do that before. I wished I’d had my camera out, but then realized that even if I had I would not have been able to react in time.

But then there was another breach. And dolphins were zipping through the waves far faster than I’d ever seen. So eventually I got out my camera. It’s hard to catch a breach, there is so little time to react, and if the camera is pointed in the wrong direction there is no chance. But they kept playing, and eventually I caught it. One animal in an arc, and another poking its nose out for its own leap.

A less convenient truth.

A friend of mine was teasing me about climate change the other day. She knows I have very little faith in our ability to extricate ourselves from the current mess, but she pointed out that she’d heard Gore talking on the radio and he seemed to feel we could do it.

I did not hear what Gore had to say. I presume it was similar to what he says in the movie: Buy a Prius, use compact fluorescents, recycle.

I don’t think my friend is aware of the final UN report that came out a month ago. I don’t think the News SurPressed mentioned it.

For a long time the goal has been to insure that global temperatures do not rise more than 2°C. This is a somewhat arbitrary mark on the continuum of temperatures — the idea being that somewhere around this value there will be massive ecosystem (and economic) disruption.

In the final UN report from the IPCC the most optimistic scenario barely achieves this. It would require carbon emissions to peak NOW, and drop by 85% in 2050.

Consider that: Global carbon consumption must cease to grow RIGHT NOW. And over the next 40 years we must reduce our consumption so that we are burning 1/6th of the oil/coal/whatever that we currently burn. (not reduce by 1/6, but reduce to 1/6).

Buying a Prius (and driving the same amount) will mean maybe a 50% reduction in gasoline usage (except that it takes more energy to make a Prius than a normal car, and more energy to dispose of one afterward so the comparison isn’t quite that simple). If you want to reduce your consumption to 1/6, you would need something that was three times as fuel efficient as a Prius - 150mpg.

Buy a bike. Walk. Take the bus.

And we must do that in every aspect of our lives. Heat our houses 6 times as efficiently, transport goods, farm, etc.

So Gore is wrong in saying that buying a Prius will solve the problem. It might be a good start, and many people probably should, but it is nowhere near enough.

In 1997 the Kyoto treaty, was signed (but not by the US) requiring significant reductions in emissions among the developed nations (but not for the developing nations like China or India, a fact which has turned out to be a major flaw).

At the moment the UK and Sweden are the only countries in the EU that appear to be on track for reducing their emissions in line with the treaty. Emissions in the US have increased by 16%, in Canada 27%, in China 47% and in India 55%.

That is using the standards set out in the Kyoto treaty. However those standards exclude emissions in global shipping and air transport. If you include a pro-rated share of those emissions into each country’s share then instead of declining by -14% England’s emissions actually rise by 19%.

Kyoto has failed massively. We are in far worse shape globally than the worst case scenario put forth back in 1997. That was only 10 years ago. As each successive report has come out from the IPCC they have painted a bleaker and bleaker picture. And that reflects the change in less than a year.

We aren’t going to achieve it. There is no way we can reduce global emissions to 1/6 of their current value.

There might be an engineering solution, but there is no political will to reach it.

It’s the tragedy of the commons all over again. When I chid my friend after she bought a gas-guzzling Vanagon, she said that she would reduce her consumption if everyone else did. A safe statement — it’s clear other people won’t. They already haven’t.

She also asked me if she were the enemy now. As Walt Kelly pointed out 30 years ago: We have met the enemy and he is us.

The world population is rising. By 2050 there will be another 3~4 billion of us, so to achieve a global decline to 1/6th, we actually need to reduce our individual consumption to 1/9th.

Global economic output is up. This means consumption is higher, not lower. Consider India and China, their emissions have risen by roughly 50% in the last 10 years — and both are huge countries.

The price of oil is rising as oil reserves are depleted. This means that people will turn to cheaper alternatives (like coal, oil shale, etc.). Unfortunately, these cheap alternatives are almost universally dirtier and produce more carbon, not less.

Biodiesel is touted as a solution. A technology which combines rainforest destruction with rising food prices does not look like a solution to me. The price of flour has doubled at my grocery store in less than a year. There have been food riots all over the world as biodiesel raises the cost of maize directly, wheat and rice in consequence, and meat indirectly.

