Methuselah
Seven years ago I became aware of a species of trees known as Ancient Bristlecone Pines (Pinus longaeva). I was completely engulfed in wonder after reading a short snippet about a hike around the "Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest" in the White Mountains of California. I had to see these trees. I had to feel their energy. I had to touch their bark and feel the story of humanity (as there is dendrochronological evidence of their existence spanning back over 12,000 years) as it unfolded while these magnificent beings grew from high atop these arid mountains. The year was 2015 and it would be another two years until I would venture out onto highway 168 into the White Mountains where these ancient ones touch the clouds.
On July 4, 2017, I had my chance to see, touch and bask in the presence of the Bristlecones. As soon as my boots were laced up and my backpack on my back (camera in hand, of course) down the Methuselah trail I went. Actually, up the trail I went as the first half mile is a climb. Younger Bristlecones line the sides of the trail as the well packed dirt gives way to rocks, talus and scree. After about ten minutes, a Bristlecone came into view that grabbed a hold of my breath and never let go. This tree was exactly what I had seen in photographs and articles. Gnarled, twisted, regal and majestic. It's roots semi-exposed out of the dolomitic soil as it clung firmly to the side of the mountain. My hands instinctively reached for the trunk as my eyes closed.
"Hello, old friend. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Tell me what you know, what you've seen and how old you are", I whispered to it. It is a custom I have adopted over the years to place my hands on trees and greet them this way. It matters not if the tree is a Redwood, Sequoia, Maple, Oak or Aspen, the greeting remains the same. A show of homage and respect to natures living sentinels and keepers of time and records.
As I meandered along the 4.5-mile trail, I was awash in the wonder of these high alpine organisms. Touching and greeting as many of these brothers and sisters as I could manage. Each tree offered its own picture as to how it evolved and grew amid some of the harshest conditions the White Mountains offered. The hurricane force winds, frigid winter temperatures and highly alkaline soil which is inhospitable to most anything else other than the Bristlecone Pine, shapes the trees into living artwork. I wondered where the tree known as "Methuselah" was located. There is a grove of the most ancient of these trees on the trail located in the aptly named "Methuselah Grove", but the tree herself, is not marked in an effort to protect her from vandalism and harm. I learned that very few people know of her location as the US Forest Service goes to great length to keep her location a safely guarded secret.
As I walked off the trail years ago, I knew I loved these trees more than I could use words to describe them. I knew I needed to see them more often. I knew I needed to meet "Methuselah" herself and show her the homage she so rightly deserves. I became passionate about researching ways to locate her. The task at hand was going to take some time, that much I was well aware of. I began researching after coming back to civilization and found out how truly difficult of a task this was to become. I sent dozens of emails to leads I found on the internet. I scoured articles, websites, blogs and chats to see if anyone leaked details as to where to find Methuselah. Five years I poured effort and energy into the hunt whenever I had a free moment or two.
Finally, three weeks ago, I received an email from someone familiar with Methuselah and where she lived. My heart stopped. As I read the email and saw the writers contact information, my hands shook a bit. Was this finally the lead I was so desperately seeking? Could this be true? I read and re-read the email and the offer to have a chat about my view on conservation, ecology and the impact of humans on remote nature and wilderness. I sat slack jawed in amazement at this stroke of luck and composed myself for a conversation that could lead to an end of this quest. Finding my own Excalibur amidst the trillions of trees on this planet.
The conversation was pleasant. We chatted easily and shared stories of a shared boyhood in scouting which led to a love of nature, hiking and camping. We talked about cleaning up debris and "Leaving No Trace" while on trails, summits and in campgrounds. I told him about my efforts in the "Dive Against Debris" (scuba diver's global efforts to clean up our sacred waters and water systems.) and how this year my dive buddies and I have successfully removed over 400 pounds of debris from our waters. We talked about fire, its effects and how unnecessary campfires are on the whole. It was an easy conversation between two humans who care deeply about all things wild. As we approached the reason for the call, he point blank asked me, "Mike, why do you need to know where this tree is? Why is it so important to you?". I answered that the only way I knew how. I told him I wanted to feel its ancient presence. I wanted to feel its energy and hopefully Methuselah would allow me to take some of her energy as well. I wanted to sit next to something ancient and bask in its glow. I wasn't looking to share photographs of her or take video and upload it. I wanted this experience for me alone. I wanted to connect with the oldest known non-clonal tree on the planet because I just love trees. The conversation was quiet for a moment. He said, "Do you have a pen and paper ready? Here are the GPS coordinates..." Trembling, I took them down and thanked him profusely. I promised that so long as I lived, I would not share the coordinates and would always remain and advocate for conservation.
