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For my fourth trip in Henry Coe State Park, I headed south into the Lakeview Zone on a cool autumn day in mid November. I’d already visited many of the 87,000 acre park’s designated zones during my previous hikes to the Blue Ridge Zone, the Orestimba Wilderness and Kelly and Coit Lakes, but this stop was a new one.

It’s a nice little corner of the park, with a handful of old jeep roads that follow the gently rolling ridge-lines and yield glimpses of the park’s wilder eastern interior. But the zone takes its name from the panoramic views of both Anderson and Coyote Lakes, which lie just outside the park to the southwest. This zone wold probably be a mountain biker’s dream, except that it’s not technically open to the public yet, and the jeep roads haven’t been connected to the rest of Henry Coe’s extensive trail network.

The Sycamore Canyon Trail, which ascends Cordoza Ridge from the Madrone Soda Springs camp, is the only way in. When I call this route an unmaintained bushwack of a climb… I’m being generous. I don’t recommend attempting this hike without permission from the rangers at park headquarters, a good map, a compass, or a reliable GPS, and some trailblazing experience.

I began at the park headquarters entrance at East Dunne Ave. I set off southeast on the shady, single-track Corral Trail, then continued on the Springs Trail at the 0.6 mile mark. The Springs Trail rejoins the wider Manzanita Point Road at the 1.8 mile mark, turning gradually further south toward Bass Pond and the Manzanita Point Group Camps before intersecting with the China Hole Trail to the north and Madrone Soda Springs Trail to the south at the 2.6 mile mark.

After kicking up a trio of deer and the ever present flock of turkeys behind the group camp, I turned south into Soda Springs Canyon, descending about 800 feet over the next mile along tight switchbacks. At the bottom of the descent, I crossed over the Mile Trail at the 3.5 mile mark, stepping easily across the shallow pools of early season rainwater in the western tributary of Coyote Creek. There are two tent sites on the southern bank of the stream at the Madrone Soda Springs Camp, once the site of a health resort for the reputed curative effects of its mineral water springs. As peaceful as this tree-lined camp was, it was not my destination, so I forged ahead.

The next mile or so was the most technically challenging part of this trip, and the reason for my warnings above. South of Soda Springs, there is an old fire trail that climbs up 900 feet to Cordoza Ridge via switchbacks. As I said, it’s not maintained, and has been overrun by berry bushes, underbrush, chaparral, and sprawling manzanita groves by turns. It’s a faint game trail at best, when you can see it at all. Even finding the trail head from the Soda Springs camp was tough, but hey, what’s life without a challenge?

From the camp, I pushed through berry bushes, bearing northwest along the southern bank of the stream. At the 3.9 mile mark, I made a hairpin turn away from the canyon floor onto the overgrown fire trail to begin my ascent. I continued southeast through dense underbrush to a set of switchbacks near the 4.2 mile mark. After the switchbacks, the trail climbs nearly due west along a steep ridge before plunging through a tangle of chaparral around the 4.5 mile mark. Pushing through this thicket is taxing work and will snag anything that isn’t securely strapped down to your pack. Don’t say I didn’t warn you! I had to detour around a few fallen trees along this last part of the ascent as well.

Next I wove through a grove of sprawling manzanita bushes, a welcome change after leaving the chaparral behind. Near the 4.7 mile mark, the trail turns northwest, ascending through mixed woodlands before reaching the grassy Cordoza Ridge Road at the 4.8 mile mark.
Here I turned south to hike along Cordoza Ridge Road. For the most part, all these ridge-top jeep roads are wide, rolling, and scenic. In June these same roads might feel hot, dry, and shadeless, but since I was here in November, the views were gorgeous and the crisp air was invigorating.
I knew that my water access was limited to a few scattered cattle ponds where the water had to be filtered. So I headed for the largest of the mapped ponds on Fitzgerald Ridge to camp for the night. Cordoza Ridge Road rolls gently southward until it curves southwest near the 5.1 mile mark, with scenic views across Cordoza Canyon to the northwest.

I pressed on as the road wound southwest, passing an intersection with Big Canyon Road at the 5.5 mile mark. Then the road descends gently with the ridgeline to an intersection with Fitzgerald Ridge Road near the 6.0 mile mark. Here, I turned west, descending more steeply toward the livestock watering pond near the 6.5 mile mark.
I camped upslope from the pond, and settled in to enjoy the sunset over Morgan Hill to the south. This is an active cattle grazing area, and although I didn’t have to share my campsite with any lowing cows, there was plenty of proof that they’d been around. Recently. (Watch where you step!)

So day 1 of the Lakeview Zone trip featured 6.5 miles of hiking, about 1500 feet of elevation gain and 1800 feet of loss. Along the way, I enjoyed panoramic views, deer, wild turkeys, and plenty of solitude.

My plans for day two were to trek around and see as much of Lakeview Zone as I could fit in before returning to Madrone Soda Springs camp for the night. So I took Fitgerald Ridge Road southeast toward Palassou Ridge and the promised vistas of to the south. At a fork in the road near the 0.7 mile mark (7.2 miles cumulative) , I turned right onto Nesbit Ridge Road. There is a small livestock pond a bit further along the left branch of the fork at the beginning of Palassu Ridge, but it was murkier than the water from Fitzgerald Ridge Pond.

