Trying to warm my toes on the morning trail.

This morning Irvine Park was chilly—low 50′s—and my toes went numb pretty fast, until I decided to get out of the Santiago Creek lowland where the cold air had settled.

A short steep trail leads up to the top edge or ridge overlooking the wide floodplain… probably a half mile across at this point, with the Willows spread out below in the morning shadow. Brrr. I wanted sunshine, not shade, today.

View to the west: The Willows.

I’d just been over this trail a week ago, but the “same old trail” is never the same— golden stars (Bloomeria crocea) are now blooming, like little bursts of yellow fireworks.

Last week on this section of trail:  mariposa lilies.

What kind of flower is this?

A fuzzy lupine in the mouth of Weir Canyon.

Man Cow Rock, mouth of Weir Canyon, viewed from The Chutes trail.

Who’s keeping an eye on Weir Canyon?

The morning light made for some fun shadowy photo-ops.

This stuff is never fun to find (but it’s not going to go away on its own).

Tear tab trash. “Just Plain” stupid.

Read the label: don’t litter.

The morning’s haul. . . .

Injury update (stop reading here if you are allergic to whining).

As I slowly work to rehab my latest running injury (the ankle/achilles residue of last summer’s exuberant-barefoot-trail-running overdose) I am trying not to get discouraged. (Still . . . in three weeks it will be the nine-year anniversary of The Left Patella Incident at the Bishop High Sierra trail race. That’s a lot of phy$ical therapy . . . )

After my most recent set-back when I “overdid it” and brought the heel pain back with a little too much, too soon (five sets of two minutes running was one set too much, I guess) the physical therapist gave me somewhat surprising advice: don’s stop running!

He said to just cut back and keep pushing against the pain/no pain threshold. He said his job would be to listen to my feedback about what/where/how the pain re-appeared, and that’s how we would work through this until I am ready to run a hundred miles (He is also a  runner, understands crazy, and was polite enough not to laugh in my face when I told him my goal.)

So today I hiked for about an hour, then, when almost back to the car, did one minute of slow running, walked a few more minutes, and ran about two minutes, and walked the rest of the way.

Over-running through the Willows a week ago. The trail made me do it . . . how can you not run and run and run through here . . .

Since this was not an especially wet winter (only about 7 inches of rain since October), this spring’s “wildflower show” is more muted than years like 2004-05, when 35+ inches of rain germinated a riot of color all over the hills.

But still–if you slow down and look (and since I’m still rehabbing to recover from last fall’s ankle and achilles twinges, I do go slowly), there are beauties to behold, like these:

Wild hyacinth (Dichelostemma capitatum)

Lively lupine

Blue-eyed grass, waiting for the sun to come out

Phacelia?

Some kind of wild nightshade

Yerba santa up close, the Santa Ana Mountain foothills in the distance

No stoplight at the intersection of The Willows and Roadrunner trails

In The Willows are . . . willows in bloom; note the catkin-style flower structure.

Although mule fat grows near water like willows, and its long slender leaves look willow-ish, the blossoms are quite different . . .

The air is spring-sweet with the scent of elderberry in bloom. Ahh….

Up-close: a tiny individual elderberry flower

Hmmm . . . an interesting trend. No barefoot photos again yesterday . . . just plants.  Gotta honor this blog’s title, though, so here’s a favorite photo from last weekend’s Easter fun with the grandkids:

Easter at Grammy’s: shoes optional

Barefoot running update: last month I was referred to an amazing doctor of physical therapy who in three visits has diagnosed and treated some old-old-old injuries/pain sites. For the first time in a long while, I feel hopeful about getting back to running shoelessly in my beloved dusty hills (not that I don’t enjoy hiking there . . . but running barefoot is even more fun).

I’ve just started alternating short intervals of running with walking during my hour-long trail outings; while it’s frustrating to feel so strange getting used to running again, the doctor (his name is Derrick Sueki, if you’re looking for a miracle in treating your chronic injuries) assures me it’s because my body needs this time to learn new, healthy patterns of movement. Between his wonderful care/instruction, and that of my superhero Pilates instructor Kristine Ngo, running seems like something I might. Just. Do. Soon!