As I stepped foot into the parking lot of the Dr. Edmund P. Schulman Visitor Center, I felt the all too familiar goosebumps of excitement beginning. The weather was perfect. No traces of thunderstorms and temperatures in the low to mid 60's. The trail was exactly as I remembered. The ancient and hallowed feeling abounded as the miles clicked away and the trail turned and weaved toward the Methuselah Grove. Upon seeing the specific details I was told to look for as I neared the destination, my heart began to race and then all of a sudden... There she was...
My eyes welled up, the tears flowed, my hands found her trunk and at this moment, the world stopped. Seven years of research and determination to find this sacred tree, and here I was, standing next to it with my hands on something alive which sprouted before the Great Pyramids at Giza were built. Much of recorded human history has occurred after this noble Bristlecone came to be. Breathless. Methuselah is not a giant. Not even remotely close to that. She, as many publications have stated, is a mid-size Bristlecone Pine at best. However, she holds a secret in her tiny size that has lasted almost over 4,900 years. Bristlecones grow slowly. Sometimes, only an inch of diameter every hundred years. The dolomitic soil and arid conditions allow their wood to harden to near cement-like properties which keep out disease, fire and boring insects. Parts of these trees die over time, but sometimes a single strip of bark continues to live on and even produce pine cones for generations to come. They space themselves out along the 9,000 to 11,000-foot range above sea level so competition among them need not exist for the sparse resources in the soil. High atop these peaks they are like aliens on another planet.
Spending time with this ancient one passed by in a heartbeat. Time. 4,900 years of growing. Seven years of researching and studying to locate this tree (none of the photos shown are Methuselah). Hopefully, another thousand years for this magnificent tree. This keeper of time and history. Wishing to hear her voice tell stories. Bidding her goodbye for now, I walked back onto the trail and continued toward the end of the loop. Trying to comprehend the moments spent and when I would next have the chance to sit against her weathered bark and have a conversation.
Conservation. Such an important part of our world. Conserving resources and leaving the world a better place than which we found. Evidence of climate change is everywhere. Fossil fuels continue to burn, single use plastics continue to exist, fishing stocks continue to be depleted and beautiful creatures continue to go extinct harkening the alarm bells as we edge towards the 6th mass extinction. Droughts grow longer, wildfires burn more frequently and with greater intensity. What is to become of our natural treasures like the Ancient Bristlecone Pines? I hope and beseech the spirits and guardians of this world and all its sacred spaces to show our human race how to better take care of this glorious planet we inhabit. To live more like indigenous peoples with greater respect for all the all the natural gifts we have been given.
I want you to ask yourself a question upon finishing this blog. What can I do to help in the conservation efforts of our earthly home? What impact can I make on a local, continental and global level? How can I best honor Mother Earth?
Om Mani Padme Hum. I send blessings to you all. May Lung-ta, the Wind Horse, carry them, swiftly, to you and to all sentient beings throughout this earth. May you take a moment to touch trees and truly know them, place your hands in our sacred waters, touch that water to your face and ask those waters to heal you, feel the wind in your hair and be thankful for the breath it gives and place your toes into the soil and give thanks for the plants it produces which nourish and ground us.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time."
Namaste, friends.
Sweetness of the Earth
Today, like we should do everyday, we should consider how we treat this sacred space we call Earth. Today is a day we should be thinking of ways we can improve life here. It can be something as simple as placing an empty soda can into the recycling bin. Choosing to not purchase items made of plastic. Composting biodegradable materials. Picking up litter on sidewalks, beaches, hiking trails and river banks. Refraining from feeding wildlife, even though those creatures look so cute.