Soon after the fork, Nesbit Ridge Road veers southwest, keeping this heading until the 1.2 mile mark (7.7 mile cumulative). There the road wraps west around a knoll before dog-legging back to the south. There are panoramic vistas all along this leg of the hike, mostly to the north and west but occasionally to the eastern interior of the park as well.

The ridge road skirts to the west of the highest point of Nesbit Ridge, mantling along a contour line until the 1.9 mile mark (8.4 miles cumulative). Here the road begins a long descent leading to the edge of the park and onto private lands before reaching Larios Canyon and Coyote Lake. I followed the road to nearly the edge of the park at the 2.2 mile mark (8.7 miles cumulative). This part of the ridge offers stunning views of Anderson Lake to the west and Coyote Lake to the south. It was well worth the walk.

After eating a morning snack overlooking the lakes, I retraced my steps, taking Nesbit Ridge Road, Fitzgerald Ridge Road, and Cordoza Ridge Road back to the intersection with Big Canyon Road near the 4.6 mile mark (11.1 miles cumulative). I scrambled up the short but steep incline to the first of two ponds on the south side of Big Canyon Road, but it was little more than a muddy wallow.

The road bends southwest beyond the first pond, gradually descending through mixed woodlands with more shade than Cordoza , Fitzgerald, or Nesbit Ridges. There were stands of evergreens interspersed with the yellowing deciduous leaves. It was a nice change of scene from the more open western section. I continued southwest, savoring the occasional view of steep-sided Sycamore and Soda Springs canyons to the northeast through breaks in the trees.

Near the 5.4 mile mark (11.9 miles cumulative), Big Canyon Road veers southward briefly, before an eastward bend and a hairpin that serves as a small switchback in a particularly steep part of the otherwise gradual descent. I continued onward to the second small pond, near the 5.7 mile mark (12.2 miles cumulative). This pond was completely dry and filled in with windblown leaves.  Despite the lack of water, this is a cozy little site, tucked in among a stand of oaks and pines with plenty of soft leaves for an afternoon rest stop. I took a break here for a leisurely lunch and watched the industrious squirrels stashing acorns for the winter.

After lunch, I again retraced my steps, taking Big Canyon Road back to Cordoza Ridge Road. Hiking northwest, I passed by the turnoff for Sycamore Canyon Trail near the 7.5 mile mark (14.0 miles cumulative). I didn’t see much more wildlife on Day 2, but I did spot plenty of tracks, including one that might have been a mountain lion following a herd of deer.

I continued on to the last livestock pond on my tour, near the 7.9 mile mark southwest of Cordoza Ridge Road. It was dry as well but it was also fenced off, so I didn’t try to get too close to this one. Now thoroughly satisfied that I had chosen the best place to camp the first night on Fitzgerald Ridge, I turned back southeast and returned to the almost hidden turnoff for Sycamore Canyon Trail near the 8.4 mile mark (14.9 miles cumulative).

The bushwack back down the Sycamore Canyon Trail was not as challenging as the trip in, since I was more familiar with the route. I could also spot a few of my own footprints from the day before in the leaf litter or occasional patch of mud. But still, descending 900 feet through a mile of underbrush takes it out of you, and I was ready to pack it in when I finally reached Madrone Soda Springs Camp near the 9.6 mile mark (16.1 miles cumulative).

The Madrone Soda Springs have an interesting history. If you’re willing to scrape away some fallen leaves and vines, you can still find relics from the late 1800′s to earl 1920′s when a resort and health spa operated here. Most of the structures are crumbling away now, and the soda springs are long since dried up, but you’d be surprised what you can find if you look hard enough.

Day 2 of the Lakeview trip included 9.6 miles of hiking, about 1600 feet of elevation gain and 2300 feet of loss. I visited enough livestock ponds to confirm that the first one I checked on was the most reliable watering hole for this area, and enjoyed another day of solitude and simple pleasures.

Day 3 dawned clear and cold. There was a film of hard frost on my bivy sack and a skin of ice in both my water bottles, which made it a little harder to eat breakfast and pack up, but I managed. After breakfast, I hiked the 1 mile and 900 feet back up Madrone Soda Springs Trail to Manzanita Point Road.

The air was starting to warm up by then, so I took a short break remove a few layers of insulation before continuing back to the park headquarters via Manzanita Point Road, Springs Trail and the Corral Trail. Once I could see the headquarters in the distance, I started to see day hikers, out enjoying the sunny autumn weather. It was a short Day 3, but it got me back home in time for lunch. You’ve just gotta’ love that about having a park like Henry Coe in your back yard.

On my way out, I hiked 3.5 miles, gained 1300 feet of elevation, and lost about 200 feet. That bring the round trip total to about 19.7 miles, and 4300 feet of elevation gain and loss. Not bad for a weekend outing.