Vernal Equinoxious
22 to the 55 to the 405*

Trapped in my commute,
I envy the spring-

ing color that flames
from the flesh-wound

horizon, all pink and ragged.
Trapped in my car

(the eastern ridges simmering
with promise of trails)

I pine for white sage,
ceanothus haze,

scrub oak sparkle,
manzanita peel.

Trapped in a pocket
of spring morning fog,

the hills go gray,
them and me.

(*The numbers under the title refer to the freeways that comprise my morning commute . . . )

In other news: last weekend’s wander (after all these years, I found a “new” trail through The Willows at Irvine Park, and loved it) yielded my first snake encounter in a long time. Too long . . . I’ve missed seeing my slender friends along the trail.  Here’s a gopher snake, sprawled out and sunning like he owned the road.

Gopher snake in hiding.

Other signs of spring on/near The Willows trails:

Sycamore leaves fuzzing along.

Wild cucumber fruit.

New willow growth.

Lupine along the trail.

Yerba santa.

The Willows trail.

Poison oak, The Willows.

Sunday morning reminder.

Here’s a first: all photos of wandering, but no bare feet. They were there, though, helping me enjoy the sights, sounds, scents and sensations of an almost-spring morning in our beautiful Orange County foothills.

The reward of barefoot hiking: stream crossing without fear of wet feet . . . wet feet are the whole point!

Then, in the half-light of Sunday morning, we threaded our way up the sketchy Panoramic Overlook Trail, arriving at the top just in time to settle in and experience a Font’s Point sunrise. Plenty of desert morning silence, and then Katherine’s soprano solo filled the air and our souls with an old melody: “Children of the Heavenly Father.” I was transported to tear-land, a place I haven’t visited lately, but it was worth it. What a voice, setting, song, memory . . .

On top of the desert world as we were, it was fun to try out a “new” writing exercise using the idea of “opposites.” It worked, sort of, but had a major flaw: for a writing prompt meant to help us experience and appreciate the moment, it worked in the opposite fashion as well, introducing all sorts of non-desert thoughts into our shining morning. Duly noted, and next time I’ll adjust it.

This is what we did, so you can avoid making the same mistake: we all thought of word pairs that had opposite meanings: near/far, movement/stillness, light/shadow, etc. For some reason, I had Sesame Street on my mind, and I thought we should try the near/far pair first. So . . . we each made lists of near and far things that we could experience through our senses; then we made lists of near/far thoughts and feelings. Unfortunately, as we discovered and later discussed, our “far” thoughts and feelings were all the reasons we had escaped to the desert: worry, stress, deadlines . . . my “clever” writing exercise to help us notice and appreciate the desert had done just the opposite. Sigh.

But these resourceful writers made lemonade out of my lemony idea, and two of them agreed to share their jottings. My work follows. What I found interesting was that, when I went to actually write a poem/paragraph after composing the lists, I was able to ignore the thoughts/feelings and just went with what I saw, heard, and felt. Selective obtuseness at its best . . .

Scattered Thoughts—Near and Far
Katherine Dubke

The shadows disappear into the rocky crags beyond
the rocks that glow with the rising sun,
dissipating drowsiness and sleep from my mind.
Professor Gavin’s feet and the sound of pens scratching the page
brings my focus back to the compact land of Concordia.
Thoughts of home are brought near with the wind,
my blur of memories as fuzzy as the distant palm trees.
I rest on the cold rock, content—
anticipating the breakfast I have yet to eat.

