Posted on
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Walk In The Park?
By CHRIS WELSCH,
Universal Press Syndicate
Step by step, we climbed the long switchbacks carved into the rocky mountainside, heading toward Franklin Pass.
Laboring for breath in the thin air, I looked down. Far below, Upper Franklin Lake was a gleaming mirror of the blue sky. We'd started the day camped in the shade of a grove of thousand-year-old foxtail pines on its shore. Now the giant trees looked like they'd fit in the palm of my hand.
We were at 11,000 feet, two miles above sea level, with several hundred more feet of altitude to gain. It was the second day of a six-day backpack trip in Sequoia National Park. I was a little nervous about how I'd hold up in the week ahead in the Sierra Nevada. Walking uphill with 50 pounds on my back was hard work.
Up ahead, Jim Warner, 70, whistled, sang little snatches of songs, and stopped frequently to examine the sparse foliage that grows at such heights. A stout man with a white beard and calves like oak trunks, he was not breathing hard at all.
"Why, look at this, I was just thinking about this Davidson's penstemon, wondering if it was still here," he said, as he squatted down to greet the tiny purple flowers like old friends. "Everything up here is under 20 feet of snow in December. Then it has to survive spring melt, avalanches, rock falls. Hang in there, guys."
Warner, for nearly 20 years the head naturalist for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park in California, has been retired for more than a decade, but he seemed to know every bird, every marmot and every penstemon along the trail.
For six days, he'd be leading and teaching our group of six hikers on a personalized tour. It's hard to imagine a better guide to the wonders of the Sierra Nevada. Or a better deal. Like the other group participants, I'd paid $280 for the trip through the Sequoia Natural History Association.
The nonprofit, supported by park admirers and advocates, is not unusual; more than 60 such organizations work with and support various national parks and monuments. The groups publish guides, operate park bookstores and raise funds for park needs. Many offer educational programs ranging from hour-long wildflower walks to extended trips into the backcountry.
Three years ago, I signed onto a four-day trip with the Grand Canyon Association. I hiked into and out of the canyon with a scientist who had spent her career in the park. Two years before that, I spent a week in the backcountry with the Yellowstone Association, under the guidance of a wildlife biologist who not only studied the park, he'd been born in it - both of his parents were rangers.
In each case, I got an insider's look at places most tourists never see, and a priceless environmental education to boot. Now I was getting an up-close look at Sequoia, the nation's second-oldest national park after Yellowstone.
After more than two hours of hard walking, we reached Franklin Pass, a narrow ridge dividing two valleys. The tumultuous glory of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, unfolding in ragged waves of stone to the edges of the horizon, eased the pain in my legs. It also helped knowing that the rest of the day's hike would be a long, steady descent.
"Now you can see what this is all about," Warner said. "Every time I get up here, my spirit soars."
Warner spends several weeks of every summer leading rigorous backpack trips for the Sequoia Natural History Association. About 76 miles east of Fresno, Sequoia preserves some of the most dramatic terrain in the Lower 48, including its highest peak, Mount Whitney, at 14,491 feet.
Our trip started at the end of a dead-end road in the least-visited part of Sequoia - the Mineral King Valley, which we'd just spent a day and a half climbing out of. Warner now looked back over the valley lovingly.
"This was only added to the park in the '70s," he said. "We're lucky it's even here." For decades, the land was administered by the Forest Service, which eventually decided to lease the land as a ski resort. Warner said that Walt Disney was given the concession and had plans to turn it into a second Lake Tahoe.
"They would have had to blast away a lot of rock to build highways into this place," Warner said. When people realized how big and destructive the development would be, protests ensued, scuttling the plan.
We left Franklin Pass, picking our way across smooth stretches of naked stone and more rocky slopes before entering the tree line again. At about 3 p.m., we arrived at Little Clair Lake, a pretty alpine pond surrounded by lodge pole and foxtail pines. Exhausted, I pitched my tent, and like everyone else, took a nap before dinner.
There is no coddling on these park association trips; the budget price means participants haul their own gear and do their own cooking. Our dinner choices varied, but we all cooked the same way, by pouring boiling water over various packaged and dehydrated concoctions, from turkey tetrazzini to beef stroganoff.
Lu Plauzoles, a college bookstore manager from Santa Monica, Calif., was the most austere member of the group: Every night, he prepared the same blend of couscous and dried vegetables he'd packaged himself at home. Rick Mitchell, a handyman from Redondo Beach, used some of his precious cargo space to haul a plastic bladder full of red wine, which he most generously shared.
The two other members of the group were related and did their cooking together: Retired UPS executive Jeannie McNally of Carlsbad, Calif., came with her 20-year-old nephew, T.J. David, a college student from Rhode Island.
After eating, we made coffee and tea and sat in a circle. Warner imparted lessons about the Sierra Nevada throughout the day, but evening was saved for more detailed lectures - on natural themes such as the differences between coastal redwoods and sequoias, the world's tallest and biggest trees, respectively.
The trees are related, but are significantly different, Warner told us. Sequoias, which can reach 310 feet in height and 40 feet in diameter, grow in groves in California's Sierra Nevada at altitudes of 5,000 to 7,000 feet. We had hiked past sequoias when we started out of the Mineral King Valley.