This also checks off zone number 10 of Henry Coe’s 15 named park zones. I plan to hit 4 of the last 5 in a longer trip in late spring. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to visit the last zone, since it’s one of the park’s later additions and I’ll probably have to get permission from the rangers to visit it, like I did with this trip.

As I’ve said before, Henry Coe is a real gem of a state park. If you live in the Bay area, you should definitely make the short drive down to Morgan Hill and go for a walk. You won’t regret it.

The text of this article was previously published on Associated Content.

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I took my third backpacking trip in Henry Coe State Park in early June. My previous trips were both out-and-back affairs, starting and ending at the park’s northern headquarters on East Dunne Ave. For this outing I planned a through hike instead, entering the 87,000 acres of parkland at the headquarters entrance and leaving via the southern Coyote Creek entrance a few days later.

My 21 mile hike took me through the Western, Mahoney, Kelly, Coit, and Grizzly Gulch Zones and gave me a chance to visit scenic Kelly and Coit Lakes along the way. My first day of hiking started in the afternoon, so it was short. I left HQ along the pleasantly shaded, single-track Corral trail. At the 0.6-mile mark, I turned onto Manzanita Point road, a broad and exposed jeep road that runs to the group and equestrian camps clustered around Bass Pond.

I continued past the turn-off for Poverty Flat Road at the 1.5-mile mark until I reached intersection with single-track China Hole and Madrone Soda Springs trails at the the 2.2-mile mark. From there I continued northeast along the China Hole trail, emerging from the mixed oak woodland near the group camps into the chaparral walled switchbacks that descend steeply toward China Hole and the Narrows.

My first day’s hike entailed five miles of backpacking and a net elevation loss of 1400 feet. I saw a couple of wild turkey near the group camps at Manzanita Point and a deer grazing through the meadows overlooking the Coyote Creek’s Middle Fork along the way. I also saw two backpackers toiling up China Hole trail’s ascent on their way out of the park. I set up camp at one of the grassy sites on the southeast side of China Hole’s wading pools in the early evening. I even got to relax in my new, ultra-light camp chair and watch the stars come out before calling it a night. It was great to be out on the trail again.

I started early on Day 2. Summer days in Henry Coe can get hot, especially in the early afternoon. I wanted to make the most of the cooler morning hours, so I was packed up and ready to go right after breakfast.
I climbed up Mahoney Ridge along the China Hole trail, following well-graded switchbacks through the dappled shade of a mixed oak forest. After about 600 feet of ascent, I reached the northernmost tip of the ridge. I stepped out into sunny meadows just before turning south on the aptly named Mahoney Meadows road at the 1.9-mile mark (6.9 miles cumulative). Unfortunately, I left the shade behind at this point for most of the day. The walk southeast along the ridge line is dotted with intermittent stands of live oak.

The meadows here were mostly brown and dormant by early summer, and the temperature rose steadily throughout the morning. The path here is a wide jeep road, and with the combination of elevation and rolling meadows, the views  were hard to beat. I also managed to spot some of the last of the season’s wildflowers along the way.

At the 3.8-mile mark (8.8 miles cumulative), I reached the intersection with Coit road and turned southeast. Coit is another wide jeep road that continues along the spine of Mahoney Ridge, climbing steeply in some places as it ascends toward the the highest point of my trip, 2600 feet. Along my route to the top, I passed turn-offs for the Cross Canyon trail near the 4-mile mark (9 miles cumulative), and the Blue Tank Spring trail near the 4.8 mile mark (9.8 miles cumulative). I passed through recovery regions, full of green shoots and wildflowers but bearing the obvious scars of Henry Coe’s never-ending struggle with wild brush fires.

The view did not disappoint when I reached the highest point of my trip near the 5.5 mile mark (10.5 cumulative miles). I climbed up onto a grassy berm on the northeast edge of Coit road for 360 degrees of unobstructed views across the park. It was well worth the heat.

After passing the Wasno road turn-off at near the 5.7 mile mark (10.7 miles cumulative), I started to descend in earnest. I lost 600 feet of elevation over the next two miles, some of it in broad switchbacks and the rest in jeep runs straight downhill. I passed a mountain biker toiling his way uphill from the south, an unavoidable consequence of hiking on the jeep roads that connect the southern interior regions to the southern park entrances.

The plant life in the southern face of the ridge was a little different, with a few determined pines clinging to rocky escarpments and more wildflowers on the banks of this stretch of Coit road.

When I rounded the corner of one of the last switchbacks in the descent, I could see Kelly Lake nestled in the valley below. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the first backpacker there. A trio of hikers had spent the previous night on the lake’s northeastern shore after hiking in from the southern entrance. They left that evening to move on to Coit Lake, but not before I had to set up my own camp. I settled for a smaller, more sheltered site on the southwestern shore. The water access wasn’t as good as the grassy site on the other side of the lake, but it suited me.I did have to share it with a fledgling chick that had fallen (or jumped) from its nest. It’s mother stayed close by as well, keeping a wary eye on me the whole time.

