In the Land of the Condor

Huge farms lined Route 101 in the valley between mountain ranges.
At Mission Nuestra Senora de la Soledad, built in 1791, two men recorded radar images of whatever archaeological remains lay buried in the mission yard. One man explained, "Those are really ancient stones on the surface. I'm photographing that from our grid line, and we'll do a radar image with sound of what is under here."
"We're hiking in the land of the condor," said Andy, as we set out on his planned excursion for the day at Pinnacles National Monument. "Take pictures, but don't take so long. I don't want to get caught in the rain." A line of gray collected over the coastal range, but we saw only blue sky in the Gabilans. From Chaparral Ranger Station we climbed Juniper Canyon Trail, up 1,300 feet to Scout Peak, along the steep and narrow section of High Peaks Trail to Hawkins Peak, and down Tunnel Trail to the intersection with Juniper Canyon. In sections at the top, more than 150 steps had been chipped into the granite face. I grabbed the metal banister and held on for dear life. Andy, prodding gently, coaxing and complimenting, talked me through the worst areas. It wasn't as though the trail sur-prised me. We had clambered and crawled through the Pinnacles twice before--spectacular rock spires and crags that bear no resemblance to the surrounding smooth, round hills. Part of the San Andreas Rift Zone, the Pinnacles are actually part of the remains of an ancient volcano some 195 miles to the southeast. This unspoiled wilderness features sheer rock walls, ragged cliff edges, dark and quiet caves and ancient California coastal oaks.

Three hours and 4.4 miles of physical exertion and demanding concentration later, Andy said, "We did it! Yesterday I thought we'd be rained out."

I agreed; it felt good, and I never complained. Not a whit! We had scaled the pinnacles of the condor.
The Mission chapel and museum were open as we drove back towards Soledad. Spanish guitar played softly in the plaza, where roses still blossomed and trees heavily laden with oranges and limes nearly touched the ground.
Now heavy clouds rested on the ridges of both the Coastal Range and the Gabilans, but the valley between the ranges kept its bright blue as we drove back north.

Hats in Three Stages of Landing, a sculpture by Coosje Van Bruggen and Claes Oldenburg, was a disappointment. Two of the giant hats were cordoned off as dangerous, and the third was completely scratched with graffiti. Sherwood Park's "showcase" art needed some serious attention. Plans for wine tasting at Blackstone Vineyards didn't work out either. The name at the entryway was blackened; the inside gate, locked; and all the vines, yellowed. It really didn't matter. No rain meant our day had been just fine.