Today is a day to thinking about how beautiful our earth is. Truly, it is a wondrous place full of natural beauty. How this beauty came to be from a, once, fiery place of molten rock, poisonous gases and uninhabitable space over a period of billions of years, to a place teeming with life, beauty and majesty all around is something to be thankful for. A space where we gaze at tides lapping at our favorite beaches, marveling at sunrises and sunsets, meteor shower gazing on mountain passes, trails winding through green forests bubbling over with the call of our avian friends as rushing streams wind their way through. A smile should be on our face as we celebrate the natural wonders of this beautiful place we call home.
This Earth of ours shows her colors often. From the azure waters of the the oceans to the fiery majesty of the Aspens in the mountains. Beauty is all around us. Magic on this Earth. It's sacred waters give us life. Its plants and animals fuel our bodies. The wind and air fill our lungs. So connected to the Earth we should be, as the Indigenous peoples were/are. Somewhere along the way, mechanization became more important that connection with Spirit. We lost the ability to see the beauty and gifts around us and admire what Gaia has placed here.
Gifts.
The gift of color during the seasons. The vibrance of autumn all over our lands. The pureness of white on the land in the form of snow as winter allows the ground and trees to find rest. The renewal of things during spring and all the lushness that finds its way back to the land. To the bounty of summer and all of its crops full of color found in juicy fruits and vegetables. We laugh as we spit watermelon seeds into the soft ground and hope to see sprouts. We taste corn and harvest beans in the way the original peoples of our lands did as the summer sun sets and we welcome the gentle night. We honor you, Mother Earth, and thank you for the colors you give.
What is Earth Day to you? What does it mean? What should it mean? We as humans like to say (most of us) that Earth Day should be everyday, but who actually lives that? We all should. We should all make a conscious effort to take time each day to help our Earth heal. To pick up refuse we see on the ground instead of passing over it. To recycle what we can. To cut down on buying things made of plastic and using products derived in a manner incompatible with the health and well being of animals. To become better stewards of the vast resources this planet contains.
Respect.
Respect for our Mother Earth on this, her day. We thank her for the calming waters which give us life. Waters which cool us off on hot and humid summer days. Waters which contain fish to feed and nourish our bodies. Waters which cleanse our bodies from sweat and toil and also wash away internal pain which can at times afflict us. We honor you, Mother Earth, and thank you for the waters you give.
Plants surround us in our yards, homes and offices. Do we truly see these plants and admire their beauty? Do we gaze at the flower and the tree and be thankful for allowing our day to be more beautiful because of it? If not, we should.
All around us there is life. All around us, our Mother Earth shows us her love with her gifts of flora and fauna. I can think of no better way to share my feelings on the beauty of flowers and trees than with a piece of poetry:
Flowers are the music of the ground. From Earth's lips Spoken without sound. - Edwin Curran
The Earth offers us beauty through gifts of flowers and trees. When we gaze upon them, we can thank our Mother for allowing us to have this beauty in our world. We honor you, Mother Earth, and thank you for the plants you give.
Wind moves us. It can be gentle like a summer breeze or violent like a storm. It moves sails, clouds and kites alike. It ruffles our shirt collars and brings whitecaps to waves on bodies of water. It invigorates us as we climb hills, dales and mountains. Mother Earths exhalation as the wind allows us to feel her all around us. We marvel how wheat sways in late summer as if Gaia's hands themselves are gently caressing the golden strands. We sit on summits after hours of climbing enjoying the rush of the Northern winds cooling our bodies as we take in the landscapes below. We stare in slack jawed amazement at wind surfers honing their craft as they ride the breath of our Mother Earth effortlessly.
We honor you, Mother Earth, and thank you for the winds you give.
