Sword Dancing 1

October 17, 2017

Back in August the local sword-dancing group asked me to join them, one of their number was ill and they needed a sixth man. We had our first practice last night (~2 months later).

In the interim I worried. I worried about dancing while waving an object designed to kill people. They tried to reassure me that the swords were not sharp. But that still left open the possibility of bludgeoning someone. Or being blogeoned by someone… To say nothing of my own inability to keep track of my feet when dancing— after the third waltz count I am lost— suppose I thrust my sword out at the wrong time, in the wrong place…

Our first practice took place at the home of one of our number, who turned out to be an artist, and who had us practice in his studio. Which added another worry… slicing up one of his canvases by mistake.

The “broadswords” in question turned out to be tongues of steel about 3 feet long, one inch wide and maybe 3mm thick. The edges were smoothly beveled, and it was a pointy as a spoon. No fuller, no guard, and a wooden grip. I stopped worrying about cutting someone…

The dance (or the bits of it that we practiced) consisted of moving at a fast walk, often in circles making interesting patterns with the swords which interlocked in various ways.

I still feel a bit like a rabbit in headlights, but I think it will be fun.

Oh, I did not seriously injure anyone, or any canvas. A sword did slip out of my hand once and bop someone on the head (OK, I kind of dropped it), but he wasn’t harmed.

My wrist isn’t used to holding a sword. It ached a bit.



September 4, 2017

When I was 10, back in March of 1970 there was a solar eclipse whose path of totality basically ran right up the Eastern Seaboard. I was slightly outside totality, in Durham we only got 98% coverage. My siblings and I were playing underneath the neighbor’s Magnolia tree and I vividly remember that the little patches of light that worked through the leaves to hit the ground suddenly turned into crescent moons. The leaves were acting like lots of pin hole cameras. I have no idea why the full sun doesn’t get focused into little circles, but a partial sun does get focused…

That was my only solar eclipse experience until now (I didn’t pay attention to the eclipse on 1979 though I guess some dimming would have been visible where I was).

A year ago I realized that the path of totality went right over my great-grandfather’s house in Georgia, and since I normally go there in August I decided to be there at the right time this year. And I tried to get my family to join me. And then friends. It’s a big old house with lots of room, seems a shame not to fill it up with other people to watch this event…

I got very excited about it. I ordered a ten pack of solar glasses, a sun filter for my camera, and I wrote various little apps for my cellphone and tablets. I wrote something to take time-lapse video, something else to record temperature/humidity/luminosity. I wanted to see how these changed during the eclipse and compare it to other days to see if the temperature profile looked different. And tripods, and tripod mounts for tablets and extension cords…

Ten days before the eclipse the long range weather forecast showed thunderstorms. And my cousins who lived there started complaining about incessant rain.

A week or so before the eclipse Amazon posted its warning about bogus eclipse glasses, and I saw that the ones I had bought were not on the list of reputable vendors. So I rushed to buy another set. Many were sold out, and the ones that weren’t were expensive…

I arrived in the valley late Friday night (before the Monday eclipse), and luckily my second order of eclipse glasses had preceded me. It had also stopped raining. Whew.

Sun at 9:15AM, long before eclipse

The partial eclipse was scheduled to start at 1:06PM so around quarter past we went out to the front porch and could see (through the eclipse glasses) that the sun was just being nicked by the moon. It took me a while to get my camera set up (it turns out that a normal tripod doesn’t work very well when taking a picture of something near the zenith. The tripod prevents the camera from pointing straight up. I hadn’t thought of that. If I angled the tripod legs enough for the camera to point up, then the tripod overbalanced).

Now it takes the moon a good while to cover the sun, almost an hour and a half from the start to totality. You get rather bored staring at an object which doesn’t change noticeably… so my brother organized a game of cards, and after every hand was completed (every 10 minutes or so) we’d all get up and take a look. That worked pretty well.

1:28PM T-1:07

1:37PM T-0:59

1:48PM T-0:49

1:53PM T-0:42

2:01PM T-0:34

2:16PM T-0:29

2:35:10 T-0:00:47

2:35:40 T-0:00:17

As far as the naked eye could tell there was surprisingly little dimming until just before totality. There are several reasons for this, the first is simply that the eye isn’t designed to measure brightness, it is designed to see things and to adjust so that it can see no matter what the level of light. So when it gets darker the pupils automatically get wider and you don’t notice any change. The second is that the eye reacts to light levels in a logarithmic fashion, so a diminution by a factor of two makes just a slight change in what we see.

But a few tens of seconds before totality happened the light started changing significantly, rapidly and noticeably. It got much darker. Not black, but a dim twilight. A sunset light spread around the horizon (or such of it that wasn’t hidden by trees). A planet was visible up near the sun. Not dark enough for my eye to see stars though.

The difference between 99% coverage and totality was extreme and worth seeing. I had assumed that it would just be more of what I’d seen as a child with 98% coverage. It was not. It was a completely different thing.

Above us all hung a black sun.

2:36PM Totality
2:36PM Totality

Then, of course the moon started to come out the other side…
2:53PM T+0:16

Timelapse video around totality (sped up too much. next eclipse I’ll know better). Looking across Sautee Valley.

Another timelapse video around totality, sped up even more. This one from the top of Lynch Mountain looking toward Tray Mountain.

About 20 minutes before totality I noticed that the holes between tree leaves had started acting like pinhole cameras (they might have done so earlier, that was just when I noticed it).

