A bright spring day, the smell of Mountain Misery and fresh pine needles, little patches of snow still remaining in the shady spots, the black male Sceloporus doing push-ups at you. Those six or eight Crotalus oozing out of their den into a spot of April sunshine, wading through chest-high Deerbrush, that perfect granite flake leaner that's never been touched by another human being. Little pink boas, striped Masticophis, and that icy stream to stop, sit and enjoy your picnic lunch at. These are the things I miss about California.






