Falling from the Sky

I woke up this morning and read the news: two planes collided over Corona airport yesterday and the debris fell into a car dealership. Five people died. This occurred at 3:35 pm Sunday about ½ an hour after we passed overhead. At El Monte while eating lunch on the patio we saw an emergency vehicle race towards the runway. Looking over the fence, we saw an experimental plane tipped on one wing. Three fire trucks eventually showed up, paramedics, and the police. It took about 45 minutes to clean up the runway of gas and clear it so that we could return home. The pilot of that plane was low-time and he had porpoised on the runway (a really bad landing).

On the way home we observed planes chasing each other over Lake Mathews, jumpers near Elsinore, and had close encounters with two Lear jets.

Our Cessna had a traffic avoidance display and 3 times we observed a yellow light and heard the soft yet firm voice calling "traffic". I love to fly but it is dangerous.

Nashville

Nashville, Tennessee: the people are friendly; they look you in the eyes when they greet you. In a traffic delay near Vanderbilt University (the basketball game had just ended) my cab was stalled for 10 minutes alongside a delivery car that read "freakin' fast delivery".

It was unusually cold there when I arrived, about 22 degrees at the height of day. I was disoriented in my directions. Looking west, I thought it was east. With no sun to guide me, I got lost while roaming the west end of Nashville near Vanderbilt University.

Saturday night I went out with the scientists to a trendy blues bar in downtown. The band had to compete with the TV because the Steelers were playing Jacksonville in the play-offs (and it was a very close game.) Downtown Nashville is crowned by the AT&T building whose spires appear to be Morse code connectors. It's a music and party town.

I shot these photos while walking through the west end of Nashville. The upper photo is on the Vanderbilt campus.

New Year's hike

During the holiday break I took several hikes. The first one was around the tip of Point Loma on one of the lowest tides of the year (12/22). I was the only person out there. Hanging from the cliffs was a stranded fishing boat. As I rounded the point, the cold winds died. In the distance I could see the skyline of downtown. To the south, Mexico and its islands spread out before me. It was magical; it was mine. I did some yoga and meditated and then picked my way back across the tide rocks to the parking lot. A ranger stopped me and told me that this area had been closed to the public since the early 90s.

The second hike I took, pictured above, was to Hollenbeck Canyon out the 94 towards Deerhorn Valley. I drove through Deerhorn Valley first and was amazed at the twisted and burnt landscape. Hollenbeck Canyon had burnt but mostly on the north side as I walked east. The south side where the creek runs was unscathed.

Above from top to bottom: Hollenbeck Canyon tree, charred earth, and a view of Lyons Peak from the trail that rises above Hollenbeck Canyon.

Walking back at dusk I was amazed at the silence. Where were the insects? Where were the small animals? The cougars had survived, I read, were they seeking a meal? I hurried my steps.

An Avian Solstice

December 22, the winter solstice, is our shortest day. We hold our breaths to see if the sun will come back on the following day. In southern California it's a given. We have had high pressure days with clear, clear skies. From Cabrillo National Monument I can see all the way south into Mexico. I can see the San Bernardino mountains (lightly capped with snow) to the northeast and, driving up the coast to Orange County yesterday, Catalina Island was clearly visible from Oceanside.

The solstice coincided with a full moon (and Mars is as close to Earth as I'll ever see it in this incarnation). The birds took advantage of the low tide. I caught these three photos in Point Loma of an ordinary seagull, a snowy white egret, and a great blue heron.

The Start of Winter

No, it's not fire; it's sunrise on a cloudy day-- looking south from Trumball Street in Point Loma.

October has been a weird month. A week after the fires it grew cold, very cold. It's cold this weekend; a Santa Ana event was predicted but I don't see much evidence outside.

This morning a woman stopped me as I was carrying my yoga mat and chair down to Sunset Cliffs for my meditation. She too meditates there every morning and she is always happy to see me because her meditations are more powerful when I am there with her. That was a nice thing to hear.

There was a brouhaha at my condo complex and, being on the board, I was privy to the complainant's letter. She was upset because her dog was leashed and the other was not, so why was she being fined? The other dog owner falsely accused her of having an unleashed dog, too.

She responded [sic] Oh, Cointreau! My dog was on a leash.

Thinking of that made me smile throughout the day.

Calm at Sunset

Wildfires have burned the entire back country I used to fly over, including the training area for Gillespie; the route up the Julian VOR to the desert, the route north to French Valley, and south along the border outside of Class B airspace. The Santiago Peak area of Orange County has also burned. Silverado Canyon is one of the most beautiful areas on Southern California. What will it look like now?

On TV there are horror movies for Halloween and the documentaries aren't much better. On CNN there is the "planet in peril" series and on the History Channel they were doing a special about colliding galaxies. Somewhere in the future the Andromeda galaxy is slated to collide with the Milky Way, of which we are an infinitesimal part.

No wonder I feel anxiety. Time to go down to the beach and watch the sun set, or if cloudy, watch the sunset change the sky.

Aprés the Fire

Today I woke up to the smell of moisture in the air. It is drizzling on the coast. The air is clear and I drove up to Cabrillo National Monument to do some sun salutations (or perhaps I should say cloud salutations). Looking southeast I could see San Miguel Peak (left) and Lyons Peak is peeking out from behind it. A plume of smoke from the Harris Fire rises behind them.

Doing yoga outside in the misty air I finally relaxed some of the tension I've been feeling all week. If I think the world is threatening, then it becomes so. Right view is the first step.