Coyotes: Harder to Come By Than I Thought

*sigh* Does anyone love the coyote??

I scoured the web tonight for wildlife rescue and rehab centers in the Southwestern United States, as this is the new direction that my journey is taking me (more on that in a moment). The sites were generously sprinkled with cutey-pie pics of baby owls, raccoons, opossums, antelope, golden eagles, and rabbits, but nary a coyote shot was to be seen. Why is this? I ask. Surely there must be plenty of abandoned, injured, and otherwise incapacitated coyotes scattered over the desert mesas.

Or not . . . I can't remember the last time I saw a coyote with its head stuck in a tin can (ahem, do I hear a raccoon?).

The coyote's curious omission deserves a suitable investigation . . . and is yet another good reason why I've taken up its cause in the first place. My initial theory is that because coyote hunters are offered a bounty on their kills, locals simply exterminate them with a Smith & Wesson on the spot, rather than attempt to haul them in to a wildlife shelter. It's a shame, but since I don't know for sure - I think I better go to the source and find out. To be continued.

* * *

In other news, recent developments in my job search have redirected the focus (and duration) of my fact-finding trip. So as not to harm the karma of my upcoming interview, I won't give the whos whens and wheres, but I will say that it will definitely satisfy the needs of my naturalist soul and is the first prospect I've been genuinely excited about in years. As part of the interview I was asked to put together a nature-focused presentation, and if you have to ask which topic I chose, you'll need to re-read the title of this blog. ;-p Bolstered by the creative challenge (and the drive to start earning a decent paycheck), I hammered out my first children's book in just half a day! The result really surprised me. I plan to give a reading of the short work to my prospective employers, complete with Cleo the Coyote hand puppet and plenty of yips, yowls, and yodels. Wow, when the HR representative referred to the follow-up interview as an "audition," I was a little taken aback at first . . . but then I instantly set to work with fervor on the project. And I'm truly excited about the interview. Hmmm, my horoscope and job inventory quizzes have always said "actress" was in my stars and cards, so this job just might be "the one." I sure hope so.

Naturally, if I get the job - and I hope that I do - I'll need to break my coyote journey up into segments of 2-3 weeks. That's fine by me, I can still squeeze a trip in this September and get the process started. I'm considering the Southwest because its nearby, has a long history of coyote folklore within the oral history of the Native Americans, and offers plenty of opportunities for coyote sighting within deserted, lonely, and sacred terrain. If its a spiritual journey I'm after, then this is the ticket. Plus, I hear late summer weather promises a more agreeable desert. Since I'm not necessarily hopping Hiltons here, avoiding excessive hot, cold, rain, and snow is high on my list of creature comforts.

Revised "Still Wild At Heart" Website on the Way

Melissa Peabody just let me know that a new, revised "San Francisco: Still Wild At Heart" website is on the way and should be online near the end of August. The web address and contact info will remain the same, so refer to my previous posting to get the links.

Still Wild At Heart: An interview with an SF coyote crusader

Imagine: a coyote in your very own backyard. A special piece of wildlife that remains wild, even within the most congested and seemingly inhospitable of environments. A sentinel canine cruising the crest of one of San Francisco's smallest and most city-locked open space preserves. Now, enter a fellow neighbor named Melissa Peabody . . . an inspired producer and film editor, so transfixed by the sight of the animal that she makes this particular coyote the subject of an elegant documentary on urban wildlife. Newly released, this film pays homage to the little traveler who could, to the coyote that made a dash for the hilly bullocks of Bernal Heights one day in 2003 and never looked back. It is also a refreshing look at how wild animals and humans can coexist happily and peacefully within the confines of a concrete jungle.

