Walking in sepia on the Estero Trail
The Estero Trail is dusted with shades of sepia and muted greens. With the grasses dying back in fall, this effect is intensified. Sepia’s warm, reddish-brown color is earthy and feels timeless in the landscape as if walking through a centuries old photograph. The faded dry grasses are peaceful at the end of their life cycle. They are joined along the trail by annual bracken fern turned coppery-brown and ghostly gray stands of thistle bowed and breaking apart. I take a deep breath as I walk and the warm scent of dry disintegration is comforting. The brown leaves of last spring’s iris and the dried yarrow heads standing in place tell the story of their prior glorious lives in full bloom and color. It’s calming to walk through these intact memories of spring.
On the raised levy path leading across the estero, several chaotic spider webs are securely rooted to shrubs, bracing for wind and heavy insects to be snared in their labyrinthine midsts. These are the homes of the orbweaver (Metepeira), a spider which builds a retreat of silk and bits of plant debris to hide from prey at the bottom of web. If you get lucky, you may see the spider’s legs hanging out of its retreat. This spider weaves a classic two-dimensional spiral web along with a three-dimensional irregular web with sticky threads of silk to ensnare its prey. If prey is plentiful, these orbweavers often live in communities with the large adults in the middle and the small spiders chased to the outside edges. If you see one messy web, look for others nearby. With no sense of smell and poor hearing, these spiders rely on the sensitive hair covering their body and appendages to detect the vibration of prey in their web.
Leaving the spiders in peace, I head up the trail through the small tree-shaded section. Recent rain signaled Pungent Slippery Jack mushrooms (Suillus pungens) to emerge from the moist earth pushing up pine needles in their wake. Along much of the trail, coyote brush is in explosive full bloom and spreading its soft popcorn-colored seed in the wind.
Further along at the marshy ponds one or two egrets are croaking while hawks and ravens hover on thermal winds far above the land waiting for their moment to dive onto prey. I spot a brown northern harrier who dives within fifty feet of me. A colorful northern flicker repeats a single-note call and alerts me to its presence on the fence post near the marsh. It’s joined by a wrentit calling nearby, and my Merlin app tells me a savannah sparrow may also be nearby but I don’t see it or hear its call again.
I reach the crossroads of the Sunset Beach and Drakes Head trails and consider for a moment whether to hike to Drakes Head but the lure of the ocean steers me onto the Sunset Beach Trail. I notice the coyote brush shrubs are prostrate and hugging the ground in the windiest sections of the trail. The trail is dry and lonely and then I spot a blue glint of ocean in the distance. As I approach the marshy pond, an egret takes flight and I feel sad that I’ve disturbed it. Unlike the egrets of Abbotts Lagoon that are habituated to so many visitors and do not easily flee, the inhabitants in this outlying area are wary of my intentions. This was not the case with the fearless raven who buzzed over my head twice. Was I simply between the raven and the place it wanted to be? Was it drawing my attention — “hey, what are you doing here? I’m here too.” Was it hoping I would scare up a rodent or lizard or other prey as I walked? Was it attracted to my colorful backpack? I sensed the raven’s presence was purposeful but I failed to perceive its intent. I greeted it with a nod as I passed.
Pausing at the edge of the marsh, I checked the tides which were at their highest but falling so I headed toward the shoreline. The water was energetically lapping the shore and the wind was blowing strongly but I safely edged along, over the shoreline rocks and dried seaweed, to the end of the land. Bright green eel grass was freshly washed up on shore along with various seaweeds, one small dead crab, a cockle shell, and a deep mahogany colored non-native clam shell. All along the shoreline and butting up to the cliff behind were spectacular rocks decorated with veils of lace-like stone. I searched for signs of fossils embedded in rocks and I scanned the cliff faces looking for anomalies. Without any training on what to look for, I realized my quest was futile. I reminded myself that we don’t see what we don’t know and vowed to return with a guide. Even though my quest for fossils was in vane, revisiting the beautiful Sunset Beach rocks delighted me. With joy and wonder, I discovered a rock that was split in two and filled with other embedded rocks at its center like a hidden treasure.
I retrace my steps back along the trail marveling at how little changes in this landscape in the short span of human time. That is comforting. As I walk, I notice the narrow paths of animals leading from the trail and wonder what walked this way and when.
This eternal place is shoreline, rock, water, the cycle of seasons, and the faint paths of animals criss-crossing the land.