It was just as well that I chose the more remote camp site, since another solo backpacker arrived in the late evening after the trio left. We compared notes as he started looking for a place to set up his own camp for the night. Like me, he had hiked in from the northern headquarters entrance to reach Kelly Lake.  But he had done the whole trip in one day. I traveled 7.6 miles on Day 2, climbed 1700 feet in elevation and then lost about 1000 feet of that in my final descent to the lake. The other hiker? About 13 miles, plus 1800 feet of ascent and 2600 feet of descent. He had a long day!

I had a few hours of free time on Day 3 before I had to break camp and depart for the Coyote Creek entrance to the park. I took the opportunity to visit nearby Coit Lake after breakfast. I filled a water bottle and set off north on Coit road, leaving the Kelly Lake dam behind me as the road rose through stands of mixed oak and wildflowers. After climbing about 400 feet, I passed the intersection for the Crest trail and Willow Ridge road in a saddle at the 1-mile mark (13.6 miles cumulative). I couldn’t see much of the lake from this vantage point, but the reedy inlet came into view as I descended to the turnoff for the Western Coit Lake trail at the 1.3-mile mark (13.9 miles cumulative).

The trail led past the group camp on the southwestern shore of Coit Lake near the 1.5 mile mark (14.1 miles cumulative). A large group of bike campers had camped there the previous night. They were cooking up breakfast at the picnic tables and cooling their heels in the shade of the pergola as I strolled by. Beyond the group camp, the trail narrowed to a single track, skirting between the shore of the lake and the steep rise up to Willow Ridge. I found a second, smaller campsite a little further along near the 1.7-mile mark (14.3 miles cumulative), where industrious campers had carved out a level tent pad from the hillside and left small fire ring nestled among the pines.

I reached the dam and walked along its length to the northernmost point of Coit Lake before turning back.  Then I headed southeast, climbing 250 feet along Coit Dam road to the intersection with Willow Ridge road near  the 2.5-mile mark (15.1 miles cumulative). I turned southwest, following Willow Ridge road back to its intersection with Coit road at the 3.1-mile mark (15.7 miles cumulative) before retracing my steps to my base camp at Kelly Lake. I saw two deer on my return trip, which brought my total to 6 for the weekend. This pleasant walk added 4.1 miles and 850 feet of elevation gain and loss to my trip.  Not bad for a morning outing.

After eating taking a refreshing swim and eating a light lunch, I broke camp at Kelly Lake and set off for the Coyote Creek entrance. I had to climb about 600 feet along Kelly Lake trail before reaching Wasno road at the 0.9-mile mark (17.6 miles cumulative). The going was steep, but manageable. I certainly used a lot of water on this leg of the trip. The rest of my hike for Day 3 was one long (and often steep) descent.

I turned southeast on Wasno road for two tenths of a mile before bearing southwest on the Dexter trail, a single-track plunge straight down through the steep, shadeless meadows on the south face of Wasno Ridge. The going was a little hairy at times, and trecking poles would have made the footing less treacherous as I dropped 500 feet in half a mile before the Grizzly Gulch trail at the 1.7-mile mark (18.4 miles cumulative). The views from Dexter trail, however, were extensive, especially of the giant stone monolith that soars 100 feet straight up over the junction of two minor tributaries to distant Coyote Creek.

Grizzly Gulch trail was much more forgiving, at least initially. It mantles along a contour, skirting in and out of riparian woodlands that offered comforting shade on a hot June afternoon. The panoramic views offered when the trail broke out of the scattered woodlands were nearly as good as those from the heights of Coit road.

I continued skirting the edge of Wasno ridge until the intersection with the aptly name Rock Tower trail near the 2.7-mile mark (19.4 miles cumulative). Then Grizzly Gulch trail turned south, descending aggressively along the eastern bank of another tributary of Coyote Creek. I passed another trio of backpackers climbing up toward Kelly Lake, warning them that a group of ten hikers had just set up camp on the largest site that morning. Both Kelly and Coit lakes are popular destinations on hot summer weekends, for obvious reasons.

I passed a sign for the Cullen trail near the 3.2-mile mark (19.9 miles cumulative), though I couldn’t spot the single-track trail in the grass myself. I kept descending, dropping through more riparian woodlands on my way to a low-water crossing at the 3.6-mile mark (20.3 miles cumulative). I had lost a little over 700 feet in about a mile at this point, but most of the descent was behind me. After the crossing, Grizzly Gulch trail turned westerly, following the southern bank of this major tributary of Coyote Creek through some of the densest (and coolest) forest of the entire trip. It was a welcome relief from the sun. I reached the intersection with the Spike Jones trail near the 4-mile mark (20.7 miles cumulative), and continued west through mixed oak forest until I reached Coit road again about 2 tenths of a mile later. From there, it was a short stroll south on Coit road to the Coyote Creek entrance at the 4.4-mile mark (21.1 miles cumulative).