Wilderness adds a sense of adventure to our lives. We, the hikers, wanderers, adventurers and wild souls, find comfort in these spaces. We seek them out as they are a temple to us where we go to cleanse our souls and honor our Mother. Where we take part in the grand opus of wild spaces, unable to be tamed by man. Unhindered by anything as our boots find their way across mountains and valleys. We find peace in these places. The spires of mountain tops that call to all of us to come, and climb, because "they are there". We venture to these spaces, not to conquer, but to find respite. To seek solace from the everyday. To find oneness with our Mother Earth and appreciate all her gifts to us. We run our hands over gnarled bark of thousand year old trees, we speak to the spirits surrounding us and guiding our feet, we take refuge in the stillness where the voices of other humans is noticeably absent.
We honor you, Mother Earth, and thank you for wilderness spaces you give.
The Sweetness of the Earth, our Mother Earth, is all around us and on this day, her day, we give her thanks. We thank her for all of her gifts and all she is. I hope we offer her a promise to protect her, help her heal from the damage we humans have wrought and do our part to honor all the fruits she bears for us.
We honor you, Mother Earth, and thank you for the gifts you give.
I hope you all find peace in your own way as you celebrate Earth Day and all the beauty which surrounds us.
Om Mani Padme Hum. I send blessings to you all. May Lung-ta, the Wind Horse, carry them, swiftly, to you and to all sentient beings throughout this earth.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time."
Namaste, friends.
Trees
"Man is the most insane species. He worships an invisible god and destroys a visible nature, unaware that this nature he is destroying is this god he's worshiping" - Hubert Reeves
Take a moment to ponder on that.
What is your first thought? How do you look at that quote and what do you think of? Are you immediately drawn to "god" or "nature" or perhaps, both? Are they similar, maybe even synonymous? Does it make you think about this most beautiful earth we are a part of and what we as humans are doing to it?
The wild is something that has long been a part of me and my soul and spirit. I relish my time in forests, alpine meadows, mountain summits and rushing rivers far away from neon lights, car horns and office buildings which act more like prisons. Away from desks, cars and workspaces where our bodies are chained to make money, we find freedom and a true sense of who and what we are as we walk in the wild. Does this mean we can't find freedom or satisfaction behind that desk, counter or office space? Absolutely not, but for me, success in the chosen career has and never will equal happiness or satisfaction. Like my boots, a job is simply an additional conveyance to the mountains and the trails which caress them. My place of happiness and peace.
"But Mike, I am not an outdoorsy or adventurous person."
What a shame for you.
How anyone can not feel at home among the towering trees and wind swept summits of boulders, talus and scree is something I will never understand. Touch any body of water and feel connected to life all around you. Close your eyes and feel the wind in your ears as the sun beats down upon your chin turned to the sky. Feeling alive yet? If so, you are my brother or sister. If not, what a shame for you.
Trees.
All around us we find our brothers and sisters. Their roots reach deep into the earth as their arms stretch to the sky. Humans don't often stop to appreciate all that is around them. Our wild spaces are nearby, no matter where your address may be. Have you ever had a chat with a tree? Have you ever paused, placed your hand on its bark and simply "listened"? Listen to their stories and how they live. Scan their trunks and canopies for history and for meaning. Listen deeply to the beating heart within them and find yourself connected to everything around you.
"Mike... Seriously, this is some weird stuff."
Is it? Is it weird to show respect to something that can not speak for itself? We do it with our pets all the time. We talk to ourselves throughout the day. Where are the differences? I see none.
I love trees. All of them. Aspens, Junipers, Oak and Elm, Poplars, Cedars, Maples and Foxtail Pines and the grandfathers of this world's tree families, the Ancient Bristlecone Pines. They speak to me as I walk amongst them. They whisper their stories as loud as the wind. They tell me of seasons, fire, flood and bounty. They speak of birds, sun and sky. Their stories are etched in the xylem and phloem of their cores. Dendrochronology teaches us about them after they have passed on to have their stories confirmed. Some of us even mourn the loss of them as the circle of life moves through time and space.