Redwoods, which reach up to 367 feet and 22 feet in diameter, grow near the coast, at much lower altitudes, and are part of the temperate rain forest. In the arid high country of the Sierra, sequoias rely on fire to release their oat-flake-sized seeds.
"The biggest tragedy in this park's history was the decision early on to put out wildfires - the ecology here demands fire, not only for seeds, but to create space and light for new trees," Warner said.
He said in recent years a policy of controlled burns was helping to restore the forests of the park toward their natural states. But in many places, dense undergrowth inhibits new generations of trees.
As story time ended, the wind picked up. I spent a very uneasy night in my tube-shaped, one-man tent, which was severely tested by 30 and 40 mile per hour gusts. One particularly fierce blast snapped one of my tent poles. Thanks to Jeannie McNally, who'd wrapped her water bottle with duct tape for just such an emergency, I was able to splice it back into one piece.
That turbulent night was the only natural difficulty we faced during the week. We never saw the paw prints of the park's infamous black bears. The sky stayed clear. Even at the high altitudes, it was warm enough for a swim.
We enjoyed that luxury at our camp on the shore of the lowest of the Big Five Lakes, where we spent two nights. The extra day in one place gave us a chance to rest and explore unfettered by the big packs.
On those walks, Warner continued to astound us with his ability to find obscure plants and animals. On one seemingly barren slope, he produced a tiny wildflower whose bloom was about the size of a dime.
"Look at this, an elephant's head," he said, pointing out the plant's perfect, cartoon-like rendition of a pachyderm, complete with raised trunk and broad ears. This particular model was white with red polka dots.
Lu Plauzoles, an enthusiastic birder, often tried to one-up Warner with his binoculars. "Jim, I believe I have a yellow-bellied sapsucker in my sights," he said during another walk, eyeing a bird perched on a dead tree. Without even raising his binoculars, Warner corrected him. "That's a Williamson's sapsucker, Lu."
Then he explained the difference between a normal woodpecker and a sapsucker: A normal woodpecker has a barbed tongue. "He drills a hole, then he snatches the grub," Warner said. "A sapsucker has a brush-shaped tongue. He drills a hole, and then waits for the sap to fill in and for the bugs to stick to the sap. Then he eats the bugs and the sap."
Our most spectacular birding success came on the fifth day, when we had our toughest challenge - a 12-mile hike with a 2,500-foot elevation gain to the top of Sawtooth Pass.
At this point, I'd acclimated to the high altitude, and my legs were feeling stronger by the day. But still, after six hours of hard hiking, all up, I was getting tired.
As we approached Sawtooth Pass, one small laborious step at a time, I could feel the muscles of my thighs shaking. Every breath of the thin air seemed to give me just enough strength to move my feet one more step.
Euphoria filled me when we reached the top of the pass - the entire world seemed to be spread out at our feet. I dropped my pack and sat down on it, exhausted and thrilled. Out of the blue sky, two golden eagles appeared on an updraft just a few yards overhead. From this vantage, we shared their heavenly perspective.
Warner had frequently invoked the spirit of John Muir during the trip; it was Muir whose tireless campaigning in the 1890s convinced politicians to set aside Sequoia and Yosemite so that future generations of Americans could experience the wonder of these wild places.
To Muir, the wilderness held the keys to a fulfilled life; to be fully human means to be a part of the natural world. Warner had recited from memory Muir's "Climb the Mountain" passage a couple of times during our week in the park, and now at the end of our trip, those words came back to me with their full meaning: "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of autumn."
(Chris Welsch is a reporter and photographer at the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where he's been covering travel for 14 years.)
Sidebar
Natural History Adventures in the National Parks
By Chris Welsch
Many of the nation's national parks have nonprofit support groups that do everything from publishing guides to raising funds in order to make up for cuts in federal funding. These partnering associations often have educational arms that conduct educational programs.
Some might be as simple as a two-hour walk among wildflowers, while others might involve spending 10 days of roughing it in the backcountry. One note of caution: Before signing up for a trip, make sure your ability level and fitness match your ambition. Talk to trip leaders before committing to the journey.
Universal Press Syndicate
Step by step, we climbed the long switchbacks carved into the rocky mountainside, heading toward Franklin Pass.
Laboring for breath in the thin air, I looked down. Far below, Upper Franklin Lake was a gleaming mirror of the blue sky. We'd started the day camped in the shade of a grove of thousand-year-old foxtail pines on its shore. Now the giant trees looked like they'd fit in the palm of my hand.
We were at 11,000 feet, two miles above sea level, with several hundred more feet of altitude to gain. It was the second day of a six-day backpack trip in Sequoia National Park. I was a little nervous about how I'd hold up in the week ahead in the Sierra Nevada. Walking uphill with 50 pounds on my back was hard work.
Up ahead, Jim Warner, 70, whistled, sang little snatches of songs, and stopped frequently to examine the sparse foliage that grows at such heights. A stout man with a white beard and calves like oak trunks, he was not breathing hard at all.
"Why, look at this, I was just thinking about this Davidson's penstemon, wondering if it was still here," he said, as he squatted down to greet the tiny purple flowers like old friends. "Everything up here is under 20 feet of snow in December. Then it has to survive spring melt, avalanches, rock falls. Hang in there, guys."
