CondoRealty

Location! Location! Location! Check out that sweet archway! And the lovely front porch! The inhabitants of this nest cave sure have it made.

Out of the Loop

So returning to civilization (or, well, Fillmore) after three days of non-contact with the digital world was ... strange, to say the least. Checking in with my parents from the parking lot of the Vons in town there, I was inundated with the news I'd missed. And apparently, it was big. Like, tsunami in Japan big. Like United States sort of in a war with Libya big.

It was a little like Austin Powers watching 30 years' worth of historical events after emerging from cryogenesis. A little.

A tiny mouse just came careening out of my bedroom, probably feeling guilty for leaving tiny mouse poops on my sleeping bag. Now that I know they can get up here, I'm terrified of them crawling on my face while I sleep. Yuck. Also of Hanta virus.

I'm back at Hopper now. After another sunrise hike up to the Agua Blanca OP, I met Geoff back at camp around noon to hike back to the car. 8 (or was it 9) river crossings later, we were on our way back to Fillmore. Of course, at the very end of my hike down from the OP (literally, the last five feet of the trail) I slipped and fell hard on a rock. Like, cartoon-style where you hang, mid-air, for a moment before crashing down to the ground. The back of my right thigh is a study in muted blues and vibrant purples already. Geoff and I stopped for Starbucks back in Fillmore (free red velvet whoopie pie? Why, don't mind if I do!) then he headed on to the Ventura Office, while I made a pit stop at the grocery store for banana bread ingredients.

I brought the entire forest back in my hair.

Back at the Ranch House, I took a long, long-awaited shower. After, mid-baking banana bread, I was shocked to hear the front door opening (I thought I was going to be alone). However, rather than the axe-murdering bear zombie my overactive imagination helpfully supplied, it was Jan, one of the volunteers. Turns out, she's been with the program since 1976 and knows basically everything there is to know about the condor and its controversial history. I spent the evening listening to her stories. Looking forward to learning more from her.

Tomorrow, headed out to Big Meadows to look for a new nest cave.

Apparently, it's also Daylight Savings?

Well, I *somehow* managed to survive today. (Way to be overdramatic, Angela). Hey, some of my worries were not completely unwarranted. I did sort of lose my way through the river early in the morning. I didn't actually get there by sunrise: I kept glancing behind me at the rock wall opposite with apprehension as the golden glow of sunlight painted an ever-advancing swath down the mountain. Only halfway up to the OP, I could see the line was nearly at the smiley face caves, in whose mouth this particular condor pair had nested. By the time I reached my clandestine bush, it had ten minutes since illuminated the cavernous grin.

Smile for the camera!

Not only was the hike itself a beast but I don't think I got more than 45 minutes of uninterrupted sleep last night. It may have been nerves--knowing I had to get up at 5 am and not knowing if either of my two alarms would work--it may have been the hourly beeping of my watch, or it may have been the unfamiliar sounds of animals scurrying around in the surrounding leaf litter, and the fear that each one may be the approaching footsteps of a bear, come to investigate my cucumber-scented toiletries.

Let's hope tomorrow morning proves to be more successful.

Once I was up at the OP, I traded one set of stresses for another. It may not seem hard but trying to accurately capture the condors' behavior to the second, your eye glued to a scope, is not the easiest thing. My notes from today are, correspondingly, a disaster. Again: better luck tomorrow.

I was joined midway through the day by Santa Barbara Zoo girls Molly and Ria. They proved to be excellent company. Ria proceeded to tell us riddles and stories throughout the afternoon, one of whose punchlines ("Better Nate than Lever") still makes me giggle just thinking about it. They were up there to observe Joseph's nest entry, which was terrifying to watch. But seeing him up there, a giant in the tiny cave, while the male eyed him threateningly from a few feet away, I have to admit I was a little envious of his vantage point.

Towards the end of the afternoon, once Molly and Ria had left, my brain started to go just a little crazy, what with all the eye-to-scoping. The male condor, for example, started to look like he was wearing sunglasses. Yeah. I was tired. Luckily, Geoff came up to relieve me, and I hiked back down to camp.

Joe Condor

Now it's like 8 pm and I'm tucking into bed, for lack of anything better to do. Sweet dreams to me ...

... Please!

Gone Campin'

Some of those old fears have settled in. That afraid of the dark fear. That unidentifiable noises fear. That unseen things crawling on my body fear. That red eyes glowing at the window fear (at least that one I can chalk up to the radio towers across from my house growing up). That I can't do this fear.

I am in a tent. I am in a sleeping bag that smells like someone else. I am in Agua Blanca, near Lake Piru, out of radio contact. Outside it is frog-loud and I can hear rustlings around me. Beneath the frog chorus is the sound of the river that cuts up through this canyon. Geoff's tent is nearby. I have a can of bear spray next to my head. Tomorrow I have to hike in darkness up to the OP, which is perched precariously in a bush atop a nearly sheer rock face, up which I will have to scramble. I did it once today and it nearly killed me.

Of all the things that scare me though--bears and rattlesnake bites and mountain lions and falling down and falling in rivers and twisted ankles and Lyme disease--I think I am most afraid of being incompetent. Of doing this all wrong. I am supposed to be at the OP for sunrise. What if my alarm doesn't go off? What if I take too long? What if I don't take the right notes? What if I do it all wrong?

Oh, go to bed Angela.

River Crossing 101

To get to the campsite at Agua Blanca requires more than one river crossing (try eleven). Most are through relatively shallow waters with some conveniently-placed stepping stones. However, two river crossings proved more perilous, the water fast and waist-deep. When crossing alone, Geoff explained, it was best to err on the side of caution. Walking sticks are a plus. Always unhook your backpack from your person.

When crossing with two people, you can do a kind of awkward two-step to ensure that neither of you are swept away. Begin by placing both of your hands on the other person's shoulders; the other person does likewise. Wade into the river. Only one person moves at a time, while the other acts as the anchor. The moving person shuffles in a semi-circle from one side of the anchor to the other. They then become the anchor while the previous anchor begins the semi-circle to the other side of the anchor. In this fashion, you may both reach the other side safely. 

(Angela's note: avoid wearing flip-flops when crossing rivers. One of them will get sucked into the current and you will never see it again.)

Pucker up!

Western toad (Bufo boreas) that Geoff found in the road