Sunday:   As we walked through the forest, a faint rush and rumble came from the far side of the lake, where the cars and trucks plied their ways on CA-299. Distant and wavering, it was a TV program in another room, volume at Low. To our right, another man-made noise worked its way through the forest, the characteristic blat of a Harley rider out for a Sunday cruise. It wove through the trees, a ribbon rubbing across the rough bark of each trunk, shedding fibers until only a wispy thread of sound reached us.

All the while, the lake’s tiny wavelets tap-slapped against the shoreline, gently overpowering the faraway sound intrusions. We were indeed near civilization, but we were also alone in a quiet, dense forest surrounding the deep blue water. We walked and talked, stopping frequently to admire where we were.

The oaks and pines were closely packed, and the damp shade fostered a plentiful growth of all kinds of mushrooms. We used to call them “toad-stools” when I was a kid, and the memory of that conjured up images of small amphibians crouching on the delicate umbrellas – which are of course far too fragile to support such abuse.

This particular trail (Davis Gulch Trail) had occasional placards along the path – you know the type, “Ponderosa Pine yata yata” and so forth. But it seems there’s always something to learn on nearly every outing, no matter how mundane. Here’s a new one (on me). Those must be some powerful beans for sure. This being Autumn, there were none to be found.

The trail also had a series of nicely-done benches to grab the occasional rest-and-ponder break. Handsome productions that complemented the surrounds.

The previous day (Saturday) would have been an even nicer-weather day, but we had to deal with a Howie-dead-battery issue and that took most of the day. Tomorrow (Monday) promises to be a great-weather day, perhaps the last one for quite a while. We hope to make a kayak-day out of it, so we’ll be motivated to get our lazy butts out of bed and up-and-at-‘em.