I did it wrong. Over and over and over. Not sure which part I did right – well, maybe getting home again –but other than that, Saturday's escapades read like a Litany Of Wrongness. On the plus side, of which none was my doing, so as to not detract from my Doing It Wrong, animal activity abounded. I saw birds everywhere, evidence of deer, rabbits, various rodents and this Big Boy/Girl:

That, mis amigos, is a puma print. Since it snowed on Wednesday, and I was doing my Thing o' Wrongness on Saturday morning, s/he must have sauntered up the trail sometime Thursday or Friday. Cool as all get out, but it did make me rubberneck a bit more than usual.

The first wrong thing I did, I did even before setting out; I forgot to eat breakfast (#1). I had every intention of eating a good breakfast, but my family was leaving roughly the same time I was, and it sorta got lost in the shuffle. I did have coffee though. It counts in my book, but not enough.

Along the same lines, I forgot to bring adequate food along for my adventure (#2). A single 300-calorie PowerBar isn't enough for what turned out to be a 4+ hour event, even for my skinny butt. On the bright side, I did bring along enough water. However, I didn't drink enough of what I brought, bringing the Wrong-tally to 3, and counting.

I had decided to do a little more exploration in the Eldorado Canyon area, however, I didn't tell anyone specifically where I was going (#4). Add to that, the fact my family left town not to return until Monday night. If anything had happened to me, I wouldn't have been missed for nigh on 60 hours or so (#5).

Keeping up? So far, five tactical errors, and I hadn't even started the truck yet.

Speaking of the truck, I descended a 4x4 track that was snow-and-mud covered to get to my intended start point. I didn't really have a lot of options to get back out. (Two alternates, I think. Both potentially equally treacherous.) The snow and mud on the departing ascent might be more than just a little difficult (#6).

My intended plan was to ride my bike to investigate. The bike I haven't been on more than twice in ten years (#7). My helmet was ill-fitting and painful; I took it off for part of my ride to alleviate the nascent headache (#8 & #9).

Once I got going, I changed my plan of where an how far I was going to ride (#10). A bit further along, I changed it again, and went where I had no idea the trail led (#11). Why, you are asking, did I take an unknown trail? Good question. I though it might get me to where I needed to go, but wasn't sure, because I had no map (#12), but it headed in the correct general direction, and I was running on empty. (See wrongs #1 and #2.) That particular path was a motorcycle track. Anyone try to ride up a motorcycle track covered with 1" of mud when not covered with 2" snow (#13)? Personally, I think riding a bike up a motorcycle trail is a Wrong all on its own. With a motor, up means straight up: follow contour lines – are you kidding? Yeah, runners can follow the motortrack for short distances, bikes - nah.

As for getting me home, sure, I could use the GPS on my phone to locate me and the truck, despite the lack of cell service, as the GPS uses satellite. But the phone has to be charged for that to work (#14). All that aside, I wasn't able to do a lot of riding up the trail, and – here's a protip for you all – bike shoes, even 18-year old classics with laces – don't have a lot of traction in snow and mud. With >1000' gain in just two miles (see below), making those two miles took me seemingly forever. The Hills Were Alive With The Sound Of Cursing.

I did finally make it back to the car. I was exhausted and thought seriously about sleeping a few hours before attempting to leave. I desperately needed some fuel input into my system, and reached for the Recoverite that would alleviate the twitchies in my leg muscles (calf and quad this time - special!). Alas, I had forgotten that, too. (#15).

Needless to say, I survived, and I was able to glean some positives out of the experience: (a) The route is a viable run route. Rocky in parts, steep in a few, but overall, for a distance maven, enjoyable. (b) I only spent 8 miles of the 14 total in the saddle. My butt-bones thank me.  (c) I hopefully learned something from this.