Warner, for nearly 20 years the head naturalist for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park in California, has been retired for more than a decade, but he seemed to know every bird, every marmot and every penstemon along the trail.
For six days, he'd be leading and teaching our group of six hikers on a personalized tour. It's hard to imagine a better guide to the wonders of the Sierra Nevada. Or a better deal. Like the other group participants, I'd paid $280 for the trip through the Sequoia Natural History Association.
The nonprofit, supported by park admirers and advocates, is not unusual; more than 60 such organizations work with and support various national parks and monuments. The groups publish guides, operate park bookstores and raise funds for park needs. Many offer educational programs ranging from hour-long wildflower walks to extended trips into the backcountry.
Three years ago, I signed onto a four-day trip with the Grand Canyon Association. I hiked into and out of the canyon with a scientist who had spent her career in the park. Two years before that, I spent a week in the backcountry with the Yellowstone Association, under the guidance of a wildlife biologist who not only studied the park, he'd been born in it - both of his parents were rangers.
In each case, I got an insider's look at places most tourists never see, and a priceless environmental education to boot. Now I was getting an up-close look at Sequoia, the nation's second-oldest national park after Yellowstone.
After more than two hours of hard walking, we reached Franklin Pass, a narrow ridge dividing two valleys. The tumultuous glory of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, unfolding in ragged waves of stone to the edges of the horizon, eased the pain in my legs. It also helped knowing that the rest of the day's hike would be a long, steady descent.
"Now you can see what this is all about," Warner said. "Every time I get up here, my spirit soars."
Warner spends several weeks of every summer leading rigorous backpack trips for the Sequoia Natural History Association. About 76 miles east of Fresno, Sequoia preserves some of the most dramatic terrain in the Lower 48, including its highest peak, Mount Whitney, at 14,491 feet.
Our trip started at the end of a dead-end road in the least-visited part of Sequoia - the Mineral King Valley, which we'd just spent a day and a half climbing out of. Warner now looked back over the valley lovingly.
"This was only added to the park in the '70s," he said. "We're lucky it's even here." For decades, the land was administered by the Forest Service, which eventually decided to lease the land as a ski resort. Warner said that Walt Disney was given the concession and had plans to turn it into a second Lake Tahoe.
"They would have had to blast away a lot of rock to build highways into this place," Warner said. When people realized how big and destructive the development would be, protests ensued, scuttling the plan.
We left Franklin Pass, picking our way across smooth stretches of naked stone and more rocky slopes before entering the tree line again. At about 3 p.m., we arrived at Little Clair Lake, a pretty alpine pond surrounded by lodge pole and foxtail pines. Exhausted, I pitched my tent, and like everyone else, took a nap before dinner.
There is no coddling on these park association trips; the budget price means participants haul their own gear and do their own cooking. Our dinner choices varied, but we all cooked the same way, by pouring boiling water over various packaged and dehydrated concoctions, from turkey tetrazzini to beef stroganoff.
Lu Plauzoles, a college bookstore manager from Santa Monica, Calif., was the most austere member of the group: Every night, he prepared the same blend of couscous and dried vegetables he'd packaged himself at home. Rick Mitchell, a handyman from Redondo Beach, used some of his precious cargo space to haul a plastic bladder full of red wine, which he most generously shared.
The two other members of the group were related and did their cooking together: Retired UPS executive Jeannie McNally of Carlsbad, Calif., came with her 20-year-old nephew, T.J. David, a college student from Rhode Island.
After eating, we made coffee and tea and sat in a circle. Warner imparted lessons about the Sierra Nevada throughout the day, but evening was saved for more detailed lectures - on natural themes such as the differences between coastal redwoods and sequoias, the world's tallest and biggest trees, respectively.
The trees are related, but are significantly different, Warner told us. Sequoias, which can reach 310 feet in height and 40 feet in diameter, grow in groves in California's Sierra Nevada at altitudes of 5,000 to 7,000 feet. We had hiked past sequoias when we started out of the Mineral King Valley.
Redwoods, which reach up to 367 feet and 22 feet in diameter, grow near the coast, at much lower altitudes, and are part of the temperate rain forest. In the arid high country of the Sierra, sequoias rely on fire to release their oat-flake-sized seeds.
"The biggest tragedy in this park's history was the decision early on to put out wildfires - the ecology here demands fire, not only for seeds, but to create space and light for new trees," Warner said.
He said in recent years a policy of controlled burns was helping to restore the forests of the park toward their natural states. But in many places, dense undergrowth inhibits new generations of trees.
As story time ended, the wind picked up. I spent a very uneasy night in my tube-shaped, one-man tent, which was severely tested by 30 and 40 mile per hour gusts. One particularly fierce blast snapped one of my tent poles. Thanks to Jeannie McNally, who'd wrapped her water bottle with duct tape for just such an emergency, I was able to splice it back into one piece.
That turbulent night was the only natural difficulty we faced during the week. We never saw the paw prints of the park's infamous black bears. The sky stayed clear. Even at the high altitudes, it was warm enough for a swim.
We enjoyed that luxury at our camp on the shore of the lowest of the Big Five Lakes, where we spent two nights. The extra day in one place gave us a chance to rest and explore unfettered by the big packs.