Overall, this thru-hike (with day trips) added about 21 miles to my backpacking total, including about 3700 feet of ascent and 5400 feet of descent along the way. It was a fun outing, with plenty of wildlife, wildflowers, and scenic vistas to enjoy. The park was a little more crowded than my previous visits, though I never had to share a campsite and encountering 19 backpackers and 8 mountain bikers in 21 miles would still count as secluded compared to most camping destinations. June weather was much warmer and drier than my April outings, and water was noticeably more scarce. The ticks were out in force too; I lost count after brushing off about 20 of the little bloodsuckers over course of the weekend.

Even so, for my money Henry Coe State Park is still one of the best backwoods destinations in the Bay area. So far I’ve visited 9 of the park’s 15 zones, and enjoyed every one in its own right. I fully intend to check off the remaining 6 zones in time. Happy hiking!

The text of this article was previously published on Associated Content.

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I reluctantly closed the door on all my outstanding submissions this week. The last agent on my list had lost my submission. After sending it to him again, he said he’d look at it right away. It’s been over two weeks now, so he can’t be too excited about the manuscript. It’s time to call a duck a duck, and Renegade is quacking.

I’m working with a handful of critique partners to improve the manuscript now. I’ve decided to get the story into the best shape I can through reader feedback and judicious revision before taking further steps. There are two potential paths forward: second-tier publishers and small print houses, or self-publishing this novel while I crank out a new project.

Opinions vary pretty widely on self-publishing these days. Member of the traditional publishing market are understandably queasy about self-publishing. Some of them, like agent Nathan Bransford, still offer fairly even-handed advice about the topic.

The short version is that self-publishing and POD are not the quick-and-easy path to publishing success that aspiring authors wish they were. If you want to publish your story yourself, you have to be prepared to do all of the work that a traditional publisher would normally do for you. Authors often forget that publishers have an editorial staff, a roster of layout and cover artists, a promotion and marketing team, and an established network of distribution channels working for them. If you fly solo, you’ll have to be prepared to do some heavy lifting.

But I may decide to do that anyway with this first book. I’d like to see it in print at least, even if it’s only for a small audience. I already have a first edition of Renegade, printed through CreateSpace. Once I revise and roll Critter feedback into a second edition, I’ll probably re-release the book for general purchase through Amazon. I’ll probably create Kindle version as well and then do a word of mouth promotion blitz through my blogs and social networks. I’m also thinking of a special project to help with distribution. I’d need a few volunteers though, scattered around the country (and possibly around the English speaking world). It would be a stealth project, so all of my volunteers would have to be sneaky. Add a comment below or send a message through the contact form to find out more.

In other news, I had a first-round job interview yesterday with a Bay area CPV company. I think it went well, but you know how subjective that can be. For anyone interested in renewable energy topics, I’ve posted a new article on Tidal and Ocean Current Power in my Renewable Energy Tech series. You can also find it at Associated Content.

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This is the sixth article in a continuing series on renewable energy technology. Today we’ll continue our discussion of ocean power. As previously mentioned, the term covers virtually any device that extracts power from the sea. That’s a broad range of technologies, including wave and tidal energy conversion systems or the more exotic concepts of ocean thermal energy conversion (OTEC) and salinity gradient devices.

The previous article covered wave energy. This article explores tidal energy and ocean current energy schemes.  Most of the power used on this planet comes (directly or indirectly) from the sun. That includes fossil fuels, wind, traditional hydropower, biofuels, wind, solar PV and wave energy. Tidal power comes from the moon, or more accurately, the gravitational interaction between the earth, moon, and the oceans. That makes tidal and ocean current energy unique. But how do tidal and ocean current power systems work?

Tidal and ocean current power simplified

Tidal and current power systems share a lot of characteristics with wind turbines. In mechanical terms, they both extract energy from a fluid (sea water and air, respectively). In simple terms, tidal and current power systems use lunar induced changes in sea level to push water through a turbine, hydrofoil or other device, which turns an electric generator very much like a wind turbine or hydroelectric plant.

The classic tidal energy system features a turbine placed at the mouth of a tidal estuary, bay, or lagoon. When the tide rises, water flows into the estuary through the turbine. The turbine spins a generator and produces electricity. As the tide drops, water flows back out through the turbine, again generating electricity. The greater the difference between high and low tides, the greater the potential for energy generation.

Tidal and current power is generally classified into three main types: barrage systems, tidal lagoons, and tidal stream systems.

Barrage systems

Classic barrage systems are essentially dams placed across the width of a tidal estuary. They convert potential energy into electricity by capitalizing on the difference in water height across the barrage, in much the same way as a hydroelectric dam. Most traditional systems, like the world’s first tidal power system on the Rance River, use ebb generation methods, which means they only generate power at ebb or low tide.

Sluice gates open when the tide comes in, filling the basin behind the barrage. Once the tide starts to fall, sluice gates are shut, trapping the water in the estuary. Once the sea level drops far enough outside the barrage, water is allowed through the turbines to produce power. Once the water level in the estuary drops back to the same level outside the barrage, the turbines are shut down and the sluice gates reopened to begin the cycle again.

The alternative to ebb generation is flood generation, where power is generated when the tide is rising, as it is with the Sihwa Lake Tidal Power Station under construction in south Korea. However, it’s easier to maintain a large pressure differential across the turbine using ebb generation, so it’s rare to find a barrage system that uses the flood technique. It’s also possible to use the turbines as pumps, turning a barrage system into a large-scale pumped storage scheme.