"San Francisco: Still Wild At Heart" is Peabody's "Silent Spring" for the educated city dweller, the occasional environmentalist that sometimes forgets to bring a reusable sack to the grocery store, who hasn't yet switched from a 20 MPG gas guzzling Camaro with a V8 engine to a denim blue-colored (and, as the green energy group espouses, the proletarian blue-collared) Prius, and who still pitches away $5 a day for a glass of Chardonnay at the corner bar's happy hour rather than emptying the funds into Green Peace's coffers. It's a documentary that is effective simply because it does not try to be. It presents a natural problem that is increasing in incidence, offers viable suggestions for handling the issues in a positive way, and allows the viewer to react freely to the facts presented without coercion. This isn't PETA with rotten eggs and a can of red spray paint; this is Peabody with a handheld camera and a passion for a rather comfortable-looking coyote. (If she happened to shoot footage of the coyote receiving hillside handouts of Purina and prosciutto - those Bernal Heights folks have good taste, even if they don’t keep their coyote distance - she isn't telling, and she certainly isn't showing it, lest she be pulling strips of wet toilet paper out of her trees with tweezers for the next year.) Like good fences, a bit of documentary discretion makes for good neighbors.

I had the good fortune to catch up with Peabody at a books-y little cafe tucked onto a side street of her neighborhood, at the very foot of the Bernal Heights open space where the star of her documentary resides. It was a rare warm and sunny day in the city when she came in with her twin sons, herself sporting a breezy white blouse set in motion by swirling coral flowers. With her sun-touched blonde hair and casual exuberance, she was a summer afternoon personified. While the boys ate nearby, we sat and chatted about Peabody's project and the history of the Bernal Heights coyote, who I'll refer to as "Bernie."

Peabody has lived in San Francisco for almost 20 years. She spent the first seven years of her life in Farmington, New Mexico, near the Four Corners area, a place well-known in ancient Indian folklore and current suburban legends as a coyote hotbed. Still, it wasn't until Bernie took up residence on the hill behind her San Francisco home that she saw her first wild coyote in the flesh, err, fur. And she was smitten.

Up to that point, she had edited mostly ocean and marine life nature documentaries and hadn't seen cause to expand her view. "And then, the coyote showed up on our hill," Peabody said with a smile. Quickly, things began to change.

"I know this sounds crazy," she said, but "the actual look in the coyote's eyes" when she first saw him stirred something in her. There was a depth to his gaze that Peabody connected with at once. Soon after that chance meeting with Bernie she took her sons, then eight, up on the hill to catch a glimpse of the intriguing new addition to the park. Little did they know that they would be embarking on a journey with their mom that would bring them face-to-face with not just Bernie, but coveys of cooing quail, flocks of cheeky parrots, and a host of other wild animals living within the not-so-wild walls of an urban enclave. It would be a transforming experience for everyone involved.

Peabody's hour-long documentary focuses about 50% of the time on coyotes, but at the outset these carnivores weren't even slated for a cameo appearance. "It [Wild At Heart] was only going to be half an hour . . . and then the coyote hijacked the film!" Peabody laughed, her blue eyes dancing. Bernie trotted into her life at just the right time, and she saw the power of using the image of a resilient, often-persecuted animal - that just so happens to bear a striking resemblance to a runty Border Collie - as a vehicle for teaching the public about responsible wildlife stewardship. The relatively recent influx of coyotes into urban environments all over the country makes the release of her piece especially timely. "I feel like it kind of really brings to this visible point how coyotes and humans fight over resources," she said.

For the coyotes, learning to live around humans involves a transition period where they must adapt to hunting, sleeping, and traveling within their new locale. "People seem to need time to make that transition, too," Peabody added thoughtfully. Only for humans the learning curve seems to be taking a little longer. Through "Wild At Heart," Peabody hopes to educate city slickers on the behavior changes they'll need to make so that man and beast can live side-by-side in a blended habitat. The two most important rules, with regards to coyotes, are to keep cats in the house and dogs on a leash, and to never, never, ever feed the coyotes. This not only makes them dependent on humans for handouts (with possible deleterious effects on their health), but it also erases their fear of man, which can lead to too-close encounters of the canine kind. A toddler with a taco in hand suddenly looks like a lunch cart vendor, and the coyote may inadvertently injure a small and unaware child as she grabs for her next meal.