Three Views
Danika Schmid

The sun. The reminder we’ve kept on. It sits so far away from us, but touches the valley at my feet. It grazes my face, dry lips and dry cheeks, its hand not warm and not cold. Thousands of bushes, cacti, and desert trees stand at early attention and face their great commander, our great God that’s kept their life, and my life, marching on, as shadows slowly fade into us, as light wins again.
***
Everything is dry. Dry wind, dry sun, dry bark on dry dirt. Dry lips on my face that speak few words as I face the rising sun imitating my position on the other side of this plane. I sit on this rock scraped jagged by eons of wind and–at least as I’ve been told–of water. Jagged edges I sit on, and if you could describe the pain in my feet and back, it’d be dry pain, open to the sun.
***
The desert is like sitting in an inside out sphere. The mountain and dry dirt go on for miles until they reach the sun or escape the sun. At my feet is the jagged rock upon which I sit that turns into rocks upon rocks that cascade down the mountains and spill onto the desert floor. It’s like time has frozen these rocks and the plants that try to pick them up. They are an army of desert cavalry, standing at ease, shadows, just blurs, leaning away from the sun.

Near and Far
Thea Gavin
Panoramic Overlook Trail
Anza Borrego Desert State Park

There are glints in the rock at my feet
matched by startling sparkles of houses
in the desert below. There are shadows
of creosote stretching for ever
in the first rays of sun rising way
to the east off Font’s Point while the tiniest
of hardy and hairy silver-leafed plants
cast miniature silhouette fountains
on the sparkly cold rock that is numbing
my bum to the tune of an urgent
morning dove just over there
just over here and I catch every note
echoed by sister birds also nearby
but below us.
Everything glistens below our rock roost
except for the sunburning mountains
piled high at our backs; we all bask
in the cold wash of wind
rushing from here to forever
or at least to our far-away neighbor—
a ridge just like this, but without us.

The tiny plant in my poem (maybe a plantain?) and its “fountain of leaf shadow.”

The view down Palm Canyon.

What sunrise does to a jackrabbit’s ears: gives them a translucent glow.

What does “theabf” stand for? Is it “Thea, barefoot” or “The Anza Borrego Foundation” ? Check out www.theabf.org to find out for yourself . . .

Wandering through Collins Valley on the Sheep Canyon Road.

No shoes were necessary on the sandy roads, but a reflective umbrella offered relief from the relentless early March sun. Hubby on the left favors shoes and hiking poles. To each ‘is own, as my folks liked to say when we were growing up. Speaking of family–my retired brother joined us on our overnight trek to Sheep Canyon . . . he drove us up rough Coyote Canyon in his 2-wheel-drive truck until the road turned into a rock pile; then we parked and hiked the last four miles to the palm/oak/cottonwood oasis.

This rocky uphill stops all but the most hardy of 4-wheelers.

I brought my new Unshoes running sandals, and ended up wearing them for about half the hike–three miles on the way in, one mile on the way out. They provided stellar grip and ground feel–felt super stable on all the rocks–and allowed 90% less grit under my feet as compared to my other hiking sandals, my Merrell Pipidaes.

Barefoot is best, especially when stream crossings are involved.

“Third Crossing” in Coyote Canyon–for 4-wheel drive vehicles or barefoot hikers only.

Not much winter rain = not too many desert annuals this year . . . which made this dune verbena even more of an eye-catcher.

Boiling up some water to re-hydrate our dry dinner fixin’s. No shoes, no shirt, no problem at this desert diner at the Sheep Canyon oasis.

The just-budding sycamore in the canyon were a cool desert surprise.

The next couple of days we camped at Palm Canyon–fifty years after my first visit, it’s still a magical place.

View from the Palm Canyon trailhead: a Font’s Point sunrise is silhouetted in between the branches.

The “borrego” in Anza Borrego.

Where’s those kids’ shoes? What kind of grandma encourages this kind of nonsense?

The granddaughters thought the local sculptures were pretty wild too.

I love to spend morning time reflecting near the streamside rocks in Palm Canyon (they do their own reflecting along with me). Solitude is what Anza Borrego does best!

Hooray for our California State Parks! Let’s keep them funded and open. . .  for our grandchildren and beyond . . .