About 6 minutes before totality I started making a time lapse video of this effect. The crescents go through totality and come out the other side (sped up by a factor of 30).

I set my cellphone (Samsung Galaxy S4) to logging temperature, relative humidity and luminosity, taking samples every 15 seconds starting (roughly) a day before the eclipse and ending a day after.

I am graphing log10 of the luminosity, as I think that is more in keeping with what the eye sees. (The abrupt spikes in luminosity may reflect brief moments when the sun shone on the device. I thought it was in a well shaded spot but since the spikes are at the same time on different days I suspect there were a few moments when it was in full sun. Temperature was also affected as might be expected).
3 days around eclipse
The light blue region is the time of partial eclipse, the darker blue line in the center is the time of totality. The luminosity drops to 0 with totality (at least with the inexact sensor I had). The temperature also dropped during the eclipse, but only by about 2~3°C, a short thunderstorm the next day at about the same time caused a sharper and more substantial temperature drop. The relative humidity spiked up, as you’d expect with a temperature drop.

The graph below is the same thing, only expanded to show only the ~6 hours around the eclipse.
5 hours around eclipse
Interestingly the temperature continues to drop after totality. Rather to my surprise luminosity goes to 0 about a minute before totality, 2:34:40PM, and continues there for a minute and a half afterward, 2:39:11PM. This is probably insensitivity in my sensor.

I doubt I’ll go to Chili in 2019 (or Antarctica in 2020) but the eclipse of 2024 looks tempting…

Eppur si riscalda

April 23, 2017

Yesterday I joined Santa Barbara’s March for Science.

I don’t understand activism. I don’t see what difference this will make. I live in a state which already voted Democratic, in a Congressional District that is Democratic, my state senate district is Democratic. If I march, whose mind could I change? What difference will it make? To do nothing is unthinkable, but I see no legal options which can be effective.

The march began with speeches. Again I don’t understand why. What’s the point of preaching to the choir? The people who need to listen won’t hear. I don’t understand.

For me the essential issue is the Trump administration’s stance on climate change. Climate change is an existential problem. If not dealt with our civilization and possibly our species will be destroyed. Other people were more concerned about funding for science, education, the arts. I’m all for such funding, but I guess I’m more concerned about keeping the species alive.

The staging area did not seem to hold very many people, but when we actually lined up to march up State St. I could see that there were well over 1000 people. I thought maybe 2000. Noozhawk estimates 3000, and they are probably better at making such estimates than I. It seemed like a lot, but it’s only 1~2% of the region’s population. Sadly small in that light.

There were lots of cute slogans, and the other marchers seemed joyful. I was depressed. I did see one sign which expressed my feelings — it read, essentially:
“I shouldn’t have to be here”
I concur. Why are people in my government not paying attention to common sense? Why don’t they look at evidence? I shouldn’t have to be complaining about such basic incompetence.

This is the same fight Galileo fought against the Church, that Scopes fought against Tennessee. How can we still be making the same mistake?

People chanted “This is what Democracy looks like.” I’ve heard that at other times when I’ve marched. What I felt was “This is what impotence looks like.” We can’t effect real change, but we can march. I was reminded of Tom Lehrer’s comment in The Folk Song Army “But, the nicest thing about a protest song is that it makes you feel so good.” I felt we were deluding ourselves into feeling good.

But I’m not only depressed because I feel incapable of changing the government’s policies. I’m depressed because I feel that it is now too late for any policies to address climate change. Basically all scenarios envisioned by the IPCC for staying below 2°C now depend on science fiction technologies. Technologies we do not have, which we are not working to develop, and all mechanisms we can currently imagine are impractical.

The temperature is now up about 1°C and already we are going to kill off most coral reefs by the end of the decade even if the temperature rose no further. The loss of those ecosystems will lead to massive famine for people who fish them. Places with Mediterranean climates are burning up. The Sierra Nevadas lost ~80% of its trees in the last drought, and even so California got lucky, but the next drought will be worse. We may not be able to handle even 1°C of warming long term.

But we’ll get a lot more than that.

Climate change will lead to famine, and famine will probably lead to war (indeed, it already has), and war may well lead to nuclear war — especially with Trump in command.

One of my friends said to me in the march: “We have to be hopeful, for if this fails what will we tell our children?”

What indeed?

Stupider Fortnight

December 31, 2016

On the Wednesday before Christmas I ran with the dog out to More Mesa. The dog likes More Mesa. She bounds through the tall grass finding scents of I-don’t-know-what. Once she found the scent of a skunk there and, to my surprise, was really pleased by that too. She’s like an eccentric comet, traveling long distances away from me but always returning to check in.

She gets intrigued when I stop to look at a flower, she will come over and stand on top of it trying to figure out what’s interesting. If I stop too long she’ll get bored and start jumping on me to encourage me to move on. (It works)

This Wednesday there were puddles
Water Dog

While the dog bounded with joy, I plodded at a more sluggish pace, and I started to think about the runs I had done so far that week. Sunday I’d gone 24 miles, Tuesday 34 and today about 10. Friday I intended another 20 miles and then Saturday about 12.

Hunh. That added up to 100 miles in a week. I don’t often (only once before I think) get in 100 miles in a week. I was pleased.

When I got home I noticed that Monica had posted a “stupid week” challenge on Facebook, trying to get people to do 100 miles in a week.