Walking amongst these brothers and sisters is special thing all together. We admire their stately repose and gaze upon their magical colors. In the spring, we look for buds on their branches. A sure sign warmer days are ahead. In summer, we find sanctuary in their shade as the hours pass by. Maybe we hang a hammock from their sturdy arms for us to take in gentle breezes while sipping a beverage of our choosing. In fall, we ooh and ahh at the kaleidoscope of colors which fall from their arms. Their farewell to warmth with a finale which makes our 4th of July revelry look tame. Winter is ushered in and our brothers and sisters stand tall, heads bowed low as ice, snow and cold sweep across the land. They await the return of the sun and his warmth.
Each hike I set out on, I try and find a tree which speaks to me. I love the smell of crushed cedar in my hands as its healing nature courses through my body while my hands rub the oils from their needles. I marvel at the sight of Aspens in the fall and the way they quake in the wind. When the wind blows firmly and the leaves begin to fall, it rains gold over top of me and I have no choice than to lay down and let them fall on me, all the while thanking the Spirits and Guardians of these spaces for these magnificent beings. My nose delights in finding a crevice in the bark of a Ponderosa Pine and seeking out whether it smells of Orange Cream, Vanilla or Root Beer. As the scents pour into my nasal cavities, my eyes are closed as I thank this tree for allowing me to enjoy her aura.
Would I consider myself a tree hugger? Absolutely. Sadness washes over me upon seeing these organisms cut down, mutilated by knives or axes at the whim of malcontent fool. Carving his or her initials into these beings without so much as a thought. 17,000 trees gave their lives for the building of the Cathedral at Notre Dame in France. 17,000. For what? A monument? A building which has no life of its own? Yes, I know it is a place of worship for Christians, but would not those trees be better represented by offering thanks to a Creator while sitting among them and honoring their lives? A forest is an outdoor cathedral, church, mosque, synagogue and temple, similar to mountains, where Gods, Creators and Great Spirits should be given homage and honor, yet, we feel the need to fall them to create spaces to do just that. Why?
"Mike, you know so many things we have are made of trees?"
Yes, I am aware of it. I understand the nature the need for materials to build with and utilize in modern society, however, as a lover of our wild spaces and forests, I wish there was another way. Destruction and clear cutting of our gorgeous South American Rainforests, fires in the Sierra and in the Appalachians, overzealous football fans poisoning trees on the campus of their rivals. When will it end? When will we show true respect to our leafy brothers and sisters?
At the beginning of every hike I offer a prayer, some rice and sage to the Spirits and Guardians of the mountains and forests. Every summit I hang prayer flags and sit in contemplation and reflection while honoring the mountain and its Spirits and Guardians while asking Lung-ta (the Wind Horse) to carry the light and thankfulness I am filled with to all beings throughout this world. A simple gesture of thankfulness for the presence of this place. A blessing for the trees, rocks and waters. Thankfulness for each of them and the energy they willingly give to our world. Thankfulness for each stately tree.
The next time you find yourself gazing at a tree, playing in a body of water or sunning on rock, whisper your own thanks to the universe and to what is in front of you. Take a moment to place your hand on the tree and ask to see its life and feel its energy. Dip your fingers into the stream, lake, river or ocean and thank her for the life she gives. Feel the temperature of the rock and imagine the stories it could tell over the eons of its existence. Millions, and at times, billions of years old to be sitting here for you at this very moment.
Om Mani Padme Hum. I send blessings to you all. May Lung-ta, the Wind Horse, carry them, swiftly, to you and to all sentient and non-sentient beings throughout this earth. I hope you take a moment to reflect on this and that it brings a smile to you. If you are a nature lover, tree hugger, modern hippy and free spirit, I am sure it will.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time."
Namaste, friends.
Frozen in Time
Moments. Memories. Photographs. Dreams. All of these things capture something. A specific place in time continuum of our existence. Photos adorn office walls, hallways and bookshelves. After they have served their purpose, we file them away in drawers, boxes and sometimes, the garbage can as their memory is just too painful for our hearts. We place these images around us to remind us of a point of happiness (usually) or one which has deep sentimental value. We make photo albums, scrapbooks and write diaries to capture the essence of a point in time as well.