Where the trail leads: to oaks and sunshine . . .

Southern California was the center of attention two days ago because of the Oscars; I would contend that the millions of people from around the globe who watched that spectacle of good looks missed the true beauty of our area: as part of the California Floristic Province, it’s one of the world’s biodiversity hotspots, with thousands of species of plants (as well as many creatures) found no-where else on the planet.

And in my corner of it all, northeastern Orange County, there are miles of trails to enjoy the native grandeur, with or without shoes. (Disclaimer: of course the habitats have been impacted by centuries of “progress”, but still . . . much remains to be appreciated and preserved.)

Since our last rain a week or so ago, the days have been steadily warming, with 80-degree+ temperatures forecast for the weekend. But yesterday was already brilliant, in many ways, which inspired this poem and the photos that follow:

February Heat Wave in the Foothills

Eighty degrees of separation
from our mid-west friends
with all their stuff to shovel
out from under
means we cannot speak
our winter secret:
how lupine swing their violet hips
to the golden tune of fiddlenecks
while a California thrasher courts us all
from his perch atop the glistening laurel sumac.

“lupine swing their violet hips” (along the Mountain Goat Trail in Santiago Oaks Regional Park)

“to the golden tune of fiddlenecks” (Irvine Regional Park)

“while a California thrasher courts us all / from his perch atop the glistening laurel sumac” (Irvine Regional Park)

My favorite (since they’re the easiest to drive to) trails are those in Santiago Oaks and Irvine Regional Parks, and the Barham Ridge trails that connect the two parks. There’s a trap door spider nest hidden in plain sight along one trail; I check on it after every rain, thinking that one of these days it will erode away. Not yet . . .

A trap door spider’s trap door front door . . .tiny critters beware . . .

After the last rain, we had some significant wind, which scoured the trails of any dust padding and left lots of rocks to test my soles:

Sunset toes on the rocks…

Hooray for Hollywood? How about hooray for the native plant that Hollywood was named after?

Our native “holly” =  toyon (Heteromeles arbutifolia)

]]> http://theagavin.wordpress.com/2013/02/26/is-it-wrong-to-brag-about-your-home/feed/ 0 theagavin Where the trail leads: to oaks and sunshine . . . lupine "to the golden tune of fiddlenecks" "while a California thrasher courts us all" A trap door spider's trap door front door . . .tiny critters beware . . . Sunset toes on the rocks... Our native "holly" -- toyon or http://theagavin.wordpress.com/2013/02/23/summer-in-winter-barefoot-fun-on-a-sunny-february-trail/ http://theagavin.wordpress.com/2013/02/23/summer-in-winter-barefoot-fun-on-a-sunny-february-trail/#comments Sat, 23 Feb 2013 22:30:38 +0000 theagavin http://theagavin.wordpress.com/?p=2077 ]]> While other parts of the US suffer under buckets of snow, here in So Cal it’s nothing but sun: perfect barefoot hiking/trail running weather. Since the nights have still been in the low 40s, and I needed a fairly early start to my trail time yesterday, I figured it would be a good time to try out my new “minimalist sport sandals”: the Pah Tempe by Unshoes.

Pah Tempe by Unshoes

Even though I got the thinnest sole they had (6 mm) it still felt like way too much stuff between my feet and the ground. When I wore them around the house the night before, the front flapped under once or twice–a price I happily pay in order to NOT have a strap between my toes.

As I had read in other blog reviews, these sandals do have a weird flap-strap action, but it only took a few minutes to figure out how to tuck it under so it wouldn’t wave in the breeze.

Floppy extra strap

No under-flappage occurred out of the trail, but I could only stand to wear them for the first 15 minutes; even though the air was 50 degrees, the ground had been warmed up enough by the sun and I. Needed. Dirt.

Plus–walking by puddles without being able to muck my toes around was a bummer.

Should I or shouldn’t I? It’s never a question when I’m barefoot . . .

So off with the sandals and into the mud:

Happy mud feet.