On those walks, Warner continued to astound us with his ability to find obscure plants and animals. On one seemingly barren slope, he produced a tiny wildflower whose bloom was about the size of a dime.
"Look at this, an elephant's head," he said, pointing out the plant's perfect, cartoon-like rendition of a pachyderm, complete with raised trunk and broad ears. This particular model was white with red polka dots.
Lu Plauzoles, an enthusiastic birder, often tried to one-up Warner with his binoculars. "Jim, I believe I have a yellow-bellied sapsucker in my sights," he said during another walk, eyeing a bird perched on a dead tree. Without even raising his binoculars, Warner corrected him. "That's a Williamson's sapsucker, Lu."
Then he explained the difference between a normal woodpecker and a sapsucker: A normal woodpecker has a barbed tongue. "He drills a hole, then he snatches the grub," Warner said. "A sapsucker has a brush-shaped tongue. He drills a hole, and then waits for the sap to fill in and for the bugs to stick to the sap. Then he eats the bugs and the sap."
Our most spectacular birding success came on the fifth day, when we had our toughest challenge - a 12-mile hike with a 2,500-foot elevation gain to the top of Sawtooth Pass.
At this point, I'd acclimated to the high altitude, and my legs were feeling stronger by the day. But still, after six hours of hard hiking, all up, I was getting tired.
As we approached Sawtooth Pass, one small laborious step at a time, I could feel the muscles of my thighs shaking. Every breath of the thin air seemed to give me just enough strength to move my feet one more step.
Euphoria filled me when we reached the top of the pass - the entire world seemed to be spread out at our feet. I dropped my pack and sat down on it, exhausted and thrilled. Out of the blue sky, two golden eagles appeared on an updraft just a few yards overhead. From this vantage, we shared their heavenly perspective.
Warner had frequently invoked the spirit of John Muir during the trip; it was Muir whose tireless campaigning in the 1890s convinced politicians to set aside Sequoia and Yosemite so that future generations of Americans could experience the wonder of these wild places.
To Muir, the wilderness held the keys to a fulfilled life; to be fully human means to be a part of the natural world. Warner had recited from memory Muir's "Climb the Mountain" passage a couple of times during our week in the park, and now at the end of our trip, those words came back to me with their full meaning: "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of autumn."
(Chris Welsch is a reporter and photographer at the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where he's been covering travel for 14 years.)
Sidebar
Natural History Adventures in the National Parks
By Chris Welsch
Many of the nation's national parks have nonprofit support groups that do everything from publishing guides to raising funds in order to make up for cuts in federal funding. These partnering associations often have educational arms that conduct educational programs.
Some might be as simple as a two-hour walk among wildflowers, while others might involve spending 10 days of roughing it in the backcountry. One note of caution: Before signing up for a trip, make sure your ability level and fitness match your ambition. Talk to trip leaders before committing to the journey.
From left, Rick Mitchell, Jim Warner and T.J. David stand atop Black Rock Pass, at 11,600 feet, in Sequoia National Park.
Here's a sampling of some of the programs available across the nation.
- Alaska Natural History Institutes. Fitting for America's wildest state, the Alaska Institutes offer some of the wildest itineraries spread over Alaska's thousands of square miles of federal parklands.
One trip sends participants rafting down the Copper River to learn about geological forces firsthand. On another, travelers take a ferry to the wildlife refuges of the Aleutian Islands. Yet others head into the backcountry of Denali National Park.
These ambitious programs are also more expensive than some in the Lower 48. The weeklong Aleutian ferry trip is $1,875 and the five-day rafting trip is $1,475, (907) 868-8639 or www.alaskanha.org.
- Big Bend Natural History Association. Hard on the border with Mexico, Texas' Big Bend National Park embraces desert canyons and wild river shores. Trips with the Big Bend Association include horse-packing trips to the Buena Suerte ghost town ($425, two days, meals included) to a chance to participate in a dinosaur dig with paleontologists for three days ($399, lodging and meals included), (432) 477-2236 or www.bigbendbookstore.org.
- Grand Canyon Field Institute. The institute has a vast catalog of programs ranging from short day hikes to challenging backpack trips into the heart of the canyon. The four-day "mule-assisted backpack" trip lightens the load by letting participants send 30 pounds of food and gear into (and more importantly, out of) the canyon on the daily mule trains ($590 for Grand Canyon Association members and $615 for nonmembers), (866) 471-4435 or www.grandcanyon.org/fieldinstitute/.
- Rocky Mountain Nature Association. Colorado's Rocky Mountain National Park is the classroom for this natural history group. The class schedule focuses on nature studies and art, and includes offerings such as a two-day seminar on painting landscapes in watercolors ($170, not including food or lodging), (970) 586-3262 or www.rmna.org.
- Sequoia Natural History Association. Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park encompasses a vast area that stretches from desert chaparral at lower elevations (less than 2,000 feet) to the barren rocks of the high alpine at more than 14,000 feet. The Sequoia Association's class schedule is fittingly broad, from winter ski and snowshoe outings to summertime backpacking treks that last as long as 10 days. Former park head naturalist Jim Warner will be leading several backcountry trips, although at this writing the schedule has not been set, (559) 565-4251 or www.sequoiahistory.org.
