New Column for Examiner.com

It's been a while since I've blogged -- on my own website, at least. I've been so busy ghostwriting, web consulting, writing Wikipedia entries, and teaching high school (yes, you read that correctly) that I've let my poor beloved blog sit idle for far too long.

However, should I once again begin to slack and the urge to read my prose become too strong, feel free to check out my new column on Examiner.com:
Southern California Travel Examiner

I only have a few posts up so far, but now that I'm getting my schedule under control, I'll be going to bed before 4AM and will have more time (and energy) to write here. I may even get another chapter of my book done before the end of the month. (Stop laughing.)

America's Purdiest, Per Forbes Traveler

ForbesTraveler.com recently compiled a list of what they deemed to be the prettiest darn towns in these here United States. Luckily for me, I've already seen quite a few of them -- and I've knocked off several this summer alone.

There was a wealth of options in the Southwest and Northeast, but I was surprised how few were in the Northwest, and not so surprised about the lack in the Southeast and Midwest. But where's Bellingham or Friday Harbor? And does New Hampshire really warrant two picks?

The biggest surprise was Bodie, a California ghost town in the Sierras, current population: 0. I have to admit, the photos from my visit there a few years back are some of my favorites, as it's quite the picturesque town. It helped that no cars ever drove in front of my shots. Here's my tally of the been-there, done-thats from the Forbes list:

• Rockport, ME
  
• Springdale, UT
  
• Burlington, VT -- Visited this summer on a day-trip from the Berkshires. Pretty town, but the realistic statues of people frozen in everyday poses was a tad on the eerie side.
  
• Bisbee, AZ
  
• Cape May, NJ -- How is it that I worked on a film about the Jersey Shore all summer and still never made it here?
  
• Annapolis, MD -- When I drove through the colonial-styled town a few years back, my friend remarked, "I want to write a book here." I still have dreams of holing myself up in an 18th-century home with my laptop in front of the fire.
  
• Lake Placid, NY -- Does driving through on the way to Montreal count? Darn, thought not.
  
• Portsmouth, NH
  
• New Hope, PA -- Finally knocked this one off the list just a few weeks ago.
  
• Flagstaff, AZ
  
• Newport, RI -- Skip the Breakers. Visit Belcourt Castle instead.
  
• Galena, IL
  
• Marfa, TX
  
• Park City, UT
  
• Mendocino, CA
  
• Savannah, GA
  
• Bodie, CA -- I swear, I'll post pictures soon. I'm pretty proud of these. So proud that there are bathrooms across LA with pictures of my black-and-white outhouses hanging in them.
  
• Hanover, NH
  
• Aspen, CO -- I'm counting this one because I drove through twice this summer.
  
• Santa Fe, NM

"Desert Romance" Article Published in Exquisite Weddings

It's live! My travel piece on Southwest wedding destinations in Exquisite Weddings has hit the stands. This was my first piece for the publication, and it's quite an impressive glossy.

Photo Chosen for Schmap's California Guide

Someone at Schmap must love me. I'd never even heard of the site before they contacted me in March to tell me my photo of Kealakekua Bay had been short-listed for the Hawaii guide. (It eventually made it in.)

Now one of my photos for the Tallac Historic Site, located on South Lake Tahoe, has been chosen to be included in Schmap's California guide. You'll have to wait as the little widget below scrolls through the varied Golden State landmarks before you see my shot, but there's some pretty cool ones from other Flickr (which is where Schmap found my photos) users as well:



Chosen photo:

Los Angeles To-Do Checklist

I'm freshly back from the Los Angeles Times Travel Show and ready to tell you all about the good times had by all. I plan to get to that over the next few days, but various social obligations and pre-birthday festivities have cramped my time for an elaborate re-cap just yet. So I'll save the Robert Young Pelton and Andrew Skurka videos for later this week, and instead entertain with a quick rundown from my other favorite travel mag.

In an undated article I came across last week, National Geographic Traveler lists its 30 must-dos for the City of Angels. While I agree with most of them, in my 10 years of living here I've yet to hit 11 of 'em. Getting out my to-do list right now...

1. Hollywood Entertainment Museum. Status: Unconquered. Seriously? Number 1? Even though I haven't been there, I don't think this would have even made it to my list of top 50, mainly because I can't recall a single person -- tourist or resident -- who's even so much as mentioned it to me.