And now, my much more fun version of those “other” toe/minimalist shoes:

Five fingers? No Vibram sole required . . .

Such a blue sky morning! Blue flowers, too:

Native nightshade.

Native wild hyacinth (Dichelostemma capitatum)

Native wishbone bush in bloom, near Barham Ridge.

Although only five mule deer are visible in this photo, this herd was the biggest I’d ever seen in the Irvine Park/Santiago Oaks area I’ve been wandering in for 15+ years: seven of these lovely creatures were slowly grazing downslope from me. Little-known fact: even male mule deer squat to do their biz-ness. (Note the one caught on camera, second from the left, is a female.)

Mule deer on the move.

Green under oaks, near the mouth of Weir Canyon.

Lemonade berry: not quite ripe. How do I know? I tried it, and it had not yet developed its deliciously tangy, slippery outer coating yet. Bleh.

I did not see this, my favorite blue flower, on the trail yesterday, but they are starting to bloom in my yard, and the wild ones should be popping soon.

Blue-eyed grass.

Also in my yard today:

Monarch on Dichelostemma capitatum.

In Orange County, February is springing!

.

Thus this blog post as a sort of rebuttal.

People do NOT need any more excuses to stay on the couch and not get out into our beautiful local wildlands. And I can picture this article—full of tips about self-defense moves and proper use of pepper spray—framed on the living room wall of someone with a remote in one hand and a fistful of french fries in the other.

What the author probably meant as a plausible hook for the story, I see as fear-mongering: “In the last few weeks, there have been a couple of local incidents both involving individuals who were walking alone and were attacked.”

What about all the “local incidents” of car accidents in the last few weeks? Every day as I drive to work, I hear traffic reporters recite litanies of fender-benders and multi-vehicle pile-ups and even fatalities. It seems the odds of getting hurt or killed are far greater on the freeways than on the trails, but I haven’t seen any recent full-page articles titled “Staying Safe on the Freeway.” (Hmmm…that actually might not be a bad idea.)

What probably chapped my hide the most in the hiking article was the #1 item on the accompanying “top ten list”: “Don’t hike, jog, bike, ride or walk alone.”

Even a quick perusal of my blog will reveal that that is exactly what I love to do: hike and trail run alone, solo, and by myself. While there are many logistical and philosophical and personality-ical reasons why I do this, I’ll go with my own #1 answer (which also applies to why I do this all shoe-less-ly): It’s fun.

Another reason the OC Register article got my shorts in a bunch, perhaps, was that a couple of weeks ago I corresponded about the same topic with a local writer-hiker-friend via email. Here’s what Kelly Anderson had to say:

“In the new year, I realized I’d forsaken hiking for my sofa because I lacked the courage to hike alone.

“I was afraid to hike alone because ‘something bad could happen.’ What if I fell or had a heart attack or was attacked by a weirdo or animal?

“But something clicked in me the other day and I decided right then that I would rather face those fears in beauty than die on my sofa watching reruns of Downtown Abbey.

“That sounds more morbid than it is, but it came down to wanting to choose beauty over fear.”

Right on, Kelly! I’ll take beauty over fear any day.

Speaking of which: when Kelly is out hiking, beautiful writing happens. Here’s some of her observations that she sent me in response to my poem about invasive plants wrecking our native landscapes: “As I walked Serrano a couple days ago, I had the same wish: what did it look like before roads and wires and weeds? Even on the ridge, the symphony of songbirds was accompanied by the shuush of traffic and I was never out of sight of the towers that bring electricity to my home.

“But oh! the rain brought out the perfume of earth and white sage. And oh! the mud brought out deep footprints: bobcats, coyotes, deer, and raccoons had walked and run the same trail as me. So I shut my mind to manmade things and gave thanks to be walking where the wild things still are.”

You rock, Kelly! Keep hiking and writing with your wild friends!

Speaking of hitting the trails alone and barefoot: here are some photos from yesterday’s morning adventure in Black Star Canyon.