- Smoky Mountain Field School. Explore Great Smoky Mountain National Park in Tennessee and North Carolina with this field school operated by the University of Tennessee. Classes include inexpensive, naturalist-led wildflower walks ($29) to a vigorous five-day trek on the Appalachian Trail as it runs through the park ($500). The field school also offers an introduction to backpacking class that would be ideal for those who want to break into the sport with some guidance, (865) 974-0150 or www.outreach.utk.edu/smoky/.
- Yellowstone Association. The association offers a refined mix of programs that will appeal to the rugged and adventurous and those seeking a more relaxed and luxurious approach to outdoors learning. The "Lodging and Learning" programs combine nights in a comfy bed at one of the park's lodges with days spent in the field learning about the park's flora and fauna. A three-day stay in spring to learn about the park's bears and wolves will set you back $579 a head (for double occupancy). The association offers trips year-round, from cross-country ski adventures to wolf tracking, (307) 344-2293 or www.yellowstoneassociation.org.
- Chris Welsch
** ** **
PHOTO CAPTIONS AND CREDITS
(NOTE: These photos are for ONE-TIME use ONLY. Primary Color Travel photos, with the proper credits, are to be run ONLY with Primary Color stories. Conversion to black and white is OK.)
T-1: Able to thrive in the poor soil and low oxygen above the tree line, Sierra Rock-fringe (the purple flower) brightens in a wash near Black Rock Pass in Sequoia National Park. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-2: The Sequoia Natural History group heads toward Sawtooth Peak and Sawtooth Pass in Sequoia National Park. The triangular peak in the background is Sawtooth. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-3: Lu Plauzoles of Santa Monica, Calif., heads up the trail toward Franklin Pass on the first day of a six-day backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-4: From left, Rick Mitchell, Jim Warner and T.J. David stand atop Black Rock Pass, at 11,600 feet, in Sequoia National Park. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-5: Jim Warner, 70, group leader on the Sequoia Natural History Association trip, was the head naturalist in Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park for 20 years. "I spend enough time here that I still think of it as my park," he says. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
COPYRIGHT 2008 UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE
Up ahead, Jim Warner, 70, whistled, sang little snatches of songs, and stopped frequently to examine the sparse foliage that grows at such heights. A stout man with a white beard and calves like oak trunks, he was not breathing hard at all.
"Why, look at this, I was just thinking about this Davidson's penstemon, wondering if it was still here," he said, as he squatted down to greet the tiny purple flowers like old friends. "Everything up here is under 20 feet of snow in December. Then it has to survive spring melt, avalanches, rock falls. Hang in there, guys."
Warner, for nearly 20 years the head naturalist for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park in California, has been retired for more than a decade, but he seemed to know every bird, every marmot and every penstemon along the trail.
For six days, he'd be leading and teaching our group of six hikers on a personalized tour. It's hard to imagine a better guide to the wonders of the Sierra Nevada. Or a better deal. Like the other group participants, I'd paid $280 for the trip through the Sequoia Natural History Association.
The nonprofit, supported by park admirers and advocates, is not unusual; more than 60 such organizations work with and support various national parks and monuments. The groups publish guides, operate park bookstores and raise funds for park needs. Many offer educational programs ranging from hour-long wildflower walks to extended trips into the backcountry.
Three years ago, I signed onto a four-day trip with the Grand Canyon Association. I hiked into and out of the canyon with a scientist who had spent her career in the park. Two years before that, I spent a week in the backcountry with the Yellowstone Association, under the guidance of a wildlife biologist who not only studied the park, he'd been born in it - both of his parents were rangers.
In each case, I got an insider's look at places most tourists never see, and a priceless environmental education to boot. Now I was getting an up-close look at Sequoia, the nation's second-oldest national park after Yellowstone.
After more than two hours of hard walking, we reached Franklin Pass, a narrow ridge dividing two valleys. The tumultuous glory of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, unfolding in ragged waves of stone to the edges of the horizon, eased the pain in my legs. It also helped knowing that the rest of the day's hike would be a long, steady descent.
"Now you can see what this is all about," Warner said. "Every time I get up here, my spirit soars."
Warner spends several weeks of every summer leading rigorous backpack trips for the Sequoia Natural History Association. About 76 miles east of Fresno, Sequoia preserves some of the most dramatic terrain in the Lower 48, including its highest peak, Mount Whitney, at 14,491 feet.
Our trip started at the end of a dead-end road in the least-visited part of Sequoia - the Mineral King Valley, which we'd just spent a day and a half climbing out of. Warner now looked back over the valley lovingly.
"This was only added to the park in the '70s," he said. "We're lucky it's even here." For decades, the land was administered by the Forest Service, which eventually decided to lease the land as a ski resort. Warner said that Walt Disney was given the concession and had plans to turn it into a second Lake Tahoe.
"They would have had to blast away a lot of rock to build highways into this place," Warner said. When people realized how big and destructive the development would be, protests ensued, scuttling the plan.
We left Franklin Pass, picking our way across smooth stretches of naked stone and more rocky slopes before entering the tree line again. At about 3 p.m., we arrived at Little Clair Lake, a pretty alpine pond surrounded by lodge pole and foxtail pines. Exhausted, I pitched my tent, and like everyone else, took a nap before dinner.
