So I said to myself, "Self..."

This body double thing is getting out of control. There are so many versions of me out there that people don't even recognize me when they see me.

Walking down the street on my way to lunch today, I saw my coworkers Nawal and Dara coming up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. They're looking my direction, talking amongst themselves and as they get closer, suddenly burst out laughing. Feeling a little paranoid, I ask what's so funny and it turns out they had seen me from a distance were arguing whether the infamous Zach-alike was heading towards them But finally decided no, it wasn't that guy because it didn't even look like me.

But, it's funny because it was me, see?

*sigh*

Shake Shake Shake, Shake Your Booty

On this, the 102nd anniversary of the great San Francisco earthquake, it seems fitting to report that there is no doubt another large quake will strike California. There is a 99.7% chance that a strong earthquake will strike California in the next 30 years, according to the first forecast to look at earthquake probabilities for the entire state.

The next big quake in the Bay Area is likely to be on the Hayward Fault, running directly beneath the East Bay cities of Oakland and Berkeley, among many others. An analysis by the USGS indicates that a magnitude 7 tremblor on the Hayward would affect more than 5 million people, cause losses to homes and businesses of at least $165 billion and total economic losses of more than $1.5 trillion, close 1,100 Bay Area roads, and leave 27,000 homes in Oakland alone completely uninhabitable.

Yup, maybe time to consider moving. Though not to Alaska... below, just for the heck of it, is the list of top 10 states for earthquakes in terms of numbers/frequency.
1) Alaska
Earthquakes Between 1974-2003: 12,053
Percent of total in the U.S.: 57.2
2) California
Earthquakes Between 1974-2003: 4,895
Percent of total in the U.S.: 23.2
3) Hawaii
Earthquakes Between 1974-2003: 1,533
Percent of total in the U.S.: 7.3 4) Nevada
5) Washington
6) Idaho
7) Wyoming
Earthquakes Between 1974-2003: 217
Percent of total in the U.S.: 1.0
8) Montana
9) Utah
10) Oregon

And everything there feels just as it should

Ahhh.

That was exactly what I needed. I've been to Yosemite a dozen times or so, and it's often a little stressful what with trying to find campsites, organizing food and people, dealing with crowds, or even venturing off alone. This time, however, was most chill. No panicky search for walk-in campgrounds - I'd reserved a tent cabin at Curry Village inside the Valley. No fancy food prep or organization - I took easy sandwich fixins, fruit, oatmeal, cocoa, canned stew. No big agenda - I figured I'd chill out in the Valley and explore parts I haven't before, but mostly just enjoy the setting. No hordes of tourists - it was early enough in the season that it wasn't overcrowded. And to top it all off, I got my friend Nichole to join me for a little downtime in the mountains.

It was awesome.

Day 1: The Drive. Check in and settle in to the "tent cabin" - an unheated canvas tent with wooden floor, and two single beds equipped with clean sheets and wool blankets. Happy we brought our sleeping bags too. Dinner was a picnic beneath the granite cliffs at the edge of a large meadow. No people to be seen. Alpen glow on Halfdome.

Night 1: Wierd-ass dreams that a mouse was dancing on top of my sleeping bag. Later in the night the it was a ferret. Followed by a racoon. Finally determined it was a dream and not a wildlife invasion when a large cat asked me why I was so freaked out.

Day 2: Hiked to the top of Yosemite Falls - the tallest waterfall in North America and the 6th tallest in the world. I'd made it nearly to the top years ago, only to give out during the steep switchbacks below the rim... so I was determined to make it this time. The snow was waist deep once above the north rim of the Valley, and the waterfall was not at its peak flow yet, but the view from the top, hugging the granite for dear life on the narrow lip looking down 2,500 feet onto the valley floor - that was totally worth the sore calves.

Day 3: Walked around Mirror Lake at the far end of the valley, up a trail no one else was on, past melting snowbanks and early season flowers. Sat in the middle of the stream relaxing to the roar of water. Final Evening: Picnic along the banks of the Merced river. Sat under the stars on a footbridge over the stream watching the moonlight light up the falls. Informed the lone other person to cross our paths that the geysers he was looking for are in Yellowstone, not Yosemite.

Day 4: Drove to Hetch Hetchy Valley - once comparable to the Yosemite Valley in beauty, it was flooded behind the O'Shaughnessy Dam in 1923 to provide San Francisco with some of the most pure water in the nation. Dude. Bears! A sow and her two yearling cubs in the road. And a hike to one of the most spectacular waterfalls I've ever had the thrill of eating lunch beneath.