Rest assured, stories of coyote attacks are very few, and very far between. Bernie, now in his fifth year of Bernal Heights habituation, has done a just dandy job of managing his heavily-used space with minimal interaction. "He has not attacked any dogs yet!" Peabody announced with all the pride of a den mother. He's even left the neighbor's big white cat alone that roams the grassy knoll daily, despite Peabody's strong warning to the snackalicious pet's owner. Peabody was even privy to witness an extraordinary event involving Bernie and another neighbor's dog that proves just how little distance lies between wild and domestic dogs.

"I have a theory borne of seeing unusual things with coyotes," she began, with perhaps the most unusual thing involving Bernie "attempting to play with the neighbor's fat little girl dog" while the neighbor's male dog barked and growled, either in territorial aggression or just plain old jealousy. "At first I didn't believe it," Peabody said, but on that evening walk, seeing was definitely believing. Due to the coyote's size and playful demeanor towards the female dog, Peabody thinks Bernie is most likely a "he." Still, she advises keeping dogs well away from the wild coyote. There's no good reason to tempt fate and possibly ruin the good thing that both Bernie and the folks of Bernal Heights have going. Announcing that you have a healthy coyote in your background carries a modicum of cache, especially at environmentalist-heavy cocktail parties.

But why the playful advances to the local girls? Perhaps Bernie's lonely, and just wants a mate. Maybe in the past five years he hasn’t so much lounged around in the grass (as coyotes usually do when not at hunt), but has busied himself with building an elaborate subterranean Taj Mahal under Bernal Hill, with the hopes of finding a worthy lady coyote to share his fairy-tale perch with. I don't imagine many other contenders could offer such an amazing piece of prize real estate to their prospective mates, coyote or human, so if Bernie can coax a female coyote through the perils of cross-city traffic, he'll be the hottest catch on the coyote market - paws down. Not to mention that he's now a film star!

If you would like to learn more about the San Francisco coyote and urban wildlife, you may purchase the “San Francisco: Still Wild At Heart” DVD from Melissa Peabody. Email her at mpeabody@pacbell.net.

Photo credits: Anna Kuperberg

Happy Trails!

Why Did the Coyote Cross the Bridge?

*Not sure who to credit for this stellar shot, but I found it on this person's Flickr site on 8/12/08:
http://flickr.com/photos/stubbornbeauty/2215602653/

I had a little chat with Bill Merkle today, who is a wildlife ecologist with the Golden Gate National Recreation Area (GGNRC). GGNRA is a division of Golden Gate National Parks, an extensive parks system which encompasses the Marin Headlands and Muir Woods north of San Francisco, Alcatraz Island in the San Francisco Bay, and Crissy Field, Fort Point, and the Presidio within San Francisco proper. By all accounts, Merkle is the go-to man for the local coyote low-down, so I was very excited to receive a call from him in response to my inquiry last week. Like any good steward of the environment, he was at first a little remiss to talk about the coyotes' whereabouts (plenty of people want to know their range, either so they can harass the poor animals out of spite or so they can follow them around out of love - which, depending on the quantity/quality of food offered and the degree of patience of the 'yote, could qualify as harassment as well). Pretty soon, he opened up and told me what I wanted to know.

Coyotes have been longtime residents of San Francisco and its environs, but with increasing development and loss of farm land over the last century they fled to greener pastures. Their return to their former homeland has been a fairly recent phenomenon, and their appearance in the city of San Francisco is nothing less than an amazing story of survival, a la "An Incredible Journey." I only lasted one year in the big city, so I tip my hat to those furry survivors who have managed to make a go of it here, even in the face of mostly anti-coyote sentiment mingled with a false sense of fear. To carve out a tiny niche of nature in a bustling metropolis is a noteworthy achievement, indeed!

The first coyote sighting in the city occurred in 2002 in the Presidio, a wooded enclave that caps the northernmost end of the city and the southern terminus of the Golden Gate Bridge. The Presidio has been the most likely spot for sighting coyotes, and Merkle says at least one pair probably lives there still. Other sites where he has received coyote reports from are Land's End, Fort Mason, Golden Gate Park, and Twin Peaks. "I've heard there's definitely coyotes at Lake Candlestick Park," he added. Whether or not they know their way around a dugout - or just dig out dens in the outfield - remains to be seen. I really do enjoy the image of coyote sauntering up to the pitcher's mound in a Giant's jersey with the game ball clutched in his muzzle, proceeding to drop it at the pitcher's feet with a little flip of the lip and swish of the tail. Who knew team pets could be so arrogant?