There is no coddling on these park association trips; the budget price means participants haul their own gear and do their own cooking. Our dinner choices varied, but we all cooked the same way, by pouring boiling water over various packaged and dehydrated concoctions, from turkey tetrazzini to beef stroganoff.
Lu Plauzoles, a college bookstore manager from Santa Monica, Calif., was the most austere member of the group: Every night, he prepared the same blend of couscous and dried vegetables he'd packaged himself at home. Rick Mitchell, a handyman from Redondo Beach, used some of his precious cargo space to haul a plastic bladder full of red wine, which he most generously shared.
The two other members of the group were related and did their cooking together: Retired UPS executive Jeannie McNally of Carlsbad, Calif., came with her 20-year-old nephew, T.J. David, a college student from Rhode Island.
After eating, we made coffee and tea and sat in a circle. Warner imparted lessons about the Sierra Nevada throughout the day, but evening was saved for more detailed lectures - on natural themes such as the differences between coastal redwoods and sequoias, the world's tallest and biggest trees, respectively.
The trees are related, but are significantly different, Warner told us. Sequoias, which can reach 310 feet in height and 40 feet in diameter, grow in groves in California's Sierra Nevada at altitudes of 5,000 to 7,000 feet. We had hiked past sequoias when we started out of the Mineral King Valley.
Redwoods, which reach up to 367 feet and 22 feet in diameter, grow near the coast, at much lower altitudes, and are part of the temperate rain forest. In the arid high country of the Sierra, sequoias rely on fire to release their oat-flake-sized seeds.
"The biggest tragedy in this park's history was the decision early on to put out wildfires - the ecology here demands fire, not only for seeds, but to create space and light for new trees," Warner said.
He said in recent years a policy of controlled burns was helping to restore the forests of the park toward their natural states. But in many places, dense undergrowth inhibits new generations of trees.
As story time ended, the wind picked up. I spent a very uneasy night in my tube-shaped, one-man tent, which was severely tested by 30 and 40 mile per hour gusts. One particularly fierce blast snapped one of my tent poles. Thanks to Jeannie McNally, who'd wrapped her water bottle with duct tape for just such an emergency, I was able to splice it back into one piece.
That turbulent night was the only natural difficulty we faced during the week. We never saw the paw prints of the park's infamous black bears. The sky stayed clear. Even at the high altitudes, it was warm enough for a swim.
We enjoyed that luxury at our camp on the shore of the lowest of the Big Five Lakes, where we spent two nights. The extra day in one place gave us a chance to rest and explore unfettered by the big packs.
On those walks, Warner continued to astound us with his ability to find obscure plants and animals. On one seemingly barren slope, he produced a tiny wildflower whose bloom was about the size of a dime.
"Look at this, an elephant's head," he said, pointing out the plant's perfect, cartoon-like rendition of a pachyderm, complete with raised trunk and broad ears. This particular model was white with red polka dots.
Lu Plauzoles, an enthusiastic birder, often tried to one-up Warner with his binoculars. "Jim, I believe I have a yellow-bellied sapsucker in my sights," he said during another walk, eyeing a bird perched on a dead tree. Without even raising his binoculars, Warner corrected him. "That's a Williamson's sapsucker, Lu."
Then he explained the difference between a normal woodpecker and a sapsucker: A normal woodpecker has a barbed tongue. "He drills a hole, then he snatches the grub," Warner said. "A sapsucker has a brush-shaped tongue. He drills a hole, and then waits for the sap to fill in and for the bugs to stick to the sap. Then he eats the bugs and the sap."
Our most spectacular birding success came on the fifth day, when we had our toughest challenge - a 12-mile hike with a 2,500-foot elevation gain to the top of Sawtooth Pass.
At this point, I'd acclimated to the high altitude, and my legs were feeling stronger by the day. But still, after six hours of hard hiking, all up, I was getting tired.
As we approached Sawtooth Pass, one small laborious step at a time, I could feel the muscles of my thighs shaking. Every breath of the thin air seemed to give me just enough strength to move my feet one more step.
Euphoria filled me when we reached the top of the pass - the entire world seemed to be spread out at our feet. I dropped my pack and sat down on it, exhausted and thrilled. Out of the blue sky, two golden eagles appeared on an updraft just a few yards overhead. From this vantage, we shared their heavenly perspective.
Warner had frequently invoked the spirit of John Muir during the trip; it was Muir whose tireless campaigning in the 1890s convinced politicians to set aside Sequoia and Yosemite so that future generations of Americans could experience the wonder of these wild places.
To Muir, the wilderness held the keys to a fulfilled life; to be fully human means to be a part of the natural world. Warner had recited from memory Muir's "Climb the Mountain" passage a couple of times during our week in the park, and now at the end of our trip, those words came back to me with their full meaning: "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of autumn."
Chris Welsch is a reporter and photographer at the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where he's been covering travel for 14 years.
- Alaska Natural History Institutes. Fitting for America's wildest state, the Alaska Institutes offer some of the wildest itineraries spread over Alaska's thousands of square miles of federal parklands.
One trip sends participants rafting down the Copper River to learn about geological forces firsthand. On another, travelers take a ferry to the wildlife refuges of the Aleutian Islands. Yet others head into the backcountry of Denali National Park.
