Discovering the Dish, rain or shine

Hiking the Dish for the first time offered far more than a new outdoor experience.

A man walks the Dish trail on a sunny afternoon on Nov. 28, 2021. (Image credit: Chelcey Adami)

It was a window to the area’s culture and people, a brief escape from the complexities of our notoriously unprecedented times and a metaphorical reminder that so-called bad weather doesn’t dictate a bad experience.

It didn’t take long to hear of the Dish after moving to the area over the summer. The popular hilly 3.7-mile trail sits in the Stanford foothills and is defined by a 150-foot-diameter radio telescope used for satellite calibrations, radio astronomy measurements and spacecraft command.

Like the area, it’s a quirky meld of technology, natural beauty and ambitious people.

I initially hiked the Dish on a sunny Sunday after Thanksgiving. A colleague, my partner and I left around 3:30 p.m., catching the “Golden Hour” light for photos and enjoying the last sunshine of the weekend.

Adequately warned of parking challenges, possible mating tarantulas (!) and an absence of restrooms, we quickly encountered families, friends, couples, lone runners and photographers all enjoying the Dish.

Over the next hour-plus, our trio lapsed into conversation ranging in topic from mushroom recipes to California’s housing crisis. After trudging up a couple of steep hills, we took in views of Stanford, surrounding neighborhoods and of course, the enormous satellite dish.

We never witnessed the deadly mating dance of hairy tarantulas but admired a striped Jerusalem cricket on the path, a few deer standing on a distant hill and a small bird I tried to frame as though it was perched atop Hoover Tower in the distance.

And as I returned from scampering into the grass for a photograph, I grimaced as I was kindly reminded to check for ticks later.

We also encountered every flavor of runner, including one who tackled an uphill run while loudly listening to symphonic music. I’ve listened to Figaro’s Aria from The Barber of Seville while running a few times, the music generally matching the ludicrosity I often feel when running in public.

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On my second visit to the Dish, we chose a cold, windy December morning, and I briefly entertained canceling as raindrops hit the windshield en route.

However, my colleague wisely reminded me of the Norwegian expression she learned from a Stanford scholar who studied in the Scandinavian country, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.”

As usual, I fell victim to the latter but warmed up with every mile as we joined a small number of overachievers also braving the weather. I took comfort in the diminished fire and tick danger and unusually plentiful parking.

On this venture, we happily spotted a variety of tiny and large mushrooms and very gratefully encountered a patient hawk next to the Dish, which kindly allowed me to creep closer for a photo.

Spirits were further bolstered toward the end by a couple of beautiful rainbows accenting the trail’s sweeping views, and we elongated the hike a mile or so by taking an extra path, allowing more opportunity to overhear gossipy chatter on everything from politics to academic projects.

And in the end, I pleasantly discovered I prefer the cold, wet version of the Dish. Next time, I’ll just wear more appropriate clothes.