Now I know that 100 miles a week isn’t a challenge for some people, it’s normal training for elite runners. And many of my friends have even run 100 miles in a day. But I am not an elite runner, nor have I ever finished a 100 mile race, so 100 miles in a week is challenge enough.

I mentioned this to Rusty and he was unimpressed. I’d done 100 miles in a week before. He said if I really wanted a challenge I should do two consecutive 100 mile weeks. Mmmm … OK.

First week
Date Route Mileage Tot
Sun 18 Dec Cold Spring and Gibraltar trails beyond Mercury Mine 24.5 M 24
Tue 20 Dec Camuesa Canyon Rd. to Mono (via Little Caliente) 34.3 M 58
Wed 21 Dec Home to More Mesa 10 M 68
Fri 23 Dec Romero to Blue Canyon (via Big Caliente) 32.6 M 100
Sat 24 Dec Home to More Mesa 11 M 111

On Sunday I ran out to Gibraltar Reservoir (starting on Mountain Dr. and taking Cold Spring trail out to Gibraltar Trail). Now in recent years this has meant running out to the Mercury Mine, but this year no water was visible at the mine
Dry Reservoir
and I had to run another mile and a quarter before I could see any water in the reservoir. So I went a little longer than I intended. This took about 7:15 hours.

On Tuesday I decided to take advantage of the recently reopened Rey Fire burn area. There’s a road which goes from Lower Oso to Romero. I’ve run bits of it but never the whole thing. The whole road is too long to do as an out and back (50~60 miles round trip), but I could add another section. So I started at Lower Oso and ran out to Mono (at the end of Cold Spring trail). Only I couldn’t start at Lower Oso because the ford at First Crossing is currently flooded. So I started at First Crossing and ran to Lower Oso and then ran Mono. And, of course, if you’re going to Mono you might as well detour to Little Caliente Spring, it only adds about two miles to the route…

Camuesa Valley after the Rey Fire

Camuesa Valley after the Rey Fire

I seemed to be running faster than I expected, so as I got closer to the end I ran faster and faster. I ran the last mile and a half at a 7 minute pace (which is pretty good at the end of a 34 mile run. Good for me anyway). This took 5:35 hours.

On Wednesdays I take the dog out to More Mesa. The run is anywhere from 10~12 miles depending on where I go (the dog probably goes twice as far).

On the 17th I had intended to drive out to Cachuma Saddle and run to McKinnley Peak — but I flew back from my aunt’s 100th birthday on the 16th and got stuck in Chicago for 8 hours and got in too late, so I postponed that adventure until Friday. Only on Friday it was supposed to rain more than an inch. And somehow I did not relish being on a 6000ft peak in a pouring rain (or snow) storm. So, I once again postponed that route.

Instead I decided to do the rest of Camuesa road. I started at Romero trailhead and ran up the old fire road to the top, then down the fire road to the Santa Ynez river, across the river and out to Pendola. Once I got to Pendola I decided to detour out to Big Caliente Spring (I’d never been there before, it only added 5 miles) and then ran from Pendola to where Blue Canyon trail hit the road, then up Blue Canyon trail (across the Santa Ynez) to Romero trail, up the trail and down till I hit the fireroad, and then down that. This would complete the road as I had already run the section of road from Blue Canyon to Mono.

There was water in the river where the road forded it…
The rain was supposed to start heavily around 12 and I wanted to be across the Santa Ynez (at Blue Canyon) before then — just in case. I felt a few sprinkles around 10 out at Big Caliente, so I hurried, but they stopped. When I got to Blue Canyon trail the “River” looked as dry as it ever does.
Dry Riverbed
There was no water in any of the “stream” crossings along Blue Canyon either. When I got to the top of Romero I was starting to worry that the rain was a hoax, but as I came down the trail it started raining, and then rained hard.

This route took me 6:20 hours.

Camuesa Runs

Camuesa Runs (click to see enlarged map)

On Saturdays I usually take the dog up to Inspiration, but after Friday’s rain I figured Jesusita would be too muddy. So she (the dog) got to go out to More Mesa again. I think she prefers More Mesa (though I don’t). There were even more puddles this time!

Second week
Date Route Mileage Tot
Sun 25 Dec Romero to Divide Peak 35.7 M 35
Tue 27 Dec First Crossing to Santa Cruz Station 38.3 M 73
Wed 28 Dec Home to Inspiration 12.2 M 85
Thu 29 Dec Cold Spring to Santa Ynez River 16.5 M 101
Sat 31 Dec Home to More Mesa 10 M 111
Sat 31 Dec New Year’s Eve sunset beach run 6 M 117

For many years I have done a long run on Christmas Day. It’s a great time to run, there’s no one else out. The weather tends to allow for long runs, and there aren’t many flowers to slow me down. I had intended to run out to Little Pine (by fireroad, the front of Santa Cruz trail is a mess that only Ken Hughes dares to run), and see what the back side of the trail is like — since the fire didn’t burn much on the back side I hoped that section would be passable. But when it rained a lot Friday I didn’t want to deal with muddy landslides (dry landslides might be OK). So… I decided to run out to Divide Peak instead.

I’ve never been all the way to Divide Peak (which is approximately at the Ventura/SB county line and is at the (effective) end of Camino Cielo). The furthest I’ve gone is the top of Franklin Trail.