There aren’t many barrage tidal power systems in the word today, in large part due to their high construction costs and environmental impact. Barrages alter the flow rate of salt-water into and out of the estuary. This can result in changes to salinity, oxygenation, suspended solids, silting, and solar penetration, all of which shift the estuary’s natural  ecosystem.

Tidal lagoons

Tidal lagoons are similar to barrage systems, but are often built as self-contained structures, reducing the environmental impacts from damming an entire marine estuary.

Power lagoons, like the one proposed in 2004 near China’s Yalu River, can be formed in shallow water off-shore by using impoundment walls and low-head turbine generators, like those used in run-of-river or micro-hydropower.

Like most renewable technologies though, tidal lagoons are not without controversy. Arguments over which approach to use for a proposed tidal energy project in the Severn Estuary have gone on for years. The debate is fiercest over questions about environmental impact, construction costs, and generation capacity.

Tidal streams

Tidal stream systems are a different beast. Instead of converting potential energy (from the difference in water height across a barrage or impoundment wall), tidal stream systems convert the inherent kinetic energy of moving water currents to power turbines or hydrofoils. Tidal stream technology is still in its infancy compared to barrages. As a result, the technical approaches are still widely diverse.

Axial turbines, like those made by Marine Current Turbines and Verdant Power are the most common. They’re quite similar to the horizontal axis wind turbine that dominate the wind energy markets today.

Meanwhile, companies like Neptune Renewable Energy and Ocean Renewable Power Company are experimenting with cross-flow turbine designs, counterparts to the wind energy market’s vertical axis devices. These devices feature Darreius or Gorlov type turbines with helical blades that look a little bit like the old-style water wheels that used to power saw mills. However, instead of the water flowing over or under the wheel, it flows directly through the pitched blades, turning the turbine around an axis perpendicular to the flow.

Then there are some real innovators in the market, like BioPower Systems and others, who are developing oscillating devices powered by hydrofoils instead of turbines. BioPower’s approach is to use a bio-mimetic design (the tail of a swimming species like shark or mackerel, in this case) to generate power from the flow in ocean currents.

Tidal stream devices are an area of growing interest right now. Developers think  such devices can be built more cost-effectively than barrage or lagoon systems which require heavy engineering for dams and impoundment walls. Tidal stream systems are also expected to have lower ecological impact, which is another big advantage. Theoretically, any of these designs could be used to tap the energy in thermal ocean currents like the Gulf Stream as easily as tidal currents, which opens up even more opportunity for growth in this sector.

It’s pretty clear from the variety of devices in play that the tidal stream market hasn’t converged on an optimal solution the way wind power has over the last decade. The technical challenges of tidal power are different than those wind power technologists have faced, so the solution this market converges toward may look very different than the large horizontal axis turbines that wind power developers have embraced.

State of the art

A sustainable energy source as predictable as the tides would be a real boon for utilities faced with rising demand for clean, renewable power. Unfortunately, tidal power isn’t a perfect fit for every market. As with wind power, tidal power tends to be concentrated in certain belts where geographic conditions favor strong tidal currents and large tidal swells.

As with wave energy, tidal power is an immature technology, and it faces challenges in survivability, energy capture, and regulatory restrictions. The survivability issues aren’t quite as severe as they are in wave energy systems, especially for tidal current schemes that can be submerged below the worst effects of severe ocean storms. The ocean is still a harsh mistress though, and designing for for such an environment adds an unavoidable cost component to any ocean power generation system. Regulatory concerns are the main barrier to further construction of barrage systems, and the impetus behind tidal lagoon developments in geographies where barrage systems might have been considered forty years ago.

There is a lot of activity in tidal power today. You can find a lot of companies dabbling in the space: joint ventures, prototype projects and big investments from firms putting their weight behind one technology or another. What will we have when the water clears? Hopefully, a focused suite of technologies to add to our growing arsenal of clean, sustainable power generation methods. At the rate world energy demand is growing, we’re going to need everything that we can get to work.

The text of this article was previously published on Associated Content.

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I bought myself a new garden tool for this summer’s vegetable garden. It’s a Ladbrooke soil blocker and it’s designed to simplify the process of raising plants from seeds. They’re manufactured in England, but you can buy them at a number of online resellers or make one yourself, if you’re up to the task.

The basic idea is to mix seed starting mix and water into a mud-pie-like consistency, pack it into the blocking tool to compress and form the blocks, than eject rows and rows of preformed blocks onto a tray or shallow dish. The tool imprints a perfect, seed-sized divot in the top of every block. you simply drop a seed (or two) into every divot, pinch closed, water regularly (and they do mean regularly) and put the trays in a sunny spot for a week or two. Once the seeds germinate and sprout their first true leaves, they’re ready to harden and transplant into your garden.