To sum: Do as I Say, Not as I Did, and if you yearn to sojourn solo like I do:

1. Tell someone your start point, your route and your ETA to the startpoint. 
   
2. Do not deviate from your planned route. See something interesting? Do it another day.
   
3. Take enough nutrition for twice the expected distance and duration.
   
4. Take a phone and make sure it's fully charged.

As my curses and self-recriminations echoed off the canyon (who knew how many times I could drop F-bombs in a row?), I realized it's good for me to go alone. There isn't a person on the earth who would have enjoyed my company for more than the first mile/15 minutes. Doing it this way, at least some will enjoy my route, though. If you want to see any of the routes I've found check out the trail maps page on ccrunners.com and download the ccrunners_routes.kmz file. Some interesting places.

On Sunday, the group conquered McTarnahan. The run up was great: spectacular weather, good trail, only getting lost a couple of times... The only drawback to the entire day was the events that occurred near the end. A subset of the group decided to split off and head back to the vehicles at the 7-mile point. Unfortunately, they headed off into Deliverance With Dogs. They ran across some creep who's been living out there in a ramshackle trailer with 8 dogs for the last seven(!?) years. One of them (a dog) decided Courtney was a delicious morsel and decided to sample. A couple of "nips" later and she had a puncture wound and torn pants. 

Of course, Creepy Guy wanted to "take a look" and decided that Courtney was just "too embarrassed" to let him. Look in the mirror (if you have one) Creepy Guy. I wouldn't let you look at MY leg, and I'm not exactly a young attractive female like Courtney.
Of course Deliverance Man never had had any of his dogs innoculated against anything, so Courtney needed a bit of additional care over and above disinfectant. A rabies shot and (I think) a tetanus shot later, she was good to go. Sorry Courtney. Wish the end of your run could have been as good as the start. :-\

I missed the encounter, and most of the talk with Creepy Guy, but he was at our vehicle when I finally finished. Apparently his truck has hydraulic leaks and he was asking if we had some. He didn't know we were with Courtney & Co. I initially cared about trying to find some fluid, but after hearing about the biting incident and the facts that (a) it wasn't the first time that dog had bit someone, and (b) none of them have had shots, I gave up caring. He could rot out there.

I understand that when Courtney got her medical care, Animal Control and the Carson Sheriff's office were notified. Good. If I am in error regarding what I described above, let me know and I'll modify as needed. I wasn't there for all of , but I was there for parts and the parts I was there for had Dueling Banjos for backdrop music.

As I went for a late afternoon jaunt up the Stairway to Hell yesterday, I was thinking about the recent spate of mountain lion sightings in the area. I wasn't nervous — if I had been, I don't think I would have been on that trail, as anyone who has been on it would attest. However, I would say I was a bit more vigilant than normal, due to both the recent sightings and the fact most big predators are crepuscular by nature.
When I run, I do look around me a lot. I tend to notice small animals, prints and other spoor, off-shooting trails, birds, interesting trees and cloud formations that seem to be unnoticed by some others. During my run last night, I noticed all this, and also looked behind me a fair amount. Along the way, I saw 4 bucks and a doe on the hillside, one of which had been radio-collared and ear-tagged. That was the first time I'd seen a tagged and/or collared mulie. So maybe my heightened awareness made the run a little more interesting. It did make it a little slower. It's hard to maintain pace while gimballing my head around 360°.

In the last week, there have been two separate incidents of cougars and people. And no, I am not talking MILFy cougars; I'm talking about the ones that want to sink real fangs, rake real claws, and draw real blood. Last weekend, Department of Wildlife officers shot and killed an eighty pound male not a mile from my house, and yesterday, a man running in King's Canyon was paced by another.
Both incidents occurred in places I frequently run, and I run solo. Am I nervous? Nah. I'm too skinny and bony to be of much interest to a mountain lion - and too old to be of interest to a cougar.