I ran up Romero Rd again (It took me 3 minutes longer to get to the top than it had on Friday; my legs were getting tired). There was snow visible from the saddle!
Then down the backside to the intersection with Divide Peak road, and out that. Passed Island View trail, passed Franklin Trail… and then the road got really bad… another 3~4 miles took me to Divide Peak.

Divide Peak with Lake Casitas visible in the distance (right) and snow (left)

Divide Peak with Lake Casitas visible in the distance (right)

This route took 8:35 hours, I was tired, and the road was poor.

On Tuesday I finally ran down to Santa Cruz Station. Now I knew that the front side of Santa Cruz trail had been trashed by the Rey fire, but there were large stretches of it that were fine, so I hoped that the back side (where there was less fire) would be fine. I was wrong.

Last week at First Crossing it was possible to avoid getting my feet wet by taking the River trail to Oso. After the rain on Friday the channel had shifted and the River trail was either under water or mud. So I went across the ford.

There was frost on the ground. That water was cold. My feet felt frozen for the next two miles.

I took Camuesa to Buckhorn to Little Pine Rd. to Happy Hollow. Happy Hollow did not look happy.
happy hollow
Nor did the top of Little Pine
little pine summit
The Zaca fire tore through here 9 years ago, and the Rey fire came through in August. Nine years is not long enough to recover. There are poppy forbs growing in the ground, and the grass is returning, but the trees…

At Alexander Saddle there used to be a stand of white-flowered currants (most of our currants are pink, this was the only stand of the white species I knew of). Just sticks are left.
White Flowered Currants

Going down Santa Cruz trail wasn’t bad at first and I got hopeful that it would all be clear … but after a tenth of a mile I came upon the landslide. It was almost unbroken for half a mile. No sign of trail anywhere. Not as bad as the front side — I did not feel I would fall to my death, but I did slip frequently. I needed both hands and feet to clamber across.
Santa Cruz Trail, back side of Little Pine

But after that half mile things were fine. The trail emerged from the burn area and wasn’t much worse than usual (no one’s been on it for 3 months so it’s a bit more overgrown). Little Pine Spring appeared unaffected.

I filled up with water at Santa Cruz creek, and forded it. Wet feet again, but at least the day was warmer now.

I took the fire road out of the Station (I didn’t want to deal with the trail again), FS 6N14. I’ve never taken the road before. I’m not sure I ever will again. It’s four miles straight up. It’s not runable. Not by me after 20 miles anyway. It was also surprisingly hot. It took forever.

Eventually it reached Buckhorn Rd. I ran the next (last) 12 miles in under 2 hours.

I took my shoes off at first crossing, and drove home barefoot.

Total time 8:43 hours.

On Wednesday I took the dog for her run.

I conduct a small experiment before each run… I leave a carrot on my front steps. The dog likes carrots. Normally the dog is so excited by the idea of a run that she will ignore the carrot until we return. She’s not unaware of it (she usually runs over it) and she goes directly to it at the end, but running is just more important (at the start).

Today for the first time, she picked up the carrot. She didn’t eat it, but she carried it around the yard as she ran in excited circles. Finally she dropped it at the front gate and let me put her leash on. As always she went right to it when we got back.

Thursday I ran Cold Spring trail out to the Santa Ynez river. The river isn’t a river here yet. There was some frost heave underfoot, but no puddles of water visible.
Santa Ynez River

Friday Cynthia took me hiking up to see the Gaviota Wind Caves, and on beyond. Or that was the plan. Actually it started raining just as we reached the first cave, so we stopped there and waited it out. Squalls had blown in and out earlier and we assumed this one would pass quickly, but we waited almost an hour.

I quoted Pooh: “It rained, and it rained, and it rained”, and went on to describe how the Wild Woozles who lived at the East Pole took the fur off Pooh’s legs to make their nests…
Wind Cave

Eventually it let up and we proceeded. We passed another set of caves, and just beyond them found (what I believe to be) a Purissima Manzanita.
Purissima Manzanita
This has a CNPS ranking of 1.B1 which is as endangered as you can get without being presumed extinct.

But here it started to rain again, and we decided to call it a day. We’d only hiked a mile in, and it wasn’t a run, so it doesn’t really add to my mileage for the week (but it was neat).

On Saturday I took the dog out to More Mesa again. As usual the dog ignored her carrot at the start, and we took off at a gallop.

It started raining.

This did not deter the dog, it just meant she got muddy. Come to that it didn’t deter me either, though it did make the mesa muddy and that was a bit of an issue.

On the way home the dog found a bone. A rib bone. She was very interested in the bone. Eventually I persuaded her that she could run and carry the bone at the same time. It was only about 2 miles at this point. But sometimes she’d try to chew rather than carry and the bone would slip and we’d have to stop to pick it up again. We came home a bit more slowly that usual. About half a mile from home she spit out the bone and ignored it. Perhaps she was thinking of the carrot waiting for her…

Saturday evening we had our annual New Year’s Eve beach run. And that ended my fortnight.
Daniel & Stephanie

Expected Rainfall… or why you shouldn’t use the mean or standard deviation

November 17, 2016

How much rain do we usually get?

There are three common answers to this: the mean (average), the median (halfway point) and the mode (most common). For a “normal distribution” these three are all the same, but in the case of Santa Barbara’s yearly rainfall they are not.