As the frost shows, it was pretty chilly, so I reluctantly wore socks and sandals until the trail warmed up.

Frosty sunrise in Black Star Canyon

Frosty barbed wire

Frosty Yerba Santa

Frosty log

An un-frosty puddle. Still beautiful.

De-frosting hawk

Finally warm and barefoot on Black Star Canyon’s dirt road.

Santa Ana Mountain views on the way up Black Star Canyon road

From yesterday’s hike in Shady Canyon: sure, the hills are getting green, but why?

More rains over the weekend . . . definitely a blessing . . . but now that the coastal foothills are responding with an emerald glow (soon to be quilted with patches of gaudy yellow mustard flowers), it’s time for me wax despondent over the whole shiny mess.

While most folks see a beautiful seasonal display of color, I sigh, wondering what the hills looked like a couple hundred years ago, before all the non-native annual grasses invaded. Sure, our hills are green for a bit in winter . . . but  the parade quickly fades, and these weeds dry and die. With all the native perennial bunch grasses and rainbows of wild flowers choked out years ago, the hills turn to gray-ish brown tinder for the rest of the year–instead of a year-long blossoming of native plants, and year-long green of native  bunchgrass.

Thus this poem:
Like a golden dagger inlaid with emerald

much admired for its gaudy decoration,
so these hills are venerated for
how they light up every year with green-
shine grass and brilliant mustard glow.

What if one day you heard the story of
the dagger’s history: “With this weapon
so-and-so stabbed and killed
your great-great-grandfather. And his wife.”

I think about this sometimes after rain
stirs the patient hills back into color:
emerald sheen of noxious annuals,
golden epidemic of mustard flower—

weapons of death in our Orange County wildlands.
What is in the eyes of the beholder?

******

On a happier note, there are still a few deer that seem to have adapted to the “new” diet of imported grasses.

One of my favorite words in action here: crepuscular deer, grazing (amidst dry mustard stalks) at the close of day in Shady Canyon yesterday.

And, on an unrelated note: I discovered barefoot pony riding a couple of weeks ago, during an amazing winter break of several 80-degree days. I went for a trail ride with my sister (who bought the cute little guy for her granddaughters), and when I got home did a quick internet search of “barefoot horseback riding.” Some of the warnings/negativity seemed eerily similar to how people regard barefoot hiking: dangerous, demented behavior that will get you hurt. On the other hand, there were a few comments by folks who enjoyed riding their horses sans saddle and shoes, raising the eternal question: is contemporary conventional shoe-wisdom (wear them or suffer the broken-glass, bloody consequences!) the voice of reason, or ?

Barefoot and bareback on a warm So Cal winter day.

Posing for a pre-hike photo at the trailhead.

A while back, Joel had asked me to help plan an event to introduce people to barefoot hiking; of course I was excited to be part of such a worthy endeavor–the more people out hiking our local wildlands barefoot, the less odd I will seem . . .

And what a great group showed up today for “The Barefoot Experience”: 14 adventurous souls, some of whom had been lured under slightly false pretenses to the San Juan Loop trailhead off the Ortega Highway, near the crest of the Santa Ana Mountains. It seems the local newspaper on the other side of the range had included a photo of a waterfall along with the activity listing I had posted to  Zvents. Oops.

What to do with nine people who had made the curvy drive from Lake Elsinore to hike, with shoes on, to see a waterfall like the one in the (undated) newspaper photo? So far this winter there’s not been enough rain to get the water tumbling over the granite shelves that characterize several of the watercourses in these parts. Hmm.

Joel and I explained the situation:  they were certainly welcome on our “barefoot but no waterfall” hike, but they had to try hiking shoeless for at least 20 yards at some point during the trek. They looked at the other hikers who had showed up barefoot on purpose, and within a couple of minutes all but one had their shoes off. Sure, they voiced a few concerns–but these fantastic folks were willing to try something new. (And maybe they got inspired by the contagious energy of the three young brothers,  especially the little guy, who couldn’t have been more than three–he literally took off running as soon as we hit the trail.)

