We 
started
from the parking lot ($6 day use fee) just before 8:15a, heading southeast along
Hunting Hollow, the canyon between Bills Hill and Phegley Ridge. From the start,
Marty had his 
binoculars at the ready in search of game. An avid hunter, he
enjoys spotting animals even out of season, both to hone his skills and for the simple
joy one finds in nature. A short distance down the road we stopped to examine an
old windmill that at one time had been used
to pump water from a well to feed cattle. While the well is no longer serviceable, it
appears if still in use, the nearby tank is probably filled by truck in season.
After less than two miles we 
started up a trail climbing Phegley Ridge. There
were no switchbacks, just a 
straight shot up more than 1,000ft over a mile plus.
Jim fell behind when the climbing started, but Marty and I 
waited near Redfern
Pond at the top
for him to catch up. The highpoint of Phegley Ridge is off the main trail, reachable via
a single track trail from the east or any of several use trails from the north. When Jim
caught up, we went 
around the pond and up one of the use trails. Fog and haze
partially obscured views to Monterey, Hollister and other low-lying areas, but the
surrounding 
mountains and 
hills were clearly visible southwest to the
Santa Lucia Range and west to the 
Santa Cruz Mtns. Just
visible far to the east was the faint outline of the Sierra Nevada across the Central
Valley. Many of the hills and summits in the Diablo Range were visible as far south as
Laveaga Peak and Santa Ana Mtn.
We next 
turned east to follow the trail back to the main ranch road. Marty
spotted a few
cyclists half a mile away, but they would be long gone before we reached that spot on
the road. Henry Coe appears to be at least as popular with cyclists as it is with hikers.
Our route turned north down to Coon Hunters Gulch then 
back up another 500ft
to 
Willson Camp. An old homestead is found there, tucked in a small canyon with
a trickle of a spring above it. Serveral buildings in poor condition are situated in the
area. We 
peered in the windows of the main cabin, but all was a mess inside and
signs outside warned of 
Hantavirus. Just above this on a 
small bluff is
a newer restroom and a dilapidated shade structure with a picnic bench underneath. We
ate our lunch in the shade, conjecturing on who might have lived here and what
it might have been like trying to sleep at night with hot summer temperatures.
After lunch we continued up the ridge, Jim once again falling behind. As we came around
a corner, a red-tailed hawk squawked as it flew out of an oak. Underneath, we spotted
a bobcat taking off up the road in front of us. It 
paused momentarily to look
back at
us, giving me a chance to snap a photo, before taking off out of sight. It was nearly
noon when we reached the top of Willson Peak where the 
La Canada benchmark is
located. 
Jim caught up a few minutes later, disappointed at missing the bobcat.
Higher than Phegley Ridge, we could now see further 
north to Mt. Hamilton and
most of Henry Coe. The Sierra ridgeline was no longer visible due to increasing haze in
the Central Valley. Continuing west from Willson Peak, we came across a second bobcat,
this one smaller, with just 
its head sticking out of the grass to the side
about 50 yards away. We stood and watched each
other for some time. Marty and I would make meowing noises which probably sounded
more like a cat being strangled while Jim commented, "I don't think that's the sound of
a bobcat..." It didn't seem to do anything to encourage or discourage the feline.
Eventually the bobcat tired of us and turned to slink back through the grass
out of sight. Further 
down the ridge we came across a group of 
cyclists
making their way up. One was an elder gentleman like ourselves, a volunteer ranger from
the Pine Ridge Association. The others were a 
younger group on their way to
Willson Camp. We chatted briefly with them before continuing down the ridge.
It was Marty's turn to fall behind as we began the 
steeper portion of the
descent back down
to Hunting Hollow. Jim and I would intermittently jog the steepest sections while Marty
was content to walk and periodically pausing to see what he could find with his
binoculars (not much luck today, in this department). By 1p Jim and I had returned to the
dry creekbed
and the nearby parking lot, Marty joining us about five minutes later. We
changed out of our boots and finished off most of the food we'd brought with us before
heading back to San Jose. A very enjoyable way to spend a Saturday...