2. Abbott Kinney. Status: Conquered. Done, done, and shall gladly do it again!

3. Inn of the Seventh Ray. Status: Conquered. Check out my Yelp review (search for "StJenna") for why I always drag tourists to Topanga.


4. Catalina Island. Status: Conquered. Been there roughly half a dozen times, and I've always had a blast. If I do return, it'll be to visit the as yet unconquered Two Harbors, or to dive the other side of the isle.

5. Flower Market. Status: Unconquered. And I don't have enough desire to see pretty flowers to get up at the buttcrack of dawn.

6. The Spa at Shutters on the Beach. Status: Unconquered. If there were ever a time that I need a massage, it's now. But of course, if there's ever a time I need a massage, it's when I'm flat broke. Ah, someday, Shutters, you will be mine...

7. Pink's. Status: Unconquered. I know they have veggie dogs, but I just don't think there's any hot dog -- tofu or otherwise -- that's worth standing in a two-hour line for. I'll pass.

8. Fred Segal. Status: Conquered. For five years I worked two blocks from Fred's, so I've been there on occasion, but I've never been overly thrilled with the place. No need for a revisit.

9. TV Taping. Status: Conquered. I don't even watch TV at home -- you want me to watch the unpolished form? And you want me to laugh? At Yes, Dear? I'll pass.

10. Page Museum/La Brea Tar Pits. Status: Unconquered/conquered. I've smelled the tar pits many a time, but I've yet to step foot in the museum itself. Hmm... where's that to-do list?

11. Chinatown. Status: Conquered. Why, oh why, did they close my shop with the bestest selection of shoes in town? Proof that nothing good lasts forever. And aren't most of the stores Vietnamese-owned now?

12. Movies at Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Status: Unconquered. How in hell is it that I've never done this? Scribbling frantically on to-do list right now...

13. Museum of Jurassic Technology. Status: Conquered. Eh, I guess it was worth the visit, just to say "Been there, done that." But I was underwhelmed, especially after so many friends hyped it to me.

14. Cafe Chapeau in Larchmont Park. Status: Unconquered. Never even heard of the place, but if they're supposed to have killer flapjacks, I'm game. Pass the strawberry syrup, please.


15. Rodeo Drive/Robertson Blvd. Status: Conquered. Rodeo blows, but I'd head back to Robertson for some of the cheekier boutiques -- oh, and to finally blow a wad on a pair of Stella McCartney's.

16. Grand Central Market. Status: Conquered. I so miss working across the street from this fiery, feisty heart of old LA. How many co-workers did I drag from their dreary cubes to experience the circus of color and flavors mere yards away? Adding back to checklist right now...

17. The Egyptian. Status: Conquered. Cool, yes, but worthy of a Top 30 list? I think the Silent Movie Theater has more going for it in terms of uniqueness.

18. Cathedral of Our Lady of the City of Angels. Status: Unconquered. Scribbling again...

19. McCabes. Status: Conquered. Very cool, glad I did it, prefer Amoeba's shows. Usually.

20. The LA River. Status: Unconquered. I smile every morning as I catch a glimpse of this trickle of nature on my daily commute, but I've yet to venture down to the heart of the city itself. Reminder: Must do with crazy fish-catching friend from aquarium.

21. Beverly Hills Hotel. Status: Unconquered. I avoid pink like the plague, which could explain my aversion to this iconic landmark. Perhaps one day I'll be lured by the call of tea time. I hear it's choice.

22. Venice Canals. Status: Conquered. I've even fallen in, so I'd say two checks for this one.

23. Griffith Park (night views). Status: Conquered. Yes, the view is iconic. Now, if I can only drag my ass over to the new observatory before they refurbish it again, I'll be happy.

24. Little Ethiopia. Status: Conquered. I love food, but Ethiopian isn't at the top of my list. I consider it a bland version of Indian. Give me saag paneer any day!

25. The Grove. Status: Conquered. Seriously? An outdoor mall makes a must-do list? The only thing different about this one is the slight chance you'll get to see a slowpoke pedestrian get crushed by the trolley.

26. Karaoke in K-Town. Status: Conquered. No, it wasn't at the Brass Monkey, and I myself did not subject anyone to my singing, but I've been in a private party room and witnessed the drunken American Idol wannabes. That qualifies.

