Hey, so what are you waiting for? Let’s go swimming! Flickr image courtesy of John Carleton.

Yeah, yeah, I know: people always say that we Californians are pretty gol-dang soft when it comes to enduring the hardships of winter weather. As if we don’t really know what winter weather is!* Interestingly enough, we actually (still) have seasons out here in the Golden State. Hockey-stick charts notwithstanding, some of us are lately digging into storage trunks for those moth-eaten afghans Grandma crocheted back in 1966!

But, brrrrrr!! It’s so one-armed-well-digger’s-arse cold right now in California!

Why, it’s so cold that…

…after the usual two-mile walk to work this morning, I was compelled to ask the security guard at my building if my nose was still attached to my face.

…the rock that was rattling around inside my shoe turned out to be my big toe.

…I couldn’t read my book on the train this evening because it was too hard to turn the pages while wearing winter gloves.

…despite cranking the heater on the drive home tonight, the cab of my truck didn’t get warm until I pulled into the driveway.

…if this keeps up, I’m trading in my pickup for a trail-groomer snowcat (super-deluxe Gran Touring model).

…in L.A., it was reported that Tiger Woods is (once again) sleeping with his own wife in order to keep warm.

…the flasher in my neighborhood was caught describing himself to women.

…being that I’m of a somewhat contrarian political nature, Global Warming must be a certainty!

…I could swear I saw snowflakes falling outside my 17th floor window yesterday - in downtown San Francisco! Indeed, I will swear! DA-yam!

…shrinkage is suddenly a real concern. Double DA-yam!!

…and, finally: it’s so cold in California that Ahhnold the Governator today had to turn the heat up on the state legislature, again!

Rimshot! >Ba-dump-bump.<

~winehiker

*I have some snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains to show you - on snowshoes, of course. You can tote-a the bota.

Image courtesy of Mapsof.net

The term sense of place has often been used to describe a wine’s origins, those elements of a wine that can distinguish its taste from the taste of wines produced elsewhere. It is said by many that one can taste the difference between wines produced in geographically disperse regions - due, most notably, to a vineyard’s sun exposure and soil type. This sense of place, also known as terroir, speaks of the myriad possibilities worldwide for the variety of flavors that can end up in your glass and on your palate.

You probably have a little experience with terroir yourself and may not know it - especially if you’ve ever planted a vegetable garden or sought to understand the relationship between you and your local wilderness. Today I am delighted to announce that my new article, A sense of place, under your feet, is available on Palate Press, the online wine magazine.

~winehiker

Posted via web from winehiker’s posterous

When the light of Summer fades, the heart can grow restless - and Love, like the lengthening nights of Autumn, can drift despairingly into shadows.

Caroline

The wind that whips
The cold that bites
On chilly North Dakota nights
Urges me on
My spirit warms
As I know I’ll soon be in your arms

You tease my heart
You fill my mind
I crave your tender love so kind
Yet struggle on
The driving sleet
Drains me for I am incomplete

I know it’s true
A man it seems
Had preyed upon your thoughts and dreams
I knew that I
Must see this man
My true intentions not so grand

I found him soon
His eyes searched me
We had some words but carelessly
I lost my nerve
I feel so old
By now, my dear, he’s lying cold

I falter now
I’m fading fast
I know I soon will breathe my last
But not before
Your lips meet mine
I’ve always loved you, Caroline

~winehiker

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via flickr.com

Happy winehikers, cavorting along a woodsy path on a late-September morning. These folks joined me last year; would you like to join me this year? If so, you’ll find all the details on my Romp through the Redwoods page.

~winehiker

Posted via web from winehiker’s posterous

The late-Summer post-Labor Day season has always been my favorite time of year for traveling. Kids are back in school, the highways are less trafficked and the pace of Time seems to shift dramatically from the hectic to the serene.

Though the nights can be chillier, there are often three to four good weeks remaining of warm days good for hiking the deserts. The aspens of the high mountains begin to morph into their many shades of gold and red, too – always a signal to me that Winter will soon voice its might. When camping at altitude in September, one must always stay vigilant knowing that sooner or later, volatile weather will be approaching.

While in camp one late morning high up on the Grand Canyon’s North Rim, the air around me seemed to take on a furious energy, suddenly whipping up a volatile frenzy of leaves and dust. Clouds had begun to loom and grow large above the rim, and the threat of an imminent thundershower was palpable. Lightning was flickering across the skies above this darkening part of the canyon, which itself portrayed a roiling juxtaposition of heat rising from its depths and cool winds aloft. The advancing smell of high-altitude ozone suggested that I had better prepare for an onslaught. I rounded up what little gear I had set out in camp and had no sooner packed it away in the truck when those thunderbumpers opened up and spattered down.

I latched the tailgate, dove in over it and latched the camper shell door behind me just as the deluge struck. Within seconds my life was reduced to a penetrating, deadening roar of rain on the camper-shell roof; I was suddenly witnessing the heaviest downpour I had ever experienced. I could do nothing but simply wait out the storm, marveling at its ferocity, huddled there in my truck, as the water level upon the ground grew alarmingly fast around me.

The raven, according to Native American legend, brings light to the world.

In fifteen minutes it was all over. In thirty minutes the skies were completely clear. The abrupt temperature drop that preceded the storm had now reversed and steam was rising everywhere – an evaporation so profound as if to suggest I was suddenly living in a time-lapsed eternity. The silence in those moments was almost as eerie as the spectacle itself. I opened the camper door and stared out at Nature’s tableau, drinking it in, and allowed my mind to wander.

Within moments, as the mists cleared and the ground drained of water, I seemed to feel rather than hear a distant, steady whock whock whock, growing louder, drawing nearer. And then a large shadow, moving quickly, passed low overhead. I smiled as a raven appeared, larger than life, ten feet above the truck. I watched it fly away down the clearing below me, heavy wings flapping, clearing the silence before it.

And Life came back to the Rim.

~winehiker

Posted via web from winehiker’s posterous

Posted via web from winehiker’s posterous

via flickr.com

Winemaker Bradley Cooper of Penticton, British Columbia, produces exquisite wines from the south Okanagan Valley, including this delicious handcrafted small-lot Cabernet, of which he made 752 cases.

I simply adore this wine’s cherry, coffee and cola overtones, especially when enriched by a broad silkiness on the palate and an enduring finish that will cause you to delay brushing your teeth too soon. Lovely with red meats or on its own, here’s a special, affordable Township 7 Cabernet that you should be drinking.

Price: $25.99 per bottle / $311.88 for a case of 12
Heat: 13.9% ABV
Where to purchase: contact the winery.

Disclaimer: this bottle was a sample, stolen fair and square from the winemaker when he wasn’t looking.

Posted via web from winehiker’s posterous