A day without chemtrails

One week ago today was one of those really nice days we've had around here lately. Sunny, fairly warm, and not a cloud in the sky. Even late in the day, there wasn't any wind to speak of. I was hiking and I eventually noticed that there were no chemtrails, and there hadn't been any all day. I then realized that I was literally "breathing fresh air" again. With confidence finally, I sucked the cool late afternoon air though my mouth.

I could almost taste the sun-baked aroma of the fresh Spring vegetation, as the brush rabbits enthusiastically forged in this outdoor produce market. Usually I only breathe through my nose, as if pretending that this would somehow filter out the contents of the sticky-looking smog. However, on this day, I decided to just enjoy what I once took for granted. There's nothing like the darkish blue color of a cloudless late afternoon sky as the final rays of the sun illuminate the blue-grey mountains in the distance.

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The Panther of Colma Creek II

I had no intention of writing a second part to this, and this goes against my better judgement due to the "high strangeness" of it, but having had another similar type of experience in the same location has coaxed me into it. I have had experiences up there that I wouldn't share in text, but perhaps vocally where I can at least express certain strange encounters better. This general area was once the location of roads and sporadic homes up to I'm guessing about eighty or ninety years ago. Virtually all of the old foundations that had long survived the homes have been torn out now, but some of the paved roads are now walking trails.

There was one well-documented incident where a very troubled young woman committed a totally senseless murder on one of those roads against a male motorist in the 30s I think it was; and another murder took place up there in the 70s, where a male stalker had overheard a young woman discussing the trails that she liked to hike on and had waited for her up there. Being so close to an urban center, there have been some incidents of murder victims being dumped up there over the decades. There has overwhelmingly been positive energy injected into the area, and somehow it all seems to have created an atmosphere of restless spirits and unusual activity. When I say "unusual activity," I don't mean every day; but if you spend time up there, before long you will notice it. It's not an "evil place," but I think its past--good and bad--has opened a type of twilight-doorway.

Recently I began hiking in a somewhat more remote location. Three days ago, after walking along some foothills, I started to walk into the same area of heavy brush where I had spotted the "panther." I had seen him once more around here since I had written about him. It wasn't quite twilight, but the heavy fog had rolled in. This, along with the heavy brush, had made the environment dark and somewhat foreboding-looking. With the brush and dark mist, it created a somewhat eery visual along the trail. Coastal fog here can be really thick, and sometimes you can't see beyond about thirty yards in front of you. As I got close to where I had spotted the large black cat, and I mean the exact spot next to that distinct tree, I saw a black cloaked figure crouched down next to what I assumed to be the "panther."

It was surreal, and naturally I was trying to figure how I should react to it as I got closer. The dark misty atmosphere was darker underneath that tree, but I could still clearly make out the black figures. One strange feature that I noticed was that this cloaked figure was totally "black," even the face and hands. However, the hood probably covered the face and perhaps the cloak and wide sleeves covered the hands; or maybe I just didn't notice the hands, or gloves were being worn. As I got within thirty yards, the figure stood up and was now looking directly at me. It wasn't quite dark enough for a flashlight, but I turned my small flashlight on anyway and aimed it to the ground in front of me to signal to this person. I was wearing a matching light grey sweatsuit, so I don't think I would appear too intimidating. However, a person dressed all in black, with a cloak and hood, walking in a remote area in this dark mist, would probably concern me more than the other way around.

When the figure stood up and looked at me, I only saw a black shadow. The person was relatively small in stature, and suddenly it disappeared along a cross-trail. Subtly, I could see that it was a woman. I immediately felt bad that I had maybe startled her, and broke up her "communion" with the wild cat. While I did feel bad that she felt the need to get away from me, I did want to get a second look at his very mysterious woman. Oddly, as I reached that spot, the cat didn't move. It was a different cat, a large brownish tabby with black stripes, and he just sat there and looked at me. Actually I had seen this particular cat since he was almost a kitten several years ago in a different location, but I'm not positive of that. After a few more yards I looked down the cross-trail and saw her again.

She was moving fast, but not running. Although this main trail led downward into a wooded area, this other trail led immediately to a clearing. I could then see her fairly clearly despite the mist, appearing dark grey against the light grey background. It was surreal seeing her black cloak flow as she quickly walked away, as if she were floating. As I passed down into a wider wooded trail, I hoped that she could return to doing whatever she was doing. I admit, I did look back twice; as her appearance definitely got my attention. Who was she? Was she an older woman... younger? Was she a pagan? Did she live nearby? Mainly, I suppose, I would be curious if she was an adherent to a particular spiritual/earth tradition.