27. Farmers Market. Status: Conquered. Ah, my beloved Santa Monica Farmers' Market. How I do miss thee. Holy Guacamole, my eyes water just thinking of you. One day, I shall return...

28. Urth Caffe. Status: Conquered. What's the big deal with this place? I don't get it. Yeah, it's good -- but three locations good? I can think of better places to spend $10 on a sandwich.

29. Adamson House. Status: Unconquered. I have heard that this is indeed a hidden gem. Adding to list...

30. Philippe's. Status: Conquered. I've eaten there, but being a vegetarian, I haven't had the famed French dip. It's as conquered as I'm gonna get it.

Perhaps one day when Carpel Tunnel isn't sneaking up on me after 14 hours online, I'll have the stamina to create my own must-do list.

Anacapa: Unbagged (Channel Islands, Day 3)

The few bananas still on board didn't faze us, although at least one person tried to attribute the shape and yellow color of the kayak to Chris' unusual incident. After breakfast, during which we fended off the swarm of flies that had come aboard some time during the night, we took turns paddling the sheltered coves of Little Scorpion, dipping into narrow crevices and enjoying the roller coaster-like effect of the tide in such a tight squeeze. We’d seen a few pelicans at other anchorages, but at Little Scorpion they teemed on any open face of rock, so that we began to wonder why our first day’s cove had been named for the brown seabird and not here. We also spotted a sleek, black, red-billed bird (which I’ve since discovered is a black oystercatcher), but I could never get my kayak close enough to allow for a good shot. Sea lions made frequent appearances, sometimes frolicking close enough to the kayak I could make out their bemused facial expressions.

Kayaking through caves was a bit anticlimactic after Painted Cave, but it was still quite a thrill to navigate through open-ended caverns and launch out through the other side. The water was clear enough to see twenty feet to the bottom, illuminating the purple sea urchins, multi-armed sunflower stars, ochre sea stars, and the occasional skittish Garibaldi.

After turning over the kayak to Sally, I somehow got suckered into going snorkeling. Now, normally I’d jump at the chance to flipper around and ogle sea creatures, but the decidedly frigid water temperature – just about 60 degrees – and my lack of an adequate wetsuit made me hesitate. But soon Chris had convinced me that I’d regret not going, and that even if the water was cold, I’d remember the sights more than the bone-numbing coldness, so I acquiesced. Gary chauffeured us over in the dinghy to the mouth of a small sea cave, where I overcame my trepidation to plunge into the water. When I emerged, it was to spout a mouthful of expletives as the cold shot through every limb like darts. But I was already submerged, so I followed Chris, my limbs hugging my body, into the cave.

Perhaps he hadn’t learned from yesterday’s encounter with the cascade of blubbery bodies, but Chris swam well ahead into the darkness, intent on hitting the end of the cave, sea lion stampede be damned. I hung back at a slightly less risky location, just within sight of sunlight but not close enough for it to aid me in viewing my surroundings. I clung to the barnacled cave wall as the tide swelled in and out, raising me upwards sometimes two or three feet, as I saw the dim beam of Chris’ flashlight poke about ahead. He’d found another beach and was fixed on flopping ashore, his flippers still on. I imagined various creatures trolling the floor below me, but clung fast, telling myself they’d eat him before me.

Finally he returned, and we swam around a rocky outcropping to the sea cave we individually kayaked through that morning. I spotted a spider crab dozing on the sea floor, then allowed the tide to push me forward into the cave, where the seabed rose to present a mesmerizing pattern of sand. The currents popped us out through the other end, and we explored the critters on the outside of the cave before hauling ourselves, me shivering, back into the dinghy for our return trip to the Sun Soleil.


Soon we had raised anchor and, now completely under sail power, we set our bearing for the lighthouse on Anacapa, which is actually comprised of three small islands which in total are still far smaller than Santa Cruz. Despite its size, Anacapa is a main stopping point for many visitors to the Channel Islands, due in part to the lighthouse and visitor’s center, as well as its system of moderate hiking trails. In rough waves, the four of us managed to get situated in the dinghy, while Gary navigated through the massive kelp beds just offshore. While the others took charge of bringing the dinghy on land, with the help of a pulley, I marched up the steps in search of a true flush toilet, pausing halfway up to admire the stark blue waters of the cove and the kelp pulsing in the surf.