But I digress. What's really amazing, and I'm not talking major league wild dogs here, is how the coyote managed to find its way into San Francisco in the first place. The most likely, and least treachorous, route it would seem is from the south by way of San Mateo. Many coyotes live in the dry, desert-like hills of San Mateo, San Jose, and Gilroy, and the trip up north through the Peninsula wouldn't involve any doggie paddling across major waterways, so the prospect of them arriving via this route is entirely possible. Yet, it is a journey through at least 30 miles of densely populated suburbs, with the hazards of humans all around. Any coyote to make it through this maze is worth his salt, and deserves a special spot in the city free from molestation and stocked with the plumpest ground squirrels - in my opinion. But his friends from the north have perhaps an even more amazing route to navigate, even if it is shorter distance.

In 2003 genetic testing was performed on a coyote that was captured in the Presidio. Scientists from the School of Veterinary Medecine at UC Davis determined, "with 97.5% probability" that the city coyote in question was related not to his southern-dwelling cousins, but to coyote populations in northern Marin county. In 2007 genetic testing of another coyote that was (unfortunately) killed by USDA Fish and Game officials in Golden Gate Park revealed that it too was a genetic match to the northern coyote clan.

In all, "two out of two coyotes tested [since genetic testing began] have been of North Bay origin," said Merkle. While no one's disputing the results of the testing, it seems to raise more questions than answers, principally, how in the world did a coyote cross the Golden Gate Bridge? There are some folks who hold out that perhaps someone caught the animals, drove them across the bridge, and then deposited them in the city - maybe as a joke played by earthy, eco-conscious Marin on her nature-deficient cosmopolitan sister, San Francisco. Due to the age (2-3 years old) and initial location (Crissy Field, right next to the bridge) of the first coyote tested, Merkle tends to believe that the little guy just up and hauled off over the bridge bikeway one day. Why? We might never know. But his spirit of adventure classifies him as a true "Don Coyote" of the modern age. He may have even found that windmill in Golden Gate Park sufficiently scary enough to tilt at, but that's just wishful thinking.

Map Quest, Coyote Calls, & a Trickster Talisman

The stack of maps that I ordered from AAA arrived yesterday and I immediately got to work on marking them up with penciled-in circles and squiggles. What a lifesaver! With my membership I was able to order up to 10 maps and guidebooks (a quota that I promptly filled) and have them shipped to me for free within the week. Boo-yah! That frees my finances up to purchase a Primos Lil' Dog Coyote call . . . I'll explain the purpose behind that in a sec. At this point in my trip planning, I've gotten only as far as southeastern Oregon by way of Crater Lake and some seriously snaky-looking roads. To find out where I would find coyotes in Oregon, I had to do a little subterfuge-style research.

Apparently, coyotes are not a welcome addition to the Oregonian wilderness. Google searches on "Oregon coyotes" and "coyote sightings in Oregon" brought me only a wealth of coyote hate pages. One forum on coyote hunting in particular proved especially useful in pinpointing the whereabouts of my buddies, with hunters going by the names of "OregonElkSlayer" and "The Dude" providing some valuable insight on their favorite back country pastime. Even though I grew up around rifles and shotguns, and even shot off a few rounds myself from time to time, it never occurred to me that killing an animal for sport could be fun. Couldn't a person take his primitive hunter's aggression out on video games like Elk Hunt, Duck Hunt, and Mario Kart II? Considering that over 80,000 coyotes are hunted a year under the guise of "predator control" and "varmint extermination," I get the feeling that I'll find myself up against some considerable static in my attempt to educate the public on coyote coexistence. That's okay, as long as I have my pepper spray at the ready.