Locked in our brains are trillions of images and memories which pull to the surface when our soul needs it the most. As a child and a teenager, my family and I would vacation on the sandy shores of Ocean City, Maryland. The drive to the beach (The Shore, as it's known to folks on the east coast) took seemingly, forever. Once the car came to a stop in the sun baked parking lot of whatever high-rise condo building we would be staying in for the week occurred and the doors opened to be greeted with the humid, salty air, time was placed into warp speed. Moments and memories flew by and made the days seem like minutes and the week seem like a single day. As was our tradition, we would spend the final night there on the OC Boardwalk taking in the sights, smells and sounds of summer. Smells like French Fries with malt vinegar, open pit beef sandwiches, freshly made waffle cones and soft serve ice cream lingered all around. Midway lights, arcade games and coin machines were music to a young kids eyes and ears. The sound of skeeballs hitting the lane before making a jump at the coveted 50 point hole. The screams from the "Zipper" as its occupants where spun around and upside down in the thick, oceanic air.
Walking those old planks and staring at everything around while blinking slowly. My way of capturing a moment. I began this practice during that time. A slow blink while consciously taking in the sight I was looking at and making my eyes act as the shutter on a camera. Looking at "Ripley's Believe it or Not?!", BLINK. "Thrashers", BLINK. "Dumser's Dairy", BLINK. The flashing lights of "Marty's Playland", BLINK. Memories I can conjure up at the snap of a finger and feel the nostalgia created by them. I am proud to say I continue that method of creating mental pictures today, as a 42 year old man.
Fires, work stress and challenges with the health of one of my children have not allowed me to venture to the Sierra Nevada to hike or simply just enjoy being in a place which feels like home. As the fall comes into full being, the air changes and so do the leaves on the Aspens. I look forward to this time spent tromping around in Aspen groves feeling the magic of each moment and inevitable wonder of something new and different each year. This year was no exception.
After enjoying some Aspen groves in the heart of Hope Valley, CA, I ventured towards the Carson Pass and Red Lake area at the southern part of the valley. Taking a dirt road off the main road to the edge of the motor vehicle access point, I killed the engine and grabbed my camera gear. In this space, there was a hush. Silence. Forested bliss absent of man's influence. Walking down the tree lined forest service road through Aspens and Cedars brings this Lost Soul, home. Pausing every few steps to listen to the rush of the wind and the sound of the trees swaying in the October air, I ventured off the trail, through some old growth Aspens into an alpine meadow with an old cabin at the far corner some 500 yards away. There is snow on the ground on the eastern facing slope and my feet leave size 12 imprints in the crusty snow.
I lean over to take some photos of the golden leaves and find myself not clicking the shutter. The moment is too perfect. I blink hard and long. I capture the photo in time. A memory. A moment. A mental bookmark (for the scorching days of summer that I despise) as the breeze kicks up again and makes the mountains surrounding this sleepy valley seem even larger and more perfect than before. My hand finds its way to the snow to simply feel the cold. As I am feeling the coldness seep into my bare skin, I see a pair of leaves, frozen in time. The leaves are covered in frost and seem almost mystical to me. Leafy poetry. That was my first thought. It was hard to not grab my journal a write something about this moment, but I am glad I did not. The urge to write has lessened lately as I try and focus on moving on from being a poet to simply, being. I've never fancied myself a good writer anyway (however, the release this blog provides is good mental therapy), and simply taking in this small moment of beauty made me forget about all the things going on. No thoughts about melanoma, physical therapy, children's pain specialists, MRI's, X-Ray's, and medication which has no effect in an effort to bring relief and comfort. The constant, daily, nagging stress of a career chosen that no longer brings any joy or satisfaction and only the escape to the mountains provides happiness and joy from daily routine.
Leaf Poetry.
This moment was just that. A poetic tribute to the beauty of the universe and to how something insignificant like a few frozen leaves can change ones state of mind. A nod to the spirits and guardians of this valley and surrounding mountains who protect this place of serenity and tranquility and bring peace to all who wander here. Golden leaves surround me above my head as a blanket of white is below my feet. A beautiful contrast in a beautiful place. A moment in time. An image to place into my mind while the joy of it warms my heart.