None of us ever set foot on the true island though, because soon I was fetched to return to my friends, who had been sought out by park rangers. We soon learned that there was a problem back on the Sun Soleil and that we were to be shuttled back, now donning NPS life jackets. As a few island visitors – more than we’d seen in our previous two days – snapped shots of us refugees, we looked sadly back at Anacapa, unvisited its lighthouse, and unconquered sea arch, each vowing to return and bag the island. We received some solace in learning from the rangers exactly what it was that we'd discovered at Pelicans: a 26-foot basking shark.

Somehow, in the rough chop, we made it back aboard the Sun Soleil without getting squished between the NPS vessel. Gary told us of his engine problems, which he assumed may have been from cruising through a bed of gnarly kelp, and said our trip would have to be cut short. We reluctantly headed back towards the mainland, each taking turns at the helm. It wasn’t without irony that Sally pointed out that there were still a few bananas on board.




Day 1: Santa Cruz: Spanish for "Isle of Corpses"?
Day 2: Stampede of the Sea Lions
Day 3: Anacapa: Unbagged

Stampede of the Sea Lions (Channel Islands, Day 2)

We slept well last night -- almost nine hours, in fact -- fatigued by our many encounters with rotting animals and the unending activity of hauling anchors, hoisting halyards, and searching for the perpetually elusive "bag of bags" in the chaos of the galley. After a breakfast of omelets, the Sun Soleil headed towards Painted Cave, which, depending on which source you read, is either the world's largest sea cave or one of the largest. Cap'n Gary sent us off in our vessels -- Chris in the inflatable kayak, Robert, Sally, and I in the dinghy -- and circled about in the cove awaiting our return.

As we paddled into the opening -- 160 feet tall, according to the National Park Service site -- we met up with a small flotilla of kayaks on their way out, having ventured only halfway into the quarter-mile long tunnel due to lack of sufficient lighting. When they saw our giant beacon, they followed us back inside, hoping to see more of the lichen- and algae-painted interior.

Just inside the entrance, on a ledge on the right wall of the cave, perched a few smaller sea lions, who slept on, seemingly oblivious to our presence. But as we ventured further inwards, their blubbery friends splashed down from rock outcroppings on either side as we passed their resting places, only to bob up as silhouettes now and again. The sound of the surging surf subsided the further we went back, until, after rounding a corner, it was a soft droning hum, accompanied by the soft dripping of water from the cave’s roof. We paddled as far towards the back as we could, now completely dependent on the uber-beacon’s light. Chris, in the faster and more agile craft, led the way, warning us of protruding rocks and steering us away from dead ends.

Finally, we reached the back wall of the cave, which ended in a rocky beach that sloped precipitously upwards. Intent on seeing the farthest reaches of the world’s largest sea cave, Chris positioned his kayak parallel to shore, ready to hop out and explore on foot. From the dinghy, roughly 15 yards behind him, I shone the spotlight for him to see, while Sally and Robert steered us. When the rocks suddenly began spilling into the water like a stone waterfall, I had visions of the whole cavern collapsing – something akin to the ending of The Goonies, only much, much darker. In the light of our beacon we watched as a stampede of sea lions poured down the slope, leaping over and under Chris and nearly swamping his inflatable kayak. Their eyes shone like laser pointers in the darkness, then disappeared as they flopped into the water, their dark shapes flying towards us and creating a small current of waves as they disappeared into the dark.

Once the chaos was over, we noticed that our tagalong friends had beat a swift retreat away from the marauding pinnipeds, and Chris related how the sea lions had been so close he could smell and feel them, that they had bumped him from beneath as they darted into the watery depths. Although we hadn’t spotted the cave’s resident elephant seal, we’d had quite an adventure to tell when we returned to the mainland. On our way out of the cave, we spotted another “floaty dead thing,” then ran into two members of the Synapse, who seemed tickled pink by our story of the sea lion stampede.

We returned to the Sun Soleil, which we now steered towards Little Scorpion, on the lee side of the east end of Santa Cruz. There, Gary told us, we’d have ample time for kayaking and snorkeling before our evening meal. But we first wanted to give our sea legs a little land time, so back in the dinghy we went, heading towards a small inlet that, we were told, would lead to some pleasant hiking trails. We strolled upwards for some time, but after seeing nothing of note except endless grassy hills, we rested a bit, enjoying the stability of solid ground beneath us.