And listen to the casual reply

I'm leaving for the woods. I've been itching to get out of town and be in the mountains for a while now, and so, what the hell. I'm gonna do it. I reserved a tent cabin (wooden floor, bed with sheets and wool blanket, unheated, canvas roof and walls) in Yosemite Valley and rented a car, convinced my recently-unemployed friend Nichole to accompany me, took the next two days off work, and am headed for a long weekend in one of the most beautiful places in the country. Yay me!

It's a little early in the season, I realize, and I'm expecting chilly evenings. Though I'm hoping that the waterfalls will be approaching their peak flows as the snowpack melts out of the high country. Another advantage to going so early is that there won't be so many people packing the Valley floor.

But what's fueling the timing of this trip more than anything is that Friday is the next company Quarterly Meeting, and I'm determined to miss it. I go to them dutifully every quarter, but this one will be the one where my name gets called out for having been with the company for 10 years, and I don't need that kind of public acknowledgment. Just slip my gift certificate into my slot in the mailroom and let's forget the rest, thank you.

So Yosemite it is! I plan on hiking to the top of Yosemite Falls (the highest falls in N America and the 6th highest in the world), relaxing in the valley along the banks of the Merced, and then venturing to the Hetch Hetchy Valley and Reservoir, source of San Francisco's pure water supply in the northern tract of the park. And not thinking about work for a second.

And now, to pack the cooler.

So long and thanks for all the fish, again

As I mentioned in my previous post, I'm not terribly comfortable around the ocean or large bodies of water, because there were no large bodies of water where I grew up. I can swim - at least well enough to get by, though I won't be winning any medals for speed or elegance - thanks to my parent's insistence on swimming lessons when I was little (I'll never forget standing in the early morning chill by the outdoor town pool, shivering on the rough concrete and dreading getting into the cold chlorinated water... or panicking in the deep end while being tested on the "deadman's float"... ugh).

At any rate, a pool is one thing, but a big river or the ocean is quite another, rife with currents and waves and undertows, and all sorts of creatures unseen, from tickling little fish to water snakes or jellies or sharks. My heart pounds a little just thinking about it.

I've only swum in the ocean a few times in my life; though I live within sight of the Pacific, northern California's shores are known more for their hypothermia-inducing temperatures, rogue waves, and deadly rip currents, so I only go in up to my knees. In Mexico I had the crap beaten out of me and my sinuses filled with sand and seawater as I tried to crawl out of the waves. I had a bandage on my knee and spent my time avoiding jelly fish at Myrtle Beach. And Hawaii was phenomenal, but my one-and-only snorkeling adventure was preceded by a complete lack of lessons, so I spent a great deal of time trying not to inhale water through the tube, and keeping my life vest centered under my hips to keep me from worrying too much about sinking to my doom.

The snorkeling stress was exacerbated by the fact that the water was not terribly shallow - my friend Zoe and I dropped into the swells from a kayak that we had used to paddle into an isolated bay with a sea cave and no other people save our guide, "Blue." Putting my face beneath the waves was, on the one hand, a relief because I could see what has under the surface, and on the other hand, terrifying because I could see what was under the surface. And by "see" I mean "make out vague colorful shapes" of a whole host of creatures that would need to be close enough to nibble on me before I would recognize that they were intent on biting me in half, since I was not wearing glasses or contacts behind my mask.

The underwater realm is fascinating, certainly, but I can't say I'm drawn to experience it first hand. Too scary. I recently finished "The Devil's Teeth" by Susan Casey, a journalist who became obsessed with the the Farallon Islands due west of San Francisco. It was a fascinating and fun read centered around these islands that I, too, have been curious about since I first saw them emerge from the fog on the horizon. I've even been to the islands on a boat, though only biologists are allowed to land there except in emergencies. But believe you me, you would NOT want to have an emergency out there.

On the edge of the continental shelf, these rocky outposts are surrounded by frigid rough currents, hordes of hostile sea birds, thousands of seals and sea lions, and great white sharks. Enormous great white sharks. The book documents sharks in those waters that are 20 ft long and 8 ft wide. The author notes the thrill she felt when she saw a shark the size of a school bus glide beneath her dinghy - I about peed myself just reading about it.

As much as I want to go whale watching out there again, especially after reading about some of the islands' history, I have to say, knowing monsters that size may be lurking beneath the choppy grey surface is enough to make me remain a landlubber for eternity. I love listening to and looking out over the ocean, and appreciate its mystery and bounty, but I am completely comfortable backing away slowly (never turn your back on the ocean!) and keeping my feet planted on solid ground.