These reports are available for anyone to read, they are on the web. I am not making this stuff up. They were not produced by raging loony environmentalists, they are the result of scientific debate using the best data currently available. The IPCC was set up by the UN and has taken input from every nation. If anything, I assume the actual situation is worse than painted in the reports because:

• When the first report came out of the IPCC it was clear that both China and the US had watered down its conclusions.
• Experience from the Kyoto protocol suggests that things are worse than people can guess. We just don’t know yet all the ways things can go wrong.

So I believe that Gore paints a far rosier picture that current evidence supports.

Perhaps he does this because if people realized how bad things were they would give up in despair. Every little bit helps. We will almost certainly not achieve the 2°C target, but maybe we can stay within 3°C or 4°C… Perhaps the lemurs will all die and all of Bangladesh be flooded, but maybe the raccoons will survive?

So maybe that’s what he’s thinking.

The American people certainly seem incapable of reading or understanding the data that are out there. You don’t have to look hard for it. It’s right there. Maybe he has to start out with comforting half truths before we are ready to look at the full and inconvenient truth.

A walk on the Beach

Today my schedule called for a half hour walk.

I set out just before sunset.

Birds in the fading glow.

The clouds were lit from underneath after the sun set.

And finally the moon became visible.

It was a good walk.

An Image…

I did today’s run in the late afternoon, a lovely dank and foggy day. I was out on More Mesa, no one else was around, the clouds pressed down, my own private world.

I was turning a corner, rounding a clump of bushes, on the other side of which is more open space, where I occasionally see a Great Blue Heron standing in the field, or stalking across it looking for things small and squeaky.

Today as I turned, I saw a heron, at eye level, just taking off, great wings extended as it fought for altitude. Then my eyes dropped, and directly underneath the heron was a large cat, leaping, extended in a perfect arc.

A big Tom? No, thicker of body and with dark tufts in the ears. A bobcat, I think.

I know I watched the cat until it disappeared into the bushes — but I can’t remember what it looked like there. I have one perfect image fixed in my mind — the great bird soaring up, the cat arched beneath it.

Rats…

For once I’m not going to talk about my running difficulties. I want to talk about my socks.

(OK, they are running socks)

My socks are vanishing. Now I come to think of it I’ve probably lost 4 pairs in the last week or so. I wasn’t really paying attention.

But I know I left my socks stuffed in my shoes after yesterday’s run, and they aren’t there now. Most peculiar.

Well, I got out some new, clean socks and went running. …and as I was cooking dinner just now, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something streak across the floor. Ah, ha! I’ve got a rat.

I wonder… do rats build nests out of socks?

I’ve already put out some traps, but I didn’t bait them with cheese, or peanut butter — I’ve baited them with sweaty running socks!

---

Sigh. Unfortunately the rat did not take the bait. It seems to have given up on socks — last night it took my bathing suit.

---

(Still, if anyone could lend me a spare cat for a day or two, I would appreciate it.)

---

Around midnight there was a snap! Got it! Vanilla and Peanut butter seems to have done the trick — unless there’s another…

There is a second rat. The evening after I captured the first, this second seems to have gone nuts. It’s running all over the room, showing itself to me four times. I was sitting reading the newspaper and it ran right up beside me — I was so startled I didn’t even strike at it that time.

Time to clean out and reset the traps.

---

Got it too. I really hope there isn’t a third.

---

Drat, there is a third.I don’t believe that. There must be a hole somewhere. No have-a-heart traps this time. Something with jaws.I do not like killing things. But I don’t feel I have a choice.

In an old, unused door to my kitchen I see a hole that is too small for a rat. But, I guess rats can squish down to a very small cross section. So I block it up.

The trap goes snap not long after I set it. One rat down — but there’s another scuttling around somewhere. This one is trickier — it takes me two days to trap it. This second rat seems to have a penchant for high tech — no socks for it — instead it destroys two ethernet cables, two phone cables, and (somehow) my ethernet switch, it made a start on one of my power cables, but (un)fortunately gave up before any sparks flew.

And I still can’t find my socks.

Rats.