inglorious wanderer

  Palomar sounds like something that denotes to a dove, una paloma. Oh la paloma blanca does seem to sit at the top of Palomar Mountain. From Warner Springs, some 15 miles away, Palomar Mountains summit looks like a white bird's nest.   Thirteen hikers came. Elana and Kate were the lead. Amelie is from France. Kay is my hiking buddy.   Among others.     The group just went past Doane Pond and waiting for the end part of the group to catch up.    Kurt, Martin, Amelie, Kay and Judith and Mark. Hiking addicts! The sun relieved the group  for some photos. We caught our breath at 6,138 feet elevation Palomar  Mountain State Park is one vast outdoor retreat area for happy campers, hiking addicts and urban residents escaping the hustle and bustle of the city for a breath of fresh air. A little bushwacking past the campgrounds led the group to the trail marker to the Boucher Overlook. ...

The photo was taken by Richard. It's his coming out moment to my meetup hikes. I told him about the trail located less than five miles from our home, at Stonebridge, the most upscale part of Scripps Ranch. I knew he would be interested.,  he was in the US Air Force and would always have the curiosity of the journalist that he was.  Sycamore Canyon used to be where Camp Elliot was.

Take time to stop and smell the blue dicks. I thought of the caption before I pose for the photo. Karlee was taking the photo and I am sure she was rolling her eyes. Ever since I was introduced to blue dicks at the Santa Rosa Plateau, I always paused and recognized them. It's like I never get enough of them. Dichelostemma capitatum: pretty flower with a Pha Khin name. I would not dare show Richard this jumping belly photo. He has been trying to make me join him every time he does his morning push ups. What an embarrassingly Pha Khin photo! I came with the ancient 35mm as well. I came with the former precious little one: Karlee! I came to forget about Ayeddis Vahkkendjaab and have fun with Maritie's group. This blog is about Cinco de Mayo.

The border crossed us!" The t-shirt statement is the same understanding I have of cross border migration when it comes to the General Agreement on Trade and Services that gave birth to North American Free Trade Agreement. To a Caucasian born and raised anywhere north of the border, the common reaction to the sentiment would be indifference. "Baloney!" "Obama, escucha!" I know Obama listens. I know even the former President George W. Bush did with what would have been his Guest Workers' Program. But the baloney in the mind of everyone was too much and too noisy. Too chaotic! The rally was peaceful. I am in awe at how unpretentious the rallyists are. I felt a little crazy coming downtown to watch the parade while the Boston Marathon bombing was still fresh in everyone's mind. The mayday parade was a nationwide event and I did not want to miss it just like I did with the Occupy Movement about a year ago. The parade was more interesting than the 4th ...

All of 2,638 acres, the Crestridge Ecological Preserve is located on an unincorporated town called Crest which I never heard about till now. El Cajon refers to the box-like pass between the hills in the vicinity of some East County towns like El Cajon, Lakeside and Santee. Learning that the ecological preserve was part of a Mexican land grant known as the El Cajon de San Diego stirs my NAFTA-centered sentiments glorifying Mexicans as Native Americans coming from the southernmost nation of the North American continent. Mexicans are the real McCoy. It is just so unfortunate that they are now displaced. Philip is a walking GPS. He talks in longitude and latitude and the UTC. Issa has renamed my Little Karlee as Mang Gellan and now I am calling Philip Maestro Magellan. Global Positioning Satellites are no match to Philip when it comes to trail blazing and mapping trails and to me he is the real Maestro Magellan. "What's UTC?" I couldn't contain my ignorance and had t...

I was looking forward to bragging about climbing Mount Whitney. I am glad I did not announce to the whole of Facebook world that I would be hiking Mount Whitney. Mount Whitney, not the highest peak in the contiguous US but a lesser one. Not in the Sierra Nevada ranges but in the hidden valleys of north county of San Diego. I did not even got close to Mount Whitney, the lesser one. I did not get to the hiking group I was joining in time. I was left behind. I didn't earn my bragging rights for the lesser Mount Whitney. Maybe it was the hiking boots I was wearing. I walk on with my tight pair of Hi-Tec boots. I couldn't waste the trip. This hiker left behind did not have to go home without adding another trail on her list. Mount Whitney, the lesser one, would have to be bagged another day. This hiker has have something to blab about. I say hello to Blue Dick and Monkey Flower. I know them. I have plucked them before as I have gone and plucked myself a lot.

I was returning to the lake for the third time. Less than two weeks ago I was at the trail marker for Lake Morena, about 10 minute drive south of the lake  with RN, my husband and the former precious little Karlee, now 14. I have been doing google search on the PCT Southern Terminus and I wanted to see it so badly. It was Karlee's spring break week and I made RN drive to El Cajon then to highway 94 to Campo, stopping by highway 188 along the way to show him the way to Tecate Peak. It was at Lake Morena that I encountered my first PCT marker more than six months ago. It was at Morena Butte, long before I learned to never mispronounced the word butte for butt. Malou was visiting from Oregon and we were hiking at the Torrey Pines Reserve to the Red Butte. Malou's LOL would always remind me to say butte as if I was to say beautiful but I changed my mind. Beaut....crap! A pleasant group as usual. Any group that would lead the way is always a pleasant group for me. It...