After that night’s dinner of spaghetti, we once again headed topside for a reprise of the Perseids. Although the sky was even clearer than yesterday, we didn’t see as many fireworks, although the few we did see were quite spectacular, lasting for several seconds as they streaked across the sky. One final day, then it’s back to the mainland for good.






Day 1: Santa Cruz: Spanish for "Isle of Corpses"?
Day 2: Stampede of the Sea Lions
Day 3: Anacapa: Unbagged

Santa Cruz: Spanish for "Isle of Corpses"? (Channel Islands, Day 1)

It seemed to bode well that we had quite the picture-perfect sailing day as our boat, Sun Soleil (repetitive, no?), motored through the marina at Channel Islands Harbor. The sun was high in the azure sky, a few billowy clouds floated about, a slight breeze carried us to the harbor inlet towards the open ocean. However, our first misfortune befell us before we'd even made it past the breakwater: Our craft's motor wouldn't start after we stopped for gas. Sally, whom Cap’n Gary had designated his first mate, theorized that our luck was due to the presence of bananas – a no-no at sea, she explained. An hour later and a visit from a Marina Sailing mechanic, we were finally on our way, crossing the slight chop under motor and sail to make up for the lost time.

We arrived at Pelican Bay around 6PM, where there were already a few other boats anchored. After ferrying our cap'n over to the Synapse, our sister boat, our crew of four dragged our dinghy ashore for a brief exploration. As we rowed to shore, we spotted a bleached white blob floating in the water and paddled near it until we realized it was a sea lion carcass, a foul-smelling one at that.

Once on shore, we found the small waterfall -- a trickle, really -- then headed in the opposite direction to Little Pelican, where we found a most unusual sight. Lying at the edge of the incoming tide was an enormous carcass -- shark or whale, we couldn't be sure. Chris, the resident expert on aquatic critters, having trained dolphins for several years, poked the enormous body with a stick trying to discern what the hell it could be. He estimated the body to be about 22 feet, but with most of the head already rotted and submerged under the beach's rocks, it was difficult to know how long it had been when it had been alive, let alone what it had been. We saw what we thought might be claspers, indicating shark, but we weren't aware of sharks in these waters that grew to such a length. Although great whites weren't uncommon, it didn't have the markings of the species, nor had either of us heard of one that big.

Despite our CSI attempts, we knew one thing for certain: The animal had died after being caught in a fishing net, the remains of which were still wrapped around its maggot-riddled body [video]. It had probably been dead for more than a few days, as evidenced by its distended belly, upon which sat a rock – either as a sign of respect from a previous passerby or at attempt to cause the carcass to explode, we weren’t sure. On the off chance that the corpse was that of the incredibly rare Megamouth shark, which I’d recently read had only been sighted or caught less than 50 times, Chris extracted some teeth from the corpse’s mouth. They were smaller than human teeth and pointed, not conical like that of a whale’s, so we kept them in the hopes we could ask an expert once we’d returned to the mainland.

We met up with the crew of the Synapse, showed them our odorous discovery, then hiked a nearby ridge for a view of the sunset before hiking back down the stairs of the erstwhile Pelican Bay hotel and paddling back to our vessel. After a dinner of mayonnaise-basted fish (I opted for a veggie burger), we headed topside for an unspoiled view of the Perseids, which delivered some jaw-dropping meteor-shower scenes.

Our first day in the "Galapagos of the Americas" and the only wildlife we’d spotted was of the dead, putrid-smelling variety.


Day 1: Santa Cruz: Spanish for "Isle of Corpses"?
Day 2: Stampede of the Sea Lions
Day 3: Anacapa: Unbagged

I'll Dive With Sharks, But Not With This Freak of Nature

Yeah, I've gone overboard (pun intended) on the whole shark thang, but I've recently gone eyeball to eyeball with an even freakier ocean denizen. Seriously, this abnormality has given me nightmares in recent weeks.

After living in Cali nearly 10 years (well past my personal deadline), I finally made the trek to the world-renowned Monterey Bay Aquarium. At last count, I've been to more than 10 aquariums around the globe (including my all-time fave, the Ring of Fire Aquarium in Osaka, which had a whale shark when I visited), and the Monterey promised to deliver more splash than any I'd previously visited. Unfortunately, my visit came after the release of the aquarium's most recently captive great white, but I was still lured by the promise of a state-of-the-art institution that refiltered salt water from the neighboring bay.