One major advantage of this approach is that you don’t have to thin out half or more of your seedlings on your hands and knees because you direct sowed your seeds too thickly. The only plants that go in the ground are the ones you want to keep. The trade-off is that you need some appreciable surface area to set out your soil blocks while you’re waiting for the seedlings to sprout. This might be tough for people without any greenhouse or sunny window space.

Here are some pictures that I took as I worked my way through the process. The first step was making the soil blocks. I used an organic seed starting compound that I mixed with a little vermiculite and peat moss. It took a little fine tuning before I got the mud-pie consistency right, but the neat little rows of soil blocks were fun to make. With the five block tool, you can amass an army of blocks very quickly, so don’t get too carried away!

Next I had to add the seeds. To sow the seeds, I used a trick that I picked up from David Tresemer’s excellent reference, Transplants in Soil Blocks. I dampened the tip of a bamboo skewer (I was out of toothpicks) and used it to pick up one seed at a time from the seed packets. Then I pressed each seed into the wet divot in each soil block (where it would stick without hesitation). You’d think it would be tedious work, but it went surprisingly quickly.

I then covered the seeds with a layer of dry vermiculite and potting soil (to prevent damping off when the shoots pushed up through it). I dispensed the seed cover with a folded piece of cardstock, being careful not to bury the seeds too deeply. With this many blocks, it could have been very easy to forget which plants were where. I created a map using the grid of a spreadsheet. It turned out to be a lifesaver later on, when I was trying to figure out which seeds had germinated and which I had lost.

The first sprouts appeared in about a week, and by the end of two weeks, most of the seedlings had emerged. Unfortunately, I lost a lot of this first batch because I kept them covered (to retain moisture) and out of the sun (to prevent overheating). About half of the shoots shot up thin and leggy from lack of light. Then when I moved the box out onto a shelf in outside our window, I didn’t water them often enough. Misting the blocks at least twice a day once the sprouts emerge is critical. Those little soil blocks may be cute, but they don’t hold much water. They’ll dry out pretty quickly in direct sunlight. I didn’t make the same mistakes on my next batch of seeds.

Today was the culmination of my soil blocking efforts. Today, after hardening the seedlings on the window shelf outside for the past week, I transplanted the hardiest of the lot to our little vegetable plot in the back yard. You can see the results below. I’ve got a couple zucchini plants, a couple rows of peppers, a row of bush beans, four kinds of tomatoes, some cilantro, some sweet basil, a row of rainbow chard (still running strong from the winter crop), and a few sunflowers in the back. The garlic is growing over in the other planter with the rose bushes this year. And I’ll probably plant some green onions and an eggplant or two if I can find the space. It’s too soon to tell how fruitful our little plot will be this year. I’m trying to grow everything in it from seed instead of using plants from the nursery. Hopefully (fingers crossed) this summer’s crop will be a tasty one!

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I’ve received two more rejections since my last update, one of them in response to a requested partial. The agent liked the writing but found the plot and action too much like a video game instead of a novel. I found that very interesting, and more than a little unexpected.

I’m coming to the end of my first round of target agents at this point. They have ranged from superstars with fifty or more science fiction and fantasy titles under their belts to new agents just starting to build their client lists.

I’ve had some interest in the manuscript, with three requests for partial so far. Unfortunately, none of that interest has extended to requests for full or offers of representation. I still have four agents with outstanding queries. One of them is even an exclusive request for a partial. I expect responses to trickle in on those queries over the next few weeks. But after 25 attempts, it’s time to regroup.

What have I learned from this group? I think my initial conclusions should be revised in light of new data. I thought that my query letter was doing its job, but that the manuscript wasn’t closing the deal. Now I think the query letter is decent but could be better, and the manuscript still isn’t up to scratch. Let’s take a look at the numbers.

Agents who received a stand-alone query letter: 9

Of those agents, 3 requested partial manuscripts, 1 rejected the query due to lack of interest, 3 returned form rejections with no feedback, and 2 didn’t reply at all. A query letter hit rate of 1 in 3 isn’t great, but it could be worse.

Agents/Editors who received some number of sample pages: 12

Of those folks, 0 requested full manuscripts, 3 rejected the query with comments, 5 returned form rejections with no feedback, and 4 didn’t reply at all. A partial manuscript hit rate of 0 in 12 is… depressing. Sure it’s not an easy time for a new author to break into the market right now, but when is it?

Evidently, my writing doesn’t stand out enough from the modern agent’s daily deluge of slush. I’ve gotten some promising feedback on Renegade, like this shows talent, or this is better than most of my unsolicited material, or even, I enjoyed the writing. Unfortunately, that encouragement has always been followed by a rejection for other reasons. Those are the reasons that I’ll have to work on, if I ever want to get published (with this book or some other). Hopefully the folks over a Critters or Absolute Write will be able to help me with that.

In other news, one of the job applications I mentioned in my previous post has panned out well. I’ve had two phone screens, and one first round interview for a position with a Bay area PV company. I’ve been invited for a second round of interviews next week. Here’s hoping it goes even better than the first one did.

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I’m back from the holidays, and ready to face a new year. I sent out a couple more queries this week to some new agents.