As fall becomes winter, take time see these moments for what they are. Experience them, enjoy them and be present in them. May peaceful energy surround you and permeate your soul. May you immerse yourself in the things you love and bring you joy. May you walk through this season of the year with a mindset of being present and just, being.
Om Mani Padme Hum. I send blessings to you all. May Lung-ta, the Wind Horse, carry them, swiftly, to you and to all sentient beings throughout this earth.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time."
Namaste, friends.
Fires in the Wild
(This image is not mine, nor does it belong to me. It is being shown for purposes to illustrate the devastation caused by a campfire. This is the Caldor fire. It is real.)
Friends, today, my heart is aching. Not only for the people of Afghanistan, mothers of military men and women who had to bury their children in the conflict there, but also for the forest fire victims in my state. Living in California, especially in wildfire prone areas, presents sets of risks like every other state. We do not experience the brutally cold winters of the Midwest, threats from Hurricanes in the Gulf and Mid-Atlantic and tornadoes in the cornbelt. We instead, deal with wildfires.
I grew up believing that California was a haven for Earthquakes. That at any given moment, and several times a year, the ground would shake uncontrollably, lift and heave and cause buildings to topple. Freeways would buckle, homes would be left in rubble, great canyons would appear where farms and cities once stood. How silly a thing to think of. I've been here for almost 20 years now and have felt a grand total of three (3), yes three, earthquakes.
The earth never opened up in a gaping hole, no buildings collapsed, and no cities were swallowed up by chasms of doom.
Growing up in the rolling hills of southeastern Pennsylvania, we never feared wildfires and forest fires. Folks worried about their lawns, gardens and crops when rain went missing for a week. Here in California, things are far more grave during periods of drought.
We are in the midst of what is becoming another epic drought. Lakes levels are at historical lows, the second largest wildfire in California history is still raging and another 180,000 plus acre fire is burning within 30 miles of my home. My heart hurts. It hurts because so many of these fires can be prevented. So many of these fires are absolutely unnecessary. Yes, lightning strikes have caused some of the blazes, but (according to statistics by the National Parks Service, NPS in a 2018 study.) 85% of fires are attributable to humans. Yes, that means us.
Within those statistics are power line failures, house fires (usually caused by electrical wires or faulty stoves/ovens) which morph into forest fires and wild fires. The other cause of our forest fires and wildfires are a thing I am passionate about informing unknowing/unaware/ignorant humans about; campfires.
Campfires. This will be subject of this blog. I am certain that some of you reading are thinking, "But Mike, when we go camping, we love a fire to sit around and enjoy. We are responsible and can handle it. We see no wrong in that." I hear that often and it makes me cringe. I hear that and my heart hurts. Why? Because currently, I turn my gaze away from the monitor where I am typing this to the open field next to my office. Office buildings 500 yards away were barely visible a few days ago because of the heavy smoke from the Caldor Fire burning in the foothills 25 minutes away. The fire that has consumed peoples homes (over 600 structures as of today with another 20,000 threatened. Yes, you read that right. Twenty thousand), possessions, businesses and vacation spots. It has killed humans, animals and stately trees. The air quality on Sunday of this past weekend was the worst in the entire world. Read that again.
The air quality a few days ago here in the foothills of Northern California, was the worst in the world. Read it again and let it sink in. There is a need to repeat it often. You may be thinking, "Well, that is a risk you take for living there." Yes, you would be correct in that thinking, but you also are missing the point. This fire, the Caldor fire, was likely caused by a campfire in the El Dorado National Forest. Yes. A campfire. We are experiencing the worst air quality in the world because of a campfire.
Northern California, and California on the whole, experiences dry conditions for the majority of the year. We get our water in the form of rain in low lying areas to snow in the high country from October through April. We rely on those months to fill our reservoirs, cover our Sierra Nevada peaks in 20 plus feet of snow and hope that the spring temperatures are mild enough to melt the snow at a slow pace to ensure we have water for the arid summer. We are currently experiencing a drought greater than the historic drought which ended in 2017. We had a short reprieve, and now here we are again.