Mean 18.0 inches
Median 15.3 inches
Mode 13.4 inches

Let us look at the rainfall distribution pattern for Santa Barbara. Here I use the horizontal axis to displaying the number of inches of rain that fell in a year (rounded down to the nearest inch) against the count of the number of years that had that much rain. (These data are available from the county public works department.)

rainfall distribution

Santa Barbara’s historical rainfall data stretches back (patchily) to 1868. All in all there are 145 years of data (as of Nov 2016).

The Mode

The first problem with using the mode is calculating it. SB’s yearly rainfall is reported in hundredths of an inch. This level of precision means it is extremely unlikely that any two years will have exactly the same amount of rainfall, so there is no amount that occurs most frequently.

That, of course, is easily solved by dropping precision and just looking at the number of inches that fell in a year (as I have done in the graph above). But there’s a hidden problem with this method. I lumped years together by having a series of intervals that start at 0. But suppose I started at .5 inches instead? If this were a normal distribution that wouldn’t make much difference, but here…

rainfall distribution offset

The distribution looks quite different now. That tends to argue against the utility of the mode.

Probably if I had several thousands of years of data (and the climate didn’t change in that period) much of this variation would smooth out. But I’ve only got 145 years, and the climate is so variable that this isn’t enough.

Now let’s compare our actual distribution to a normal distribution centered on the mode and with a standard deviation set to the square root of the variation about the mode.


They do not look alike. Part of the problem is that there can never be less than no rain, but the normal distribution acts is if there could be. The variation less than the mode is much less than the variation above the mode (a range of 9 inches below, but 35 inches above).

The mechanism I choose to calculate the mode is to create a series of bins, each one inch wide and offset from one another by .1 inches. So the first bin would count all years that had between [0,1) inches, the second bin [.1,1.1), and so forth. Clearly any give year will end up in 10 bins rather than just one (but that’s fine). Then I look for the bin with the most number of years. This method suggests that the mode is at 13.4 inches — or in the bin counting years where the rainfall was between [12.9,13.9) inches.

But this does not produce stable results. Below is a graph showing the mean (blue), median (green), mode (red) of accumulated rainfall as the year progresses (rain years in Santa Barbara start in September).
Mean, Median, Mode (year to date)
(Click on the graph to see a more legible version)

The mean describes a very smooth curve. The median has small bumps, but is pretty smooth. On the other hand the mode dances all over the place with a 10 inch jump in April – from 18 inches down to 8.

Again if I had a much larger sample, presumably these fluctuations would calm a bit, but for the noisy mid-sized dataset I have available the mode does not provide a useful tool.

The Mean

The average is what we usually think of as the best metric for looking at the mid-point of a distribution. But with Santa Barbara’s rainfall it doesn’t work very well.

Because we occasionally get 45+ inches of rain this distorts the mean in a way that is not useful when trying to figure out what a normal year looks like. In fact about 61% of years have less rainfall than the average, which makes the average seem rather unusual.

The Standard Deviation

The standard deviation is defined as the square root of the variation about the mean (or as the variation about the point which minimizes the variation — which happens to be the mean).

As the mean isn’t useful to us, one might presume that the standard deviation is also not much use.

However that’s to some extent a question of semantics, we could examine the square root of the variation about the median instead.

Here we once again bump up against the asymmetry of our distribution. There is simply more variation above the median than there is below. Calculating the square root of the variation for rainfall below the median gives a value of 4.5 inches, while that above the median is 11.6, and the combined value is 8.8.

So perhaps we should look at negative and positive variation about the median instead of one combined number?
pos/neg variation about median
(the median is the dark green line, the light green solid lines show the positive and negative “standard deviation”s from the median, and the dashed lines show percentiles)

The negative 1 “standard deviation” line tracks close to the 15th percentile, and the positive 1 “standard deviation line tracks close to the 85th percentile. In a normal distribution the 1 standard deviation lines should track the 15.9th percentile and the 84.1th percentile. So my peculiar definition seems as if would describe the variations of this distribution comparably to the standard definition for a normal distribution.

But it’s so complicated to explain and use, that for most purposes using the median with percentile lines is probably better.

A better viewpoint

My friend Dave suggested looking at the logarithms of the rainfall to see if that revealed a better pattern. And it does.
It still isn’t perfect, but the mean and median have moved closer together and the standard deviation is similar on both sides of the mean. The mode is still in the wrong place for a normal distribution.

Mean 16.3 inches
Median 15.3 inches
Mode 13.5 inches

Rey Fire Closure

September 11, 2016

I went for a run out to Mono today, thinking I might run along Camuesa Rd a bit to see if I could reach the edge of the burn area for the Rey Fire. And, of course, I checked with Inciweb and the Los Padres website beforehand to see if there were any closures I needed to worry about. Both of these list a closure order for the Rey Fire that went into effect 25 August and “The order will expire when the Rey Fire is fully contained and controlled.”
° Los Padres
° Inciweb
Containment was officially achieved on Monday 5 Sept.
° Rey Fire, Final Update (Inciweb)

Therefore it seemed to me that there were no bars to examining the Rey Fire.

However when I reached the end of Cold Spring trail (about 20ft from the Mono parking lot). I found this sign.
Closure Sign
Now Mono is about 2 miles from the Rey Fire so even if there were a closure I did not expect Mono to be involved.

So I looked harder and found something else:
° Closure order (Inciweb)
Which claims the area will be closed until 1 Dec 2016.

So DAMN IT if it’s closed until December why claim all over the place that it opens on 5 September?