The hunting forum provided one other bit of useful information. For $20, I could be the proud owner of the top-rated coyote predator call on the market, and thus effortlessly lure my subjects to me. The Primos Lil' Dog Coyote Call is a tiny whistle that can be used to mimic not only the howl of a coyote, but also the squeaks and screams of dying rodents and birds, which is just like can opener music to the ears of these wild dogs. A call like this could be useful should I want to see a coyote up close (yes, yes!), but it also poses the problem of putting me in the same league as hunters who use it for less benign reasons. As frou-frou as it sounds, I don't think deception scores me major points in my quest is for karma, so I'll probably pass, but the idea is tempting.

On a different, yet related note, I found the perfect talisman for my journey! It's a bronze pin of a coyote driving a Cadillac that I bought for $3 from someone on eBay. Wow, who'd of thought? Every time I look at it I get the chorus for Steppenwolf's hit song "Born to be Wild" stuck on eternal loop through my head, so I've learned to keep it out of eyesight most of the time. It was an amazing find but I never knew what to do with it. I guess I simply don't have the guts to stick it on my jacket and wear it proudly out in public - even in San Francisco, where I get away with donning hot pink tights and an electric blue polka-dotted leather jacket with asymmetrical zipper on a regular basis. The coyote cruiser pin has sat for months on top of my jewelry box, awaiting a fate of dust collection and the occasional show-off to bemused family and friends; however, last night it warranted a renewed interest on my part. Even though I never followed the trend in the early 90's of hanging a silver angel from my rearview mirror, I certainly don't mind sticking a bronze road-tripping coyote pin to the visor of my vehicle now. I'm even adding the inscription of "never drive faster than your coyote can accelerate" to keep with the tongue-in-cheek theme of a canine angel on my shoulder. Am I committing a major sacrilege? I don't really know. But I’m banking on a decade of Catholic school to atone for my playfulness. The coyote is called "God's dog," after all. So there. *Pfffftt!*

Have Gear, Will Travel

I bit the bullet and made my first round of purchases towards my trip today. But just in case, if by some twist of fate a lucrative and meaningful job crashes into my lap before I leave, I chose the "store pick-up" option so that I wouldn't be out the $12 in shipping if I decide to return the whole lot of gear. After scouring the REI.com outlet for unreal end-of-season bargains, I settled on the basics: a backpacking tent, MSR camp stove, water purifier, folding stool (for those tedious hours spent in the field waiting for my furry friends to zip by), and two collapsible vinyl buckets. Why two, you ask? Simple: camp bathing. One bucket to suds myself up in, the other to hold the rinse water. Even an outdoor explorer has to keep clean . . . remember, I'm coming from San Francisco. I consider this a ginormous leap in personal comfort sacrifice. What's more, as I've learned from previous backpacking trips, these buckets are especially useful for tramping creek water back to camp so that I won't have to sit "poolside" while I pump it through my purifier. It's the little conveniences that make any outdoor excursion that much more enjoyable.

I decided to shell out the $60-odd bucks for a purifier rather than haul my own jugs of Arrowhead water (or Dasani, depending on where I find myself) for several reasons. First, compared to the sweet waters of a mountain spring, bottled water tastes like pooh. 'Nuf said. Second, I want to leave as small of a carbon footprint as possible on this journey, and a pick-up truck bed full of empty HDPE containers doesn't quite jive with my goal of greenness. Driving the truck is bad enough, but I'll be glad to have it and it's 15-miles-per-gallon engine when early snowstorms stop me in the Rockies. So, the least I can do is cut down on my paper/plastic/glass waste and not crucify myself for my choice of transportation. Third, I just might decide to backpack a few miles into the wilderness, and a water purification system is therefore an absolute must. Hauling an extra five pounds of water on my back over a 10,000 foot mountain pass is, um, how can I put this gently, stupid? Fourth, I'll always have my purifier, and I am already anticipating the lifetime of trips it will undoubtedly join me on. Now that my sister-in-law is preggers with the family's first grandbaby, I need to live up to the "globe-trotting aunt" persona that my family has already handed to me. Not a bad gig, if you ask me. ;-)

New Name

Ok, so I tired of the nickname Drama Cheetah . . . but the legacy is still there (see Post #1). I'll use my new handle, "Fog E. Dog," for now. I think it fits the spirit of the coyote journey, so I'll hang onto it for awhile. :-)

Biking the big orange highway

Ah, another foggy morning.