Climate change. Pollution. Human carelessness. All causes of California's dire circumstances. So many offshoots this blog could venture off towards, but I want to keep the focus on humans perceived "need" for fires.
In the fall of 2016, I took a day off work to venture around in Desolation Wilderness outside of Lake Tahoe. It was cool, crisp early October day. The plan was to hike back to Lake Aloha and have a bite to eat, then turn around and head back. 15 miles round trip and only a shade under 2,000 feet of elevation gain. A wonderful day hike. As the miles ticked away and my camera shutter captured the Crystal Range on the opposite shores of Lower and Upper Echo Lakes, I marveled that even with the drought going on, the beauty was still here. As I arrived at the spur trail to Lake Aloha, my thoughts drifted to finding a great spot to sit and stare up at the surrounding peaks. Walking into the Lake Aloha Basin a short while later, I was greeted with the smell of smoke from an absolutely illegal campfire being tended to by a pair of young hikers. The thought of my Cliff Bar and sandwich vanished and my hunger pangs became pangs of frustration. I walked over to the pair and told them that if they didn't know, campfires are illegal in Desolation Wilderness (at all times, no less. This isn't a drought related order). They laughed a bit and told me to "chill out", that they "got this" and are minding their fire. I explained to them the risk of what they were doing especially under the circumstances of the year and that should this fire get out of control, fighting it in an isolated place like Desolation becomes a very difficult task. Again, they laughed and told me to "chill out" and stop being the fire police.
Angered by the complete lack of respect and and disdain for the no fire order, I ate my sandwich and stewed on what the implications could be should their ignorance lead to a wildfire. Thousands of acres of wilderness would burn and millions of people would lose the ability to see Desolation in its beauty for hundreds of years.
Campfires have their place, just not in the backcountry, forests and dry areas which resemble tinder boxes. This is a concession of my opinion which I must live with as so many campers love their fires. Will I ever agree with folks who insist on having them? No. Why, I will never understand, but I sigh and tell the "fire police officer" inside me to "chill out" and let them have their destructive fun. Yes, campfires do have uses in survival situations, but outside of that, is there really a need? Why not enjoy the beauty of a summer night under the beautiful glow of the moon, or celestial wonder of the galaxy on moonless nights? Why not listen to the sounds around instead of the sound of crackling wood? Why give any ember a chance to spark a fire that will cost the lives of animals, people and countless trees? Why?
The most recent update on the Caldor Fire shows it is growing. Fast. South Lake Tahoe, a place special to me because of its azure waters, myriads of hiking trails, ski resorts, and year round fun, has been evacuated. The fire is threatening this place of amazing energy and beauty. Desolation wilderness, a place where my first backpack trip into the Sierra Nevada, is burning. Peaks which I've climbed including Ralston and Pyramid (which were blog topics here) have been ravaged. Echo Lakes and Echo Peak are now sitting in the pathway of this inferno. Ancient trees and hallowed ground will be devastated. Some of the most precious places where I heal, reflect and seek oneness will be wiped from the topographic maps. People weep when their local church burns. This; the Sierra Nevada, is my church. It is burning. And why? Because of a campfire.
My heart is bleeding because someone had to have a campfire. My soul feels wounded because someone had to have a campfire in the middle of summer. Their life was not in jeopardy from exposure or hypothermia. No, they were just being selfish. Ignorant. Inconsiderate. Oblivious to the simple fact that they wanted something which would cause a colossal amount of damage, heartache, pain and tears.
Next time you are hiking, backpacking or camping and as day turns to dusk and the thought of a campfire comes to mind, ask yourself a few questions. Is is necessary? Is it for my survival? Could it cause damage? Could it alter the wild and landscape? Will my fire jeopardize the natural beauty for generations to come? Then simply put the matches away, lay back on the dirt, grass or space you are in and watch the night sky. There is no need for a campfire. You are a steward of the wild if you can refrain from lighting a fire. You are a friend to me. You are friend to Smokey Bear and all the others who see themselves as guardians of our national parks, forests, mountains and trails. Do the right thing and leave fires for the fireplace in your home.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time."
Namaste, friends.
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