Because I got a late start out of Marin County, I had about an hour to view all the exhibits, so I made sure to devote the bulk of my time to the Outer Bay, which boasts a million gallons of free-floating marine amusement behind 13 inches of acrylic window space. Sure, the hammerheads and turtles were mesmerizing, but it was the ocean sunfish -- the first I'd ever viewed in real life -- that startled me to the point of transfixion.

These creatures never should have made it this far through evolution. Their poorly designed, flattened bodies are so hydrodynamically inept that they seem to drift helplessly with the current more so than any oceanic invertebrate (See: jellies). As young'uns, they appear normal enough, with the requisite fins and gills in all the right places, but once they get bigger, Mola mola takes on a grotesque form normally reserved for burn victims. Its tail takes on cauliflower characteristics, to the point of serving little purpose. Its "facial" features seem almost amorphous, with only a small orifice for a mouth. And its dorsal and anal fins seem ineffective when the current assumes strengths stronger than that of a bath tap.

I lingered at the Outer Bay exhibit longer than usual solely because of the two ocean sunfish specimens (six and ten feet tall, by the docent's estimates; Wikipedia has a good shot of their freakish size). Through the blue-gray gloom, one made its way towards the window at an awkward angle, as if emulating some inanimate piece of flotsam, until it was only feet away. Its eye looked cartoonish, as if it had been dreamed up by some freebaser in the basement of Henson Creature Studios, a sliced ping-pong ball granted the wish of orbital movement. It was ghastly, ghostly, too much for me to handle, and I backed away into the crowd until I was safely behind the docent and a maraudering band of Japanese tourists.

The hammerheads continued to circle the tank. My pals, the sea turtles, flitted by and high-fived me with their flippers after each circuit. The 300-pound tuna -- confined to below-average temperatures due to their need to breed at NASCAR speeds when the mercury rises to the mid-70s -- lapped the tank as if making for the next Guinness record. But they all sped by in comparison to the sunfish, who, like some gelatinous monster from the '50s, glided amiably by as if they had all the time in the world. If the meek shall indeed inherit the Earth, then the sunfish is going to be signing your timesheets come the next stock plunge. Stick me in a tank with carniverous sharks anyday. I'm certain these freakazoids would gum you to death, if given the chance.

Oh, and if you get the chance when in Monterey, stop by For Garlic Lovers in the nearby arcade. Decadent halitosis-inducing edibles await.

Green Flash Sighting -- At Long Last

When I first moved to SoCal, there were several myths I'd expected to implode -- once I'd lived here long enough. I've now been here just under a decade, and I've found that most of these fables are more truth than legend (awesome weather, Hollywood superficiality, excessive flakiness, etc.).

But the green flash, that most ephemeral of SoCal phenomena, has finally proven real. Today, while taking photos on Dockweiler Beach as the sun slipped below the sea line, I realized that conditions were perfect for viewing.

There are several scientific explanations for the Green Flash (a name that sounds quite like a comic book hero to me, an amalgam of the Green Lantern and The Flash, only I'm not sure what the Green Flash's singular super-power would be, other than lasting for a nanosecond).

After reading all the literature about the green flash, which I have looked for on many an occasion and have never seen until today, I can't say for sure that what I experienced was indeed a true green flash. In fact, even as I witnessed it with my own two eyes, I questioned it several times, especially when I blinked and it disappeared. I'd read that it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it event, a fleeting special effect not even worthy of a credit in the smallest indie flick. So when it reappeared after several seconds of unblinking gaze, I was quite surprised, and much more inclined to corroborate its existence.

Today on Dockweiler, I swear I saw it. I blinked and it disappeared, only to have it re-emerge a second later for a few more moments of mortal fame. Another blink, and it again evaporated. I began to think the illusion had occurred only because I'd sought it out.

When I spotted the green for a third time (within a 10-second time frame), I wondered momentarily if I was seeing nothing more than a mirage. But then I realized that was what the phenomenon was, a transient spectacle meant for those who seek it. When I turned to hike back up the bluff to my car, I spied a line of spectators seeking the same visual marvel I'd just witnessed. "Did you see it?" "Was that it?" I heard them ask each other. Although they didn't hold hands and sing "Kum-Ba-Yah" as I passed, I realized that the miracle had worked its magic. And to be part of that, for only the blink of an eye, was proof enough of the phenomenon.