I decided to make the most of it and hopped on my hybrid bike, the kind that's just perfect for navigating the roads and hills of this mountain range that thinks it's a major metropolis (yes San Francisco, I'm talking about you). My mission? To cross through the fog of the Golden Gate Bridge and hopefully land myself in a patch or two of sunshine, then hoof it up and over into the Marin Headlands for some possible coyote voyeurism. Coyotes are a common site there, and they are often so tame that they'll sit on the side - or in the middle - of the road and watch visitors with well-fed boredom. Despite the posted signs and constant admonitions of park rangers, tourists continue to feed these wild animals with a spare cheeseburger here and half of a dried-out Clif bar there, bringing them dangerously close to tameness. Oftentimes, this comfort around humans leads to the coyotes' injury or death as they wander into roadways or wander off with Twinkle the chihuahua. A little fear on their part is good. I tell myself that every time I see one, I'll watch it a bit and take my photos and notes, but when I'm done I'll cause a general hootin', hollerin', and rock-throwin' ruckus to scare the little guy away. The coyote will crouch down in shock at the noise before scampering hurriedly away, no doubt with one last glance over its shoulder and some parting words. "Geez, you humans are crazy %$&$*s! So much for your doughnuts and turkey sandwiches - I'm outta here!"

Maybe it's the wind-blown wildness of the headlands they prefer, or perhaps it's that coveted view of the city and bridge that those Marin County coyotes are guarding. (When the sun finally shows itself, I'll trek it up to the Marin Headlands lookout and snap a couple of killer shots for the Q4CK Blog, and you'll know why property values here ain't cheap!) Whatever the case, they make a nice mammalian addition to the park, and unlike their handful of cousins that actually live in San Francisco, these coyotes fill the night air with their ethereal yips, yaps, and Dwight Yokam-ish yodels.

That was my plan when I headed towards the Headlands on bikeback. To get to the Golden Gate from my home requires a bit of inner-city navigation, which is exciting for the novice cyclist but downright frightful for anyone who has come face-to-face with the front fender of a careless driver. Myself being of the latter group, I take the route through the Presidio whenever I'm pedaling northbound. Circuitous though it is, it offers awesome views of flora and fauna with the added bonus of being an occasional coyote sighting spot. I kept one eye peeled for the 'yotes as I zipped down to the Marina, but didn't see so much as coyote track or scat, so I just kept going until I reached the most challenging obstacle of all: the Bridge.

Oooo-wee! No trip to San Francisco is complete without a ceremonial walking of the Golden Gate Bridge, or if a tourist is feeling slightly more adventurous, he'll give his dogs a rest and rent a clumsy trek bike to make the ride across in efficient style. Of course, this presents hazards for the local bicyclists (myself included), namely in the form of stalled picture-takers in the right-hand lane coupled with ambling toddlers in the left. I once bumped a guy with a baby as I avoided his camera-wielding wife. Today's obstacle course was no different, but at least it is a good exercise for my reflexes, even if it does slow me down a bit. And I must admit, I even fell into the camera gawker camp as I stopped mid-bridge to snap this shot of tugboat and tanker emerging from the mist.
As I rolled into the Marin side of the Golden Gate Bridge's span, the sun was just starting to emerge as the banks of fog burned off over the hills. I soaked up some Vitamin D before turning my bike towards the fog source, that Heart Attack Hill that would get me up and over and into the heart of the Headlands. I downshifted and made a few determined grunts as I battled bursts of wind and one of the longest sustained uphill climbs in the county.

Here is where I must give the fog its due. Nowhere else but in the counties of San Francisco and its hippie sister, Marin, have I seen such awesome displays of foggy majesty. In my honest opinion, fog is the only thing that truly gives wind a visible shape and form. It's like what happens in those spy movies when the jewelry thief sprays that aerosol stuff onto laser beams so she can see the web of security thwarting her museum heist. I have seen this effect of the fog several times here, and many times as a little girl growing up in Central California, but today it reached a new level of coolness.