These ambitious programs are also more expensive than some in the Lower 48. The weeklong Aleutian ferry trip is $1,875 and the five-day rafting trip is $1,475, (907) 868-8639 or www.alaskanha.org.
- Big Bend Natural History Association. Hard on the border with Mexico, Texas' Big Bend National Park embraces desert canyons and wild river shores. Trips with the Big Bend Association include horse-packing trips to the Buena Suerte ghost town ($425, two days, meals included) to a chance to participate in a dinosaur dig with paleontologists for three days ($399, lodging and meals included), (432) 477-2236 or www.bigbendbookstore.org.
- Grand Canyon Field Institute. The institute has a vast catalog of programs ranging from short day hikes to challenging backpack trips into the heart of the canyon. The four-day "mule-assisted backpack" trip lightens the load by letting participants send 30 pounds of food and gear into (and more importantly, out of) the canyon on the daily mule trains ($590 for Grand Canyon Association members and $615 for nonmembers), (866) 471-4435 or www.grandcanyon.org/fieldinstitute/.
- Rocky Mountain Nature Association. Colorado's Rocky Mountain National Park is the classroom for this natural history group. The class schedule focuses on nature studies and art, and includes offerings such as a two-day seminar on painting landscapes in watercolors ($170, not including food or lodging), (970) 586-3262 or www.rmna.org.
- Sequoia Natural History Association. Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park encompasses a vast area that stretches from desert chaparral at lower elevations (less than 2,000 feet) to the barren rocks of the high alpine at more than 14,000 feet. The Sequoia Association's class schedule is fittingly broad, from winter ski and snowshoe outings to summertime backpacking treks that last as long as 10 days. Former park head naturalist Jim Warner will be leading several backcountry trips, although at this writing the schedule has not been set, (559) 565-4251 or www.sequoiahistory.org.
- Smoky Mountain Field School. Explore Great Smoky Mountain National Park in Tennessee and North Carolina with this field school operated by the University of Tennessee. Classes include inexpensive, naturalist-led wildflower walks ($29) to a vigorous five-day trek on the Appalachian Trail as it runs through the park ($500). The field school also offers an introduction to backpacking class that would be ideal for those who want to break into the sport with some guidance, (865) 974-0150 or www.outreach.utk.edu/smoky/.
- Yellowstone Association. The association offers a refined mix of programs that will appeal to the rugged and adventurous and those seeking a more relaxed and luxurious approach to outdoors learning. The "Lodging and Learning" programs combine nights in a comfy bed at one of the park's lodges with days spent in the field learning about the park's flora and fauna. A three-day stay in spring to learn about the park's bears and wolves will set you back $579 a head (for double occupancy). The association offers trips year-round, from cross-country ski adventures to wolf tracking, (307) 344-2293 or www.yellowstoneassociation.org.
- Chris Welsch
** ** **
PHOTO CAPTIONS AND CREDITS
(NOTE: These photos are for ONE-TIME use ONLY. Primary Color Travel photos, with the proper credits, are to be run ONLY with Primary Color stories. Conversion to black and white is OK.)
T-1: Able to thrive in the poor soil and low oxygen above the tree line, Sierra Rock-fringe (the purple flower) brightens in a wash near Black Rock Pass in Sequoia National Park. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-2: The Sequoia Natural History group heads toward Sawtooth Peak and Sawtooth Pass in Sequoia National Park. The triangular peak in the background is Sawtooth. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-3: Lu Plauzoles of Santa Monica, Calif., heads up the trail toward Franklin Pass on the first day of a six-day backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-4: From left, Rick Mitchell, Jim Warner and T.J. David stand atop Black Rock Pass, at 11,600 feet, in Sequoia National Park. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
T-5: Jim Warner, 70, group leader on the Sequoia Natural History Association trip, was the head naturalist in Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park for 20 years. "I spend enough time here that I still think of it as my park," he says. CREDIT: c. Chris Welsch
COPYRIGHT 2008 UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE
Up ahead, Jim Warner, 70, whistled, sang little snatches of songs, and stopped frequently to examine the sparse foliage that grows at such heights. A stout man with a white beard and calves like oak trunks, he was not breathing hard at all.
"Why, look at this, I was just thinking about this Davidson's penstemon, wondering if it was still here," he said, as he squatted down to greet the tiny purple flowers like old friends. "Everything up here is under 20 feet of snow in December. Then it has to survive spring melt, avalanches, rock falls. Hang in there, guys."
Warner, for nearly 20 years the head naturalist for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park in California, has been retired for more than a decade, but he seemed to know every bird, every marmot and every penstemon along the trail.
For six days, he'd be leading and teaching our group of six hikers on a personalized tour. It's hard to imagine a better guide to the wonders of the Sierra Nevada. Or a better deal. Like the other group participants, I'd paid $280 for the trip through the Sequoia Natural History Association.
The nonprofit, supported by park admirers and advocates, is not unusual; more than 60 such organizations work with and support various national parks and monuments. The groups publish guides, operate park bookstores and raise funds for park needs. Many offer educational programs ranging from hour-long wildflower walks to extended trips into the backcountry.