Take care of the sounds…

September 8, 2016

Louis Carroll’s advice for writing poetry was “Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.” (An adaption of an earlier phase: “Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves).

But sometimes I have no sense to take care of.

I was out running the other day and noticed that although it was pleasantly cool in the shade it was rather hot in the sun. And a little rhyme popped into my head: “The sun is hot, the air is not.”

I posted this of FB and my brother asked for the rest of the poem.

Of course there was none.

But I went on another run to figure it out. Cot, dot, got, jot, lot… and then Aeroflot popped into my mind.

The sun is hot,
The air is not.
I seem to think that quite a lot
I should fly on Aeroflot.

So that was the first verse of the rest of the poem. Bit like some styles of improv. Take care of the sounds and the nonsense will take care of itself!

But at this point a little sense had to creep in too.

Fly to where the sun is cool,

Um… boules, fool, ghoul, joule, moules, mule! rule, stool

Fly to where the sun is cool,
There I’ll buy a lovely mule.
Hop it up upon a stool,
Bind its legs to make it drool.

Then the question was what to do with the mule or the drool, or even the stool. Well, I could catch the drool in a pail and see where that lead.

Catch the drool within a pail
Add the gris of one big whale
With a little bit of ale
Bind with mucus from a snail
Stir it with an iron nail.

Ale might cause it to ferment into… well into cheese.

Hang it high within the trees
Churn it up to make some cheese
Then I will be at my ease
Won’t you join me, if you please?

But you can’t just ask someone over for cheese, you’d want at least crackers too. What kind of cheese sort of drools?

Crackers now for droolly brie

Probably a drink too. “Tea”. Of course.

When it’s steeped I’ll serve mule tea

I suspect these substances won’t smell too good. Best keep them downwind.

Set them down well to the lee,
Then a toast to you and me!

But the tea had to come from somewhere… I need a new verse. I guess half the drool goes to make tea, and half to make brie. I can’t put it in a pail, but I could use a hat. Suess has a cat in a hat. Carroll has a “grin without a cat”. Macbeth’s witches use “something of bat.” Slices of lemon traditionally go with tea. And tea needs to steep…

Some for this and some for that
Half the drool goes in a hat.
Pinch of tea and grin of cat.
Lemon slice and what of bat.
Let it steep upon a mat.

The name of the poem was going to be “Mule Drool Cheese”, but at this point it seemed more appropriate to call it “Mule Drool Tea” (in the sense of a meal that could include both tea and brie). But perhaps I should call the name Whale Ale Tale

Let’s see…
When the run was over I put it all together and saw it needed some revision. (Well, I’d been revising all along, but it was easier to see what needed it now with it all spread out in one place (I don’t know how Homer managed)). I needed to look up Macbeth to find what of bat went into the cauldron…

Mule Drool Tea

The sun is hot
The air is not.
I seem to think that quite a lot
I should fly on Aeroflot.

Fly to where the sun is cool,
There I’ll buy a lovely mule.
Hop it up upon a stool,
Bind its legs to make it drool.

Drool for this and drool for that
Half the drool goes in a hat.
Pinch of tea and grin of cat.
Lemon slice and wool of bat.
Let it steep upon a mat.

Rest goes in a nice big pail
Add a little bit of ale
Bind with mucus from a snail
Stir it with an iron nail.

Set it out to catch a breeze
Churn it up to make some cheese
Soon you’ll find me at my ease
Won’t you join me, if you please?

Now all’s done I’ll serve mule tea
Crackers too, for droolly brie.
Set them down well to the lee,
Then a toast to you and me!

Anyone for tea?

On my next run, a few days later…

The sun is hot
The air is not.
I seem to think that quite a lot
I should fly on Aeroflot.

Far away where sun’s in fog,
Shall I find a droolly dog?
Just to take him on a jog.
Bet he’ll leap right in a bog.

Then to chase a spotted skunk
Doesn’t care that he’s been stunk
But it sends me in a funk
Back to bog for a new dunk?

Muddy paws and skunky trace,
Dog leaps up to lick my face.
Dog thinks this is heaven’s grace,
I react with some distaste.

Hydrogen per oxygen
Soda and then detergen
Wash the dog within his den
Dry him out and smell him then
Skunky smell is there again.

Next time shall I bring a leash?
Make frogs safe within their niche.

High Shoals Falls

August 12, 2016

It had rained hard the night before, but by 11 it was partly sunny and I persuaded my brother and his family to go hiking with me for a picnic at High Shoals Falls. None of us had ever been there, but it was close enough and was supposed to be impressive. So we bundled into the car and drove off.

The trail is off Indian Grave Gap Road, a dirt forest service track not far from Unicoi Gap.

The road was a bit more run down than I had anticipated. First we had to ford High Shoals Creek, and then go up a rutted road for a mile or so.

It also proved more popular than I had anticipated and the small parking area was full, so we parked at the side of the road and walked back. It began to spit rain as we walked, but too lightly to worry about.

The trail itself is only a mile or so long, rather steeply downhill.

It began to rain harder, but we decided to press on.

After a quarter mile or so we were in a deluge and we turned and went back.

By the time we reached the highway it had, of course, stopped. I considered turning back, but I was soaked and it just didn’t appeal.

The next morning I decided to try it differently. I couldn’t face asking people to go again. I set out alone to Unicoi Gap, and ran up Rocky Mountain, and down the trail to Indian Grave Gap Rd. and then down the road to the trail head.

