Today’s plan was to get in around 25 miles, and like last Saturday, I was trying to keep the elevation gain down to something reasonable. I’ve been doing longer weekday runs, longer weekend runs and more days with runs. If I increased the elevation gain by the same percentage as the mileage I didn’t think I would be able to keep up with the extra training.

Today’s long run had started with a low impact 8.5 miles from Wendy Drive & Potrero road down Sycamore Canyon to the beach. That had gone well. I’d hooked up with a group training for the L.A. Marathon, and they had set a comfortable — but steady — pace.

Sycamore Canyon Campground was just beginning to stir as I ran down the access road. Warm sunlight was finding its way into the camp and other than the camp host, not many people were out and about.  Overhead a raucous gang of crows jeered a passing band of parrots, and across PCH a wave crashed on the rocky shore.

I continued running through the campground to the day use parking lot and then down onto the sand at the PCH bridge. The tide was high and from time to time whitewater from a larger wave would rush up the sand slope under the bridge and spill over the berm. I thought of bare feet on cold Rincon sand and how 55 deg water would at first feel warm on a Winter day.

With Part A of my run complete, I started thinking about Part B. If I was going to reach my mileage goal I needed to extend the return route by about 7 miles. To keep the elevation gain to a minimum, I came up with the contrived idea of doing out & backs up Serrano Canyon and Wood Canyon on the way back up Sycamore. It didn’t sound very appealing, but would add the necessary miles. Leaving the sand and seagulls behind, I started the long haul back up the canyon.

It wasn’t as cold in Sycamore Canyon as last Saturday, but with the down-canyon breeze it was still chilly in the shade. In about 15 minutes I reached the Serrano Canyon Trail and turned east up the canyon. The initial part of the canyon was quite flat and I resigned myself to the idea of running part way up the classic canyon and turning around just before reaching one of the most scenic spots in the Santa Monica Mountains.

At the landslide a half-mile into the canyon the trail steepens briefly and climbs above the creek. Just before starting up the hill I stopped to take a photo of the slide. Looking closer at one of the large boulders, I noticed it contained shell impressions and remnants similar to those found on the Fossil Trail. After snapping a photo I continued up the canyon.

Much of Serrano Canyon was in shade on this Winter morning; but in places the sun would find its way through the twists and turns of the canyon, warming me as only the morning sun can do on a cold day. With almost no water in the creek the 15 or so creek crossings in the canyon were just dips in the trail and the running was free, easy and enjoyable.

I passed the two mile turnaround point with little thought of plans, miles, races or elevation gain, and soon found myself standing on the edge of Serrano Valley’s spectacular grasslands. Rock formations on the southern flank of Boney Mountain towered above the valley and a green undercoat of Winter growth accented the trails and terrain. With a deep sigh I continued running into the Boney Mountain wilderness.

*****

I did get in my 25 miles, but not in the way I planned. From Serrano Valley I followed the Ray Miller 50K course backward, running the Serrano Valley, Old Boney, Blue Canyon, and Sin Nombre trails to the Hidden Pond Trail. There I lef the Ray Miller course and followed the Upper Sycamore Trail to Danielson Road and Satwiwa.

This route bypassed Sycamore Canyon road almost entirely and avoided the toil of having to run back up the road after just running down it. One minor issue was that when I got back to Satwiwa, I’d only run 21 miles. That was remedied by running over to Ranch Overlook and back.

Some related posts: Fossil Trail – Pt. Mugu State Park, Boney Mountain – Serrano Valley Adventure Run

Some things in nature are supposed to be constant. The ground shouldn’t move; a mountain that is here today should be here tomorrow; and if skies are clear and blue, the sun shouldn’t grow mysteriously dim.

Imagine the consternation of our early ancestors, keenly attune to nature, feeling the sun dim and then looking for a cloud they could not find. There is still much of them in us. When the earth shakes or the sun fades, even moderately, we can’t help but react at the most visceral level.

While ee still can’t predict an earthquake with any certainty, we can predict eclipses. Fred Espenak’s NASA Eclipse Web Site includes maps and tables for several millennia of solar and lunar eclipses. Using the web site’s JavaScript Solar Eclipse Explorer you can find the solar eclipses that will be (or have been) visible at a particular location, as well as the type of eclipse, it’s magnitude, and when it will start, end, and reach its maximum. In 2002 I used the Eclipse Web site to plan a trail run to coincide with the June 10 solar eclipse. This afternoon I was doing another eclipse run — the north side loop on Boney Mountain.

Perched on rocky ledge on the western ridge of Boney Mountain, I watched as the light on the landscape became increasingly muted. At the eclipse’s maximum almost 80% of the sun’s area would be obscured and about 85% of its width. The descending veil was tangible. I could not only see it, I could feel it. Even though I understood what was occurring, and that it would not last, ancestral fears were welling up and whispering, “Something is wrong…”

As the time of maximum eclipse approached, bird songs increased as if it was dusk. The wind, which had been blowing in fits and starts began to blow steadily from the west. The temperature dropped another degree or two.

Once the eclipse’s maximum had passed, I continued to work up the ridge, enjoying the extraordinary light. I hoped my wife was getting some good shots of the eclipse in our backyard. Many eclipse viewers are so focused on the sky, they don’t notice the spectacular lensed images projected on the ground and elsewhere by sunlight filtering through trees. The gaps between the leaves of a tree work like a giant pinhole lens, with a focal length of many feet. In the case of the trees in our backyard this produced images of the eclipsed sun 10 inches or more in diameter. Lensed eclipse images were also projected by  sunlight filtering through the chaparral on Boney Mountain.

I topped out on the western ridge around 7:10 and jogged up to the high point between the western and eastern ridges. Across the way three fellow eclipse watchers were on Tri-Peaks, and it sounded like there was a party over on Sandstone Peak. Even with the sun low on the western horizon, you could feel its intensity returning. Only about one-third of the sun was now obscured, and minutes before sunset — about 7:43 — the eclipse would end.

Marine layer haze and long shadows were filling the valleys as I began the second half of my eclipse adventure — running down the eastern ridge and trying to reach the trailhead before it was pitch black. Much of the route was illuminated by the setting sun, and I was able to get past most of the technical running and down to the Danielson cabin site before it became difficult to see. Once on Danielson road the bright western sky provided enough light to run. I made good time down to the creek in Upper Sycamore Canyon and then pushed up the road to Satwiwa. Just enough light remained to run the connecting single track back to the Wendy Drive trailhead.