Wild cats aren't easy to approach. At best, I have gained their trust only enough to walk past them without them running away; and even then, that was after coming in contact with them many times prior. Somehow this woman had sufficiently gotten this wild cat's trust, enough to make physical contact it appeared. There seems to be a special connection between a woman and particularly a male cat. Perhaps that location, the unusual tree, was her "church," and the cat was a fellow member. Somehow.. I felt left out.

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Night sky puts on its timeless show

The ancient Camunni were very deep into astronomy. They constructed complex observatories in the mountains. It was a major part of their ancient culture. The Cernic spiritual tradition was based on astronomy. Cernunnos was literally based on the Ophiuchus Constellation ("he who holds the snake"; "the snake bearer"); or known as "Ofiuco" in Italian.

I just wanted to inject here, about five years ago I was in a rural field at about midnight. I don't recall the time of the year, but I believe that it was summer, and I was just in the right place at the right time. A shooting star suddenly came into view. It was traveling at an angle so low that I could see and hear the flames. This fireball was about the size of a basketball. It was pretty startling to witness this. It landed in a tree covered area along a small creek. I tried hard to find it, but I wasn't able to.

Season is right for night sky's timeless show

Tom Stienstra - Outdoors - San Francisco Chronicle - November 27, 2011

On an early winter night at a camp deep in the Santa Cruz Mountains, Jupiter, almost directly overhead, was like a beacon in a black sky speckled with stars.

About 40 degrees to one side of Jupiter, a bright orange star, Aldebaran, which marks the constellation Taurus, stood out as well.

"Back in the late 1800s, at a camp just like this, these are the same stars that John Muir was looking at on Mount Tamalpais," said Jeff Patty, or "Foonski," my long-since-departed buddy of hundreds of trail camps.

"Or the same stars Joe Walker saw in November of 1833 when he was the first trailblazer to camp in Yosemite."

We had this talk at a camp 30 years ago this week, but you might have the same conversation tonight. The night sky is the link to all places and all times.

Whether you're spending the night at a camp at Point Reyes National Seashore or Yosemite National Park, you're looking at the same stars. Whether it's tonight, 30 years ago or 300 years ago, they are the same stars.

Now can be the best time of year for stargazing. The cold nights of late November and early December can wick moisture out of the air and leave skies sparkling clear. As fall merges into winter, night comes early and campsites in the Bay Area foothills finally have plenty of space.

Spending time looking into the night sky can make your life feel timeless. It can make camps unforgettable. Compared with how so many people push-push-push all the time, when they drive, when they work, even when they play, it sets things aside while you soak in the night treasures.

My favorite winter constellation is the little Pleiades star cluster, the Seven Sisters. It's shaped like a miniature spatula. It is faint to the naked eye and is best seen when not looking at it directly, but just off-center.

At every camp trip, we spend at least one night when we scan the sky for an hour or so. Along with Foonski, Michael Furniss and brother Rambob, my pals across thousands of trail miles and hundreds of camps, we've learned a lot of stars and planets.

"Most people look up at the sky like it's a two-dimensional dome," Furniss said. "Instead, imagine the incredible depth" that seems to extend to infinity "... and our place in it."

We try to add a new star or planet we can share with the group. There's Vega, Deneb, Sirius, Antares, Rigel, Betelgeuse - and as December takes hold, Venus will rise and be brighter than the brightest stars.

When you get in the habit of scanning the sky every night possible, you can see landmark events by accident. This is most true with meteor showers.

This past summer, the Perseids, the most anticipated meteor shower of the year, seemed pretty much like a dud, with a full moon overwhelming the sky. Yet in 1988, while camped at Mount Shasta, I happened to look up by accident and saw 300 to 400 shooting stars in a few hours, often with fireballs that left trails arcing far across the sky.

The next promising meteor shower is the Geminids, which peak Dec. 13 and can provide a good chance to see shooters from Dec. 4 to Dec. 16. If you get lucky, you might see 50 to 100 shooting stars per hour. Though mostly white, they can come in many colors: yellow, as well as orange and red. Look mostly to the east. Like most meteor showers, the show gets better later into the night.

Other significant events are on the way. A lunar eclipse is projected for Dec. 10, from 6:06 a.m. to 6:47 a.m., according to my friends at the Chabot Space and Science Center. That will get a lot of play as it approaches.

As December takes hold, watch Venus, which is easy to pick out because it is so bright. On Dec. 26, just after sunset, you will be able to see Venus adjacent to a thin crescent moon. I've seen this event in past years and it can be one of the coolest night-sky sights of the year.

If you are new to stargazing, start by watching Venus in December. The rest will come with curiosity.

Then imagine Muir looking up at the winter sky when he camped at Mount Tamalpais. Or the sea captains who landed in the Bay Area in the 1700s. Then look up there yourself. The night sky connects all people, from the past to the present.

E-mail Tom Stienstra at tstienstra@sfchronicle.com.

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