No rain this day. Fewer cars too.

On the way down I found some Lungwort Lichen, which I’d never seen before.

There are actually two waterfalls on the trail. The first is Blue Hole Falls (the water drops into a deep pool which is supposed to be blue, though it did not look so to me). Clicking on the image below loads a video.
Blue Hole Falls

Not far beyond that is High Shoals Falls itself
High Shoals Falls

When I researched the trail I read something on the net from the Atlanta Trails group, but I also read a 40 year old trail guide of my father’s. This guide indicated that the trail made a loop, and at the trail head there had indeed been two trails, so I took a side trail that I hoped would lead back to the start.

It didn’t. It lead me to someone’s back yard. Oops.

I turned back, and passed a blooming Rhododendron. This is surprising, because I think of them as blooming in June.

When I got back to the trailhead I took the other route, but it was clearly not maintained and soon degenerated into nothing. Oh well. Best not to rely on 40 year old trail guides.

I ran back up the road and found an interesting Yellow Fringed Orchid, which I don’t believe I’ve seen before.

At Indian Grave Gap itself I turned back onto the appalachian trail to run up to the top of Tray Mtn. and back down to Unicoi Gap.

Flowers on Nine Trails

March 25, 2016

My best guess for the flowers on the Nine Trails course tomorrow…


Dichelostemma capitatum
blue dicks



Toxicoscordion fremontii
Star Lily



Avena barbata
Slender Wild Oat



Torilis arvensis
Field Hedge Parsley

Sanicula arguta
Sharp-Toothed Sanicle

Sanicula crassicaulis
Pacific Sanicle

Apiastrum angustifolium
Wild Celery

Tauschia arguta
southern tauscia



Cotula australis
Southern Brass Buttons

Matricaria discoidea
pineapple weed

Baccharis salicifolia

Logfia filaginoides
California Cottonrose

Pseudognaphalium biolettii
twocolor cudweed

Bidens pilosa
Beggar’s ticks

All year
Encelia californica
Bush sunflower

All year
Venegasia carpesioides
canyon sunflower

All year
Senecio vulgaris
Old man of Spring

Centaurea solstitialis
Yellow star thistle

S. asper
Prickly sow-thistle

Uropappus lindleyi
Silver Puffs



Sambucus nigra-caerulea
Blue Elderberry

All year


Vinca major

All year


Galium porrigens
graceful bedstraw



Stachys rigida

Salvia mellifera
black sage

Salvia spathacea



Fraxinus dipetala
Flowering Ash



Castilleja foliolosa
Woolly Indian Paintbrush



Mimulus aurantiacus
sticky monkeyflower



Antirrhinum kelloggii
climbing snapdragon

Collinsia heterophylla
Chinese Houses



Scrophularia californica
California Figwort



Calystegia macrostegia
Coastal Morning Glory

All year


Solanum douglasii
white nightshade

All year
Solanum xanti
purple nightshade

All year


Amsinckia menziesii
common Fiddleneck

Cryptantha sp.