Three miles and a couple of hours later–after a lot of granite encounters–we were back at the trailhead, toes and soles intact, all smiles.

While I definitely DO NOT recommend going three rocky miles for your first barefoot hike (I did 1.8 miles of smooth clay on my original outing, three years ago almost to the day), once these eager folks got their barefoot awareness going, it almost seemed to become a bit competitive, but in a good way. The 20-something son Eddie and his dad Ed had a bit of friendly rivalry going–it became clear pretty quickly that despite their shoe-accustomed feet, these two guys were going conquer the trail barefoot no matter what granite boulder-or-pebble obstacles got in their way.

Of course Joel did a fabulous job helping everyone become more aware of some of the cool plants we passed, explaining everything from where the “chaparral” landscape got its name to unveiling the mysteries of the odd round “ball” with little pinholes someone found hanging from an oak.

Barefoot hiking under an oak canopy along the San Juan Loop Trail, Santa Ana Mountains.

Joel leads all his hikes barefoot (in fact, he lives his whole life barefoot, unlike me–I still wear shoes in the city); on all his hikes he invites participants to join him in experiencing the trail in this simply wonderful way, and I highly recommend joining him on a Naturalist for You adventure–and yes, he does lead waterfall-specific hikes to the many cool places of tumbling water here in our awesome Santa Ana Mountains, formerly home to the most grizzly bears per square mile in the whole state of California.

**********

Since I arrived at the trailhead a little early (there’s no telling how traffic will be on the notorious Ortega Highway), I spent the time scribbling down some “intro to barefoot hiking” notes. Always the teacher, even on Saturday . . .

1) History of barefoot hiking: you were born to do this. It goes back a long way. Before shoe-producing sweatshops, even.

2) How to get started: take off your shoes. Move. Do this at home as much as possible, indoors and out, to gradually get used to it. Roll a tennis ball or golf ball under your foot while sitting at work (or watching TV). Get your feet to help with chores around the house. Make them pick up stuff. It’s a fun challenge.

3) Step lightly. Feel how your foot lands. Concentrate on “picking up your feet” when there are rocks.

4) Scan the trail ahead, but don’t forget to enjoy the view as well. Practice looking down, then up. Your brain will get better at unconsciously “mapping” the terrain ahead. But at the beginning, expect to feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of looking. Where. You. Step.

5) Hiking poles can help and hurt. Help=taking some of the weight off your feet and stabilizing you on downhills. Hurt=slamming your toe into a pole if you don’t coordinate your pole planting. $#!*. I’ve done this more than once.

6) Bring duct tape/bandaids/tweezers. I’ve used all three at various times. (But note: my feet heal incredibly fast now, since I’ve taken up barefoot hiking/trail running. Increased circulation? It’s amazing.) (Results not guaranteed. See doctor if symptoms persist. Possible side effects include  . . . )

7) Public restrooms =  ick. Bears do it in the woods. So should you. (But if you have to hit the port-a-potty at the trailhead, try assuming a wide stance to keep out of the sticky-icky.)

8) Mud = some of the most fun!

9) Stream crossings = even more fun than mud!

10) Glass = you have two excellent tools to avoid stepping in broken glass. Your eyes. Use them. (And see this hilarious video by Orange County’s barefoot guru KenBob Saxton about the “dangers” of broken glass and bare feet.)

11) The soles of your feet may “buzz” for a few hours/days after you expose them to the beauty of natural terrain. This is normal and will go away. Enjoy it while it lasts. It’s weird and kind of cool.

12) Always smile and never say “ouch.” To do so would break the code of barefoot hiking: make it fun or put shoes on. (I learned this from Richard Keith Frazine’s free online book about barefoot hiking: The Barefoot Hiker. )

13) You will get odd looks and/or comments. Embrace them or ignore them; it’s all  part of the “Barefoot Experience.”