As I biked up to the mountain peak, I climbed right into the fog cloud. Car travel was light and not a biker was in sight, so the solitude provided by the fog shroud was even more stunning. A little spooky, too, I'll admit. Even the sound of my breathing was muffled; all I could hear was the wind washing down the south face of the mountain in its eastward descent, an invisible waterfall of damp, chilly air pushed by the ocean "breeze." It wasn't until I rounded a bend and pulled myself back around the south face that I saw it. The fog was riding a current of wind from one peak to another, just over my head, rolling and spilling and sweeping like a galloping herd of ghostly horses, vaporizing into gray nothingness right before my eyes. I kept riding and was caught up in the herd, felt the fog settle into mist as it condensed on my warm skin, heard the rush of the wind in my ears matched by the rush of breath from my mouth. I closed my eyes and imagined myself lost in the smoky breath of some ice palace dragon, the kind who burns intruders with the sting of dry ice rather than with fire. Later that afternoon as I lay in the sauna of Kabuki Spa, I would have a vivid flashback of that moment on the mountain, except this time I would be lying in the searing, parched mouth of the ice dragon's desert brother. I think I have my recent interest in Chinese Astrology to blame for my dragon visions . . . or maybe just my overactive imagination?

Dragons aside, the ride was an intoxicating one, especially the daring drop down Hawk Hill . . . but alas, no coyotes in the flesh to be found. But, I did snap a shot of yet another coyote warning sign (who should we really be "warning," the humans or the coyotes?), this one located near the tunnel that connects the Headlands to the main road leading to Sausalito. Yet another snippit of evidence that coyotes are here, alive and hopefully well. I suppose it's a good thing that they're learning to keep their furry heads hidden during the day . . . but I hope I get to see one before I leave this Shangri-La. Wouldn't it be cool to say I saw I coyote within sight of one of the grandest cities in the world?

Of Coffee & Coyotes

I woke up with visions of coyote camping romping through my head. I know, it's still a month away, but I'm constantly excited about my trip, and every small bit of planning and preparation only serves to throw another log on my fire/conflagration. So this morning, in anticipation of chilly autumn sun-ups spent somewhere in the wilds of Wyoming, I practiced my drip coffee-making skills. Or rather, I attempted to perfect them.

I have been making drip coffee ever since I got laid off from my job. That's when the purse strings got just a teensie-weensie bit tighter. At first, I downgraded from a large mocha to a double latte, then from double latte to single latte, and finally ended up scrounging nickels and dimes for a plain ol' cup of joe (no room for cream, please). Somehow a month or two ago, that paltry $1.75 I was doling out for my daily 12 oz. of bitter black juice just didn't seem so economical anymore, and I bid my cafe on the corner adieu. You know, a home brew isn't that bad when its backed it up with a breakfast of yogurt and fruit and high fiber cereal. The sweetness of the fruit masks the bitterness of the coffee and the creaminess of the yogurt seems to cut its caustic acidity just a bit. Who knows what the cereal does, other than make my gut gurgle. *burp* I call it California cuisine on a budget. Especially since the yogurt and fruit come from Trader Joe's via a 1.5 mile bike ride through San Francisco central.

Speaking of which, on one shopping trip I managed to shove not 1, not 2, but 6 (!) bottles of wine, a large loaf of Grace Baking kalamata olive bread, 2 M&M's-coated sugar cookies, and a handful of personal effects into my trusty old North Face backpack. How could I resist? They offer an extra 10% off with a 6 bottle purchase, and the discomfort of a weighed-down and wobbly bike ride home didn't seem like such a bad price to pay for an extra $8 in my pocket. The economies of the unemployed wine enthusiast will boggle any sane person's mind. Did I mention that I work in the wine industry?