Eriodictyon crassifolium
Bicolored Yerba Santa

Eucrypta chrysanthemifolia
spotted hideseed

Phacelia grandiflora
large flowered phacelia

Phacelia viscida-albiflora
white Sticky Phacelia

Pholistoma auritum
fiesta flower



Mentzelia micrantha



Arctostaphylos glandulosa
Eastwood manzanita

Comarostaphylis diversifolia
Summer Holly



Gilia capitata
Globe gilia

Leptodactylon californicum



Ribes speciosum
Fuchsia-flowered gooseberry



Lithophragma cymbalaria
Mission Star

Micranthes californica
California Saxifrage



Chenopodium murale
Nettle-leaved goosefoot



Stellaria media



Calandrinia menziesii

Claytonia perfoliata
miner’s lettuce



Mirabilis laevis
Wishbone bush



Brassica nigra
black mustard

Capsella bursa-pastoris
Shepherd’s purse

Cardamine californica
milk maids

Cardamine oligosperma

Caulanthus lasiophyllus
California mustard

Hirschfeldia incana
Summer Mustard

All year
Sisymbrium officinale
Hedge Mustard

Thysanocarpus curvipes
Fringe Pod



Erodium botrys
long-beaked storksbill

Erodium cicutarium
Red-stemmed storksbill

Geranium dissectum
cut-leaved geranium



Helianthemum scoparium
Common Rush-Rose

All year


C. hirtella
Hairy suncup

Eulobus californicus
California suncup



Rhus integrifolia
Lemonade Berry

Toxicodendron diversilobum
poison oak



Marah fabaceus
common manroot

Marah macrocarpus



Lathyrus vestitus
common pacific pea

Lupinus hirsutissimus
stinging lupine

Lupinus nanus
sky lupine

Lupinus succulentus
arroyo lupine

Acmispon glaber

All year
Acmispon grandiflorus
Chaparral lotus

Acmispon maritimus
Coastal Lotus

Medicago polymorpha
Bur Clover

Melilotus indicus
yellow sweet clover



Quercus agrifolia
Coast live oak



Ceanothus spinosus

Ceanothus thyrsiflorus
Blue Bush

Rhamnus crocea
Spiny Redberry

Rhamnus ilicifolia
Holly-leaved Redberry



Cercocarpus betuloides
Mountain Mahogany

Prunus ilicifolia
Holly-leaved cherry

Rubus ursinus
california blackberry



Ricinus communis
Castor bean

All year


Oxalis corniculata
Yellow Sorrel

Oxalis pes-caprae



Dendromecon rigida
Bush poppy

All year
Eschscholzia caespitosa
Tufted Poppy

Fumaria parviflora
fine leaved fumitory



Clematis lasiantha
wild clematis

Delphinium parryi
purple larkspur

Ranunculus californicus
California Buttercup

Thalictrum fendleri
Fendler’s Meadow-rue



California Asterella


Coastal Wood Fern


California Polypody


Giant Chain Fern
California Aligator Lizard


Variable Checkerspot


Western Tiger Swallowtail


Pacific Banana Slug

The Waterfall on Gidney Creek

March 9, 2016

Gidney Creek has its headwaters near the little bench on the backside of Cold Spring trail (the one about half a mile down from Camino Cielo with the watertrough beside it). Gidney flows down, roughly parallel to the trail until Forbush Camp at which point it turns west, out of my ken and eventually flows into Gibraltar Reservoir just east of the back side of Gibraltar Rd.

Forbush sits on a divide and on a wet enough day there’s a little spring in the meadow, perhaps 100 yards from Gidney but which flows east down Forbush Canyon to Cottam meadow where it merges with Blue Creek. It’s kind of neat to see a place where two different watersheds diverge.

Gidney Map

Perhaps two thirds of the way down to Forbush there’s a spot where you can turn and look back up the canyon, and if you are lucky you’ll see a waterfall. This doesn’t happen very often, there must be a good flow down Gidney Creek, and I hadn’t seen it for years.

But I saw it yesterday.

There was water flowing near the bench, and I could hear the stream intermittently as I ran downhill, so when I got to the magic spot I turned and looked back and there it was.

It’s hard to get a good look at it because you can’t even see it except at this one spot, and you’re fairly far away there. It’s even harder to take a good picture because, looking north, you are always looking into the sun, and because the waterfall itself is in a shaded nook surrounded by sun.

Maybe if I had a stronger zoom and could get rid of the bright background… But that camera is too heavy to run with.



I ran on down to the Grotto, and then back. The waterfall was still flowing, and I thought what a pity it was not to be able to take a better picture (at this hour the view was even worse because there was more light nearby but still none on the falls.

As I plodded up the trail I was tempted to go down to the creek and look at the falls from close up. After all, who knew when they’d next be running? Eventually I got to the place on the trail which I estimated to be about the closest I could get to the falls.

I cast about and found a spot where there was an opening in the brush and plunged down.

According to my GPS the horizontal distance between the place I left the trail and the creekbed where I ended up is about 65 meters (as the rock plummets). The vertical distance is about 100 meters (take this with a grain of salt, GPS altitudes are not very accurate). Or about a 50° incline on average. It’s steep.

For a while the open space continued, but then the chaparral closed in. Chaparral has lots of tough wiry branches that tangle up with each other. In theory there’s an open space underneath, but not here — too close to the creek probably.

Oh, and it looks as if about half the wiry branches are actually poison oak vines. I don’t usually worry much about poison oak, but then I don’t usually push through thickets of the stuff either.

The chaparral liked my cap too, and kept pulling it off my head. Eventually I just carried it in my hand (which meant one hand less for climbing with).

After I’d been going for a while I realized that I was being stupid. If I had an accident no one would ever find me down here. Cold Spring trail is fairly well traveled (even the back side) and there were people camped at Forbush, so if I had problems on trail someone would find me, but no one would come down here.

Still, I was more than halfway down. It seemed a shame not to continue now.

I ended up about 10 feet above the stream with a fairly vertical drop to reach it. I decided to leave my cap on the rock here while I turned all my hands to climbing. If going down was difficult, how was I going to get up? I decided to ignore that question.

I managed to slither down in one piece.

It took about 15 minutes to cover those 65 meters.

The stream was in a deep channel with closed canopy forest above it. It began to seem unlikely that I’d actually be able to see the waterfall from this angle… but having come so far (or at least having spent so much effort to move such a short distance) it seemed silly not to go and look.

The going was easier now, no plants to hold me back, but the rocks beside the stream were slippery and the stream was steep. I was below the waterfall and had another few decameters to go upstream.


If I had been willing to sit still, it would have been pretty.

Eventually I could see the falls peeping through the trees


And finally I pulled myself into the open area around the falls. A little shallow pool. A very thin stream of water, but it looked an impressive drop. Hmm.

I wonder…

This cascade seems awfully well screened by trees, perhaps it’s not the fall I saw from the trail, maybe there’s another one right above it?

But I have absolutely no interest in trying to climb higher. This cascade is quite enough for me.


I turn back.

Looking, essentially down, the way back looks steep. And slippery.


But I manage it, though I do worry a little about finding my route up again. And even that I find eventually.

I go a little below the precipitous drop I took on the way down and find an alternate route up.

I recover my hat.

I follow my footsteps up for a while, but after a bit I lose them. Oh well, I just have to push my way up, I can’t really get lost.

Eventually I reach a spot where I can see, and find the trail to my left and below me, so now I head downward (through a poison oak tangle) and eventually reach the trail.

I’m glad I saw that waterfall, but I don’t think I need to do that ever again.

Next time I ran the trail, nine days later, the waterfall had gone.GidNoFall