I also started separating out “No Reply” from the other rejection types in my statistics. In this age of electronic submissions no reply usually means no interest, but I wanted to see just how prevalent the trend was. It’s pretty widespread as you can see. For reference, 7 of the 10 actual rejections were form letters, while the other 3 cited some level of custom response.

In other news, I have 3 new job applications and 4 other open leads that I’m following up. I think that qualifies as cautiously optimistic for the start of 2010.

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This will be a short post today. There hasn’t been a lot of news with the holidays approaching, and my progress has been dismal.

I’ve sent out a few more queries and received two more rejections since my last update. Then there was the agent who simply didn’t respond to my query one way or the other. If he said he’d get back to me in two weeks and there’s been radio silence for five weeks, he’s probably not interested. (It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve chalked up a “no-response” as a rejection.)

In much the same way that many people only RSVP to an invitation if they plan to attend, there are a fair number of agents who don’t seem to like writing rejections. I can sympathize. Personally, I’d rather know I’m not in the running than wait and wait on the off chance the agent just hasn’t excavated my query from their slush-pile yet.

Then again, I don’t have to read through a few hundred unsolicited submissions a week, most of which are completely unpublishable. So I can sympathize.

Happy holidays everyone!

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My epic agent quest continues, but without much success. I’ve received two more rejections and one request for a partial since my last update.

These latest responses are a mixed bag. The two rejections were form letters with no feedback. The third reply included a request for an exclusive (which means I have to wait until my one outstanding partial review comes back with a yea or nay before sending off the pages to the new agent).

The agent who requested the partial did so after reading only my query letter, which is consistent with my conclusion that the letter is doing its job. Unfortunately the two agents who sent form rejections got the same query letter, without any sample pages. That bucks the nice trend I had going.

For those of you keeping track at home: 3 out of 3 requests for partial came from query letter only submissions. 6 out of 9 rejections came from queries with a letter and 5 or more sample pages. 1 out of 9 rejections came from queries with a letter and a synopsis. The remaining 2 out of 9 rejections came from standalone query letters.

The subject of genre came up in the comments on the last post. One of the agents who gave me a personal rejection suggested I should try writing something in Military Fantasy, since it might be an easier market to crack than Epic Fantasy right now.

OK. When an agent who says my writing is “much better than the usual unsolicited material I see” suggests a market, I’ll certainly take it under advisement. There’s only one problem. I’m not sure what MilFan is, exactly. It doesn’t show up in the genre glossary of any of my Writer’s Market books. I’ve seen Military Science Fiction and Heroic Fantasy (which is billed as the Fantasy equivalent of MilSciFi). Google searches come up with articles like this SFFWorld Forum discussion, or this LibraryThing Title List.

Unfortunately, I haven’t read any of those books. So here’s a question for my readers: What is Military Fantasy to you, and how would you distinguish it from Heroic, Epic, Contemporary, or Science Fantasy?

In other news, I’m still jobless. More time to write, then (every silver lining has a dark cloud, or something like that). I’ve been musing about writing a different form of story, something web bound, episodic, and interactive. I’ll let that ferment a bit and talk about it in another post sometime.

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Where did the week go? You write a manuscript critique or two, send out a few agent queries and a handful of resumes, and before you can say rejection, it’s Friday again. That means it’s time for another agent search stats update.

As you can see from the table, my response time is still pretty speedy, because most of my responses are from agents who take electronic submissions. I’m also starting to look for trends in my responses, to see what I can glean from them. Here are some of the tentative conclusions I’ve drawn so far:

1) My query letter is attracting the right kind of attention.

2) My prose is pretty good, but not stellar.

3) I may have better luck with another book in a different genre in the current market.

It’s tough to draw much from query responses, since so many of them are form letters. However, the two partial requests I received came from agents who had only seen a query letter without a synopsis or sample pages of any kind. And they came quickly. The first arrived 4 days after submission and the second came back 2 hours after submission. That suggests that the query letter is working.

Unfortunately, the manuscript isn’t closing the deal. The remaining responses that weren’t form rejections said that my writing shows promise. Evidently not enough though. That kind of feedback encourages me to keep writing, but tells me I still have to work on my craft . (Probably a good lesson for every author, published or not…)

The third conclusion is an inference from the scraps of feedback in my rejections and the scuttlebutt floating around on various agent blogs. Evidently, it’s very challenging to sell epic fantasy right now. Unless you’ve got an established fan base, or you’ve written something that really stands out, publishers aren’t looking for big fantasy. Agents are understandably reluctant to take chances on debut fantasy novels that are only “pretty good,” like (evidently) Renegade.

So where does that leave me? About the same place I was before I started this agent search. My strategy hasn’t really changed: I’ve still got another 20-30 highly regarded agents to work through on my target list. I’ve still got The Guardian’s Hand to overhaul once I have my remaining reader feedback in hand.

However, instead of forging ahead with the third installment of the Renegade’s Legacy after Guardian, it might be time to write something in a different genre. Maybe urban fantasy, military fantasy or science fiction. Or perhaps something else entirely. Who knows?

If you have suggestions, you know how to find the comment box!

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