My tendency towards coyote-ness has definitely increased since the day of the lay-off. I sort of saw it all coming, had already accepted that I had jumped from one sinking ship of a job to another and now had to take a hard look at where I'd been and where I was going. That's the trouble with hitching your star to a start-up, you never know if what you've landed on is a burly battleship or a rickety rig better left as barnacle bait. I chose the latter, and this wasn't the first time. Now I'm bobbing along on the life raft of the US Government, thanks to being laid off rather than quitting or being fired. After a few days of disappointment and a sharp twinge of disgrace, I looked up and realized, "hey, this isn't too bad . . . I'm not only going to make it, but I'm going to make an experience out of all this." And that's when the concept of The Quest for Coyote Karma was born. It's an experiment in creativity and an altered sense of consciousness for me, as well as a coping mechanism to get me through life's little windfalls without want or regret. A coyote would weather this all out with a tongue-lolling smile and a wag of the tail, and I certainly will too.

See? San Francisco is sunny (sometimes)

The famous "Painted Ladies" of Alamo Square, with downtown San Francisco in the background














The courtyard of the Legion of Honor with glass sculpture by Dale Chihuly (ladies walking by in matching yellow cardigans and white capris were not staged, I swear!)




















Colors galore at the Legion of Honor

Sunny CA = Foggy SF

Well, I awoke to another beautifully foggy summer day in San Francisco. Funny thing is, by midday the fog starts to burn off, but stops right at the edge of my neighborhood, which is in pretty much the exact center of the city. There's a reason why rent is cheaper here . . . anyway, I can look out my third story window and see pale blue patches of sky peeking out over the Financial District, North Beach, Chinatown, SOMA, and the Mission. The weather was so much nicer when I moved here in September of last year, and I thought the gravy train of warm sunshine and barely balmy breezes would last forever (almost . . . and I shouldn't complain, as weather patterns have been a lot less foggy in San Fran lately).

My mom visited me this past weekend, and lo and behold, the weather was spectacular! That's when I snapped these pics (see above). Makes me feel a little warmer inside, already.

But back to the trip. I'm spinning my wheels on my traveling plans today, as usual. The Quest for Coyote Karma is rapidly developing, albeit not without a good dose of self-doubt on my part. This is a solo, multi-leg journey of the likes which I haven't ever undertaken, and I've lately been questioning my resolve and overall toughness. First, I need to learn how to pitch a tent with frozen fingers and a burned-out headlamp in the rainy dark, light an MSR stove with only one match so I can boil water for my daily oatmeal and cowboy coffee, and like, I mean actually like wearing the same clothes for three days straight as I trek around the Utah wilderness. If I can change a tire (on bike and truck), make a makeshift flare, and harvest an emergency meal from brambleberries and some low-lying vegetation that looks kind of like wild grass (and probably tastes like it, too), then I'll be set.

Or, I could just throw the tent in the backseat and hightail it to the nearest town when the going gets tough. Maybe I should invest in a couple of gas cans? Yeah . . .

I did it! I'm officially techno suave!

Woo-hoo!

I've finally entered the blogger's domain! I know, I know, BIG deal . . . don't laugh too hard. It's a technological high jump for someone who disabled text messaging on her phone last year and hasn't owned a TV for almost a decade (plasma screen? say what??). I'm feeling pretty proud of myself, although not quite ready to tear apart a mother board or write programming for my new iPhone just yet. This genesis of my techno-genius is a direct result of my current writing/travel/adventure/labor of love project: Coyote Karma.

I'm hot on the trail of research for a new book. More on that to come . . . when we know each other a little better. ;-)

Let me explain my tag name. The nomiker "Drama Cheetah" comes from a nickname I gave my mom, who is the "Mama Cheetah." Her name is my loose (very loose) pronunciation of the Spanish word "Mamacita," and for some reason I thought it was a real riot to call her this when I was a teen (it must be spoken with a big emphasis on the "chee-" and a heavy accent on the "-tah", with plenty of playful intonation, like you're rolling a lychee nut around in a mouth full of razzleberry Jell-O while your friend tickles your tied up feet). No one would deny that I've got enough excitement, adventure, melancholy, misfortune, and small wonders in my life to stage my own Greek tragi-comedy, so the prefix "Drama" seemed an appropriate choice. I'm the firey one in the family, or so they say.

Still, make no mistake about it: coyotes are the animal of choice on this blog. Let the good times roll, or as my furry compadres would yelp, Yip yip yip, yeeeeooooowww!