This morning after returning from dropping the girl-cub at school, Max, our German Shepherd was desperate to go outside. Nothing particularly unusual about that, since during the crush of typical morning activities, he's probably pretty happy to even get fed.
Anyway, as the door opened, he shouldered me aside and took off toward the fence like a bat out of hell, barking like mad. He sometimes does this to scare the birds away from the feeder, tough guy that he is. But I usually look first to see if there is an unsuspecting bunny or squirrel first and scare them off. (It's not that I don't like him chasing them off, I don't want to have to clean up the mess if he catches one.) 
Today, I didn't see anything before opening, so his mad dash made less sense than normal.
Then I saw the buck on the other side of the fence. He was standing five feet or so from the fence, when Max charged out the door. After he had come to a halt barking, the buck was... five feet from the fence. He hadn't moved an inch. Brave SOB. He just stared at the dog - and me when I went outside to snap a photo - daring either of us to mess with him. Max and I agreed: he can have that side of the fence.

For some reason this fall, our property has become a preferred resting and rubbing area for a rather large buck mule deer. From what I can tell he's a 5 pointer (I'm not a hunter, so I am not positive about how to count, and he's pretty shy to boot) and big. Now, I don't mind the wildlife hanging about and using the pond for a drink now and again. We get regular deer, raccoons, multiple ground and tree squirrels and the occasional coyote, bear and bobcat. I've heard rumors of mountain lion, but have never seen evidence.
All that is great! However, this big bucker is rubbing his antlers on every smallish tree in the area, busting up the sumac something awful, and likely killing a couple of small ponderosas by stripping all the bark off. 
If I get a photo I'll post it, but in the meantime, I wish he would be a little more respectful of my decorative plants.

Although I live virtually on the edge Tahoe National Forest, animal encounters are usually conform to bears and raccoons in the garbage, deer eating the shrubbery and mice in the garage. on rare occasions, one might get a glimpse of a coyote or fox while driving down into the town, or even more special, a bobcat.
In the last 12 hours, I had two animal encounters that didn't qualify for the above list. Allow me to elaborate.
I was on a run last evening on a narrow trail traversing a rather steep hill. Getting off the trail was a giant step up to the left. To the right it was a small step and long-ass roll down the hill. Basically, it was a one way passage. I'm making good progress when I come across a snake on the trail (not on a plane, thankfully). No reaction time, so I make the leap over, thinking I'm safe. 
Not to be outdone, Señor Snake (I am assuming it was male), leaps along with me, and with a guidance system effective enough to make a Harpoon missile envious, the thing latches onto my left shoe.
In a manner befitting my age and gender, I calmly assessed the situation. Well... maybe not. If I recall correctly, I screamed like a little girl and danced to the best of my old white man ability (overbite optional), shaking my groove thing to detach that bastard. He finally let go, and with the benefit of an overdose of adrenaline, I finished my run at sub 4-minute mile pace.
I certainly was happy to be back in the warm embraces of civilization, where we can hide from the nasties of the wild. I comforted myself with the gentle company of domesticated pets, family and food. Then I went to bed. 
Morning arrives. Espresso espressing, dawn dawning, wife showering. All calm. For a short while.
As my perfect cup of espresso is finishing, I hear a blood-curdling scream. "STEVE! GET UP HERE! THERE IS SOMETHING IN THE SHOWER!"
Again, befitting my age and gender, I calmly assessed the situation, blew gently over my cup, impressed with the coffee surf it created. "IT'S JUST A BUG, RELAX!" I shouted back.
"IT'S NOT A BUG! GET UP HERE!"
Sighing as only a husband with an over-reactive wife can, I trudged up the stairs. Lo and behold, there was my wife, starkers and pointing at the shower. I reluctantly tore my appreciative gaze from her shower-wet body to look into the still running shower. 
HOLY MOTHER OF ARACHNIDS! That's a freakin' scorpion! And I am not talking an 80's band from Germany!

Yep, there he is to the left (yes, again I am attributing it to be a male. Though it voluntarily showered, not a trait normally associated with males). He was just under two inches long, and pissed off. I coaxed him into a Jar of Death®, to be taken to my daughter's elementary school for an extended death watch under the scrutiny of thirty 5th graders and one freaked out teacher.