Three years ago, I signed onto a four-day trip with the Grand Canyon Association. I hiked into and out of the canyon with a scientist who had spent her career in the park. Two years before that, I spent a week in the backcountry with the Yellowstone Association, under the guidance of a wildlife biologist who not only studied the park, he'd been born in it - both of his parents were rangers.
In each case, I got an insider's look at places most tourists never see, and a priceless environmental education to boot. Now I was getting an up-close look at Sequoia, the nation's second-oldest national park after Yellowstone.
After more than two hours of hard walking, we reached Franklin Pass, a narrow ridge dividing two valleys. The tumultuous glory of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, unfolding in ragged waves of stone to the edges of the horizon, eased the pain in my legs. It also helped knowing that the rest of the day's hike would be a long, steady descent.
"Now you can see what this is all about," Warner said. "Every time I get up here, my spirit soars."
Warner spends several weeks of every summer leading rigorous backpack trips for the Sequoia Natural History Association. About 76 miles east of Fresno, Sequoia preserves some of the most dramatic terrain in the Lower 48, including its highest peak, Mount Whitney, at 14,491 feet.
Our trip started at the end of a dead-end road in the least-visited part of Sequoia - the Mineral King Valley, which we'd just spent a day and a half climbing out of. Warner now looked back over the valley lovingly.
"This was only added to the park in the '70s," he said. "We're lucky it's even here." For decades, the land was administered by the Forest Service, which eventually decided to lease the land as a ski resort. Warner said that Walt Disney was given the concession and had plans to turn it into a second Lake Tahoe.
"They would have had to blast away a lot of rock to build highways into this place," Warner said. When people realized how big and destructive the development would be, protests ensued, scuttling the plan.
We left Franklin Pass, picking our way across smooth stretches of naked stone and more rocky slopes before entering the tree line again. At about 3 p.m., we arrived at Little Clair Lake, a pretty alpine pond surrounded by lodge pole and foxtail pines. Exhausted, I pitched my tent, and like everyone else, took a nap before dinner.
There is no coddling on these park association trips; the budget price means participants haul their own gear and do their own cooking. Our dinner choices varied, but we all cooked the same way, by pouring boiling water over various packaged and dehydrated concoctions, from turkey tetrazzini to beef stroganoff.
Lu Plauzoles, a college bookstore manager from Santa Monica, Calif., was the most austere member of the group: Every night, he prepared the same blend of couscous and dried vegetables he'd packaged himself at home. Rick Mitchell, a handyman from Redondo Beach, used some of his precious cargo space to haul a plastic bladder full of red wine, which he most generously shared.
The two other members of the group were related and did their cooking together: Retired UPS executive Jeannie McNally of Carlsbad, Calif., came with her 20-year-old nephew, T.J. David, a college student from Rhode Island.
After eating, we made coffee and tea and sat in a circle. Warner imparted lessons about the Sierra Nevada throughout the day, but evening was saved for more detailed lectures - on natural themes such as the differences between coastal redwoods and sequoias, the world's tallest and biggest trees, respectively.
The trees are related, but are significantly different, Warner told us. Sequoias, which can reach 310 feet in height and 40 feet in diameter, grow in groves in California's Sierra Nevada at altitudes of 5,000 to 7,000 feet. We had hiked past sequoias when we started out of the Mineral King Valley.
Redwoods, which reach up to 367 feet and 22 feet in diameter, grow near the coast, at much lower altitudes, and are part of the temperate rain forest. In the arid high country of the Sierra, sequoias rely on fire to release their oat-flake-sized seeds.
"The biggest tragedy in this park's history was the decision early on to put out wildfires - the ecology here demands fire, not only for seeds, but to create space and light for new trees," Warner said.
He said in recent years a policy of controlled burns was helping to restore the forests of the park toward their natural states. But in many places, dense undergrowth inhibits new generations of trees.
As story time ended, the wind picked up. I spent a very uneasy night in my tube-shaped, one-man tent, which was severely tested by 30 and 40 mile per hour gusts. One particularly fierce blast snapped one of my tent poles. Thanks to Jeannie McNally, who'd wrapped her water bottle with duct tape for just such an emergency, I was able to splice it back into one piece.
That turbulent night was the only natural difficulty we faced during the week. We never saw the paw prints of the park's infamous black bears. The sky stayed clear. Even at the high altitudes, it was warm enough for a swim.
We enjoyed that luxury at our camp on the shore of the lowest of the Big Five Lakes, where we spent two nights. The extra day in one place gave us a chance to rest and explore unfettered by the big packs.
On those walks, Warner continued to astound us with his ability to find obscure plants and animals. On one seemingly barren slope, he produced a tiny wildflower whose bloom was about the size of a dime.
"Look at this, an elephant's head," he said, pointing out the plant's perfect, cartoon-like rendition of a pachyderm, complete with raised trunk and broad ears. This particular model was white with red polka dots.
Lu Plauzoles, an enthusiastic birder, often tried to one-up Warner with his binoculars. "Jim, I believe I have a yellow-bellied sapsucker in my sights," he said during another walk, eyeing a bird perched on a dead tree. Without even raising his binoculars, Warner corrected him. "That's a Williamson's sapsucker, Lu."
Then he explained the difference between a normal woodpecker and a sapsucker: A normal woodpecker has a barbed tongue. "He drills a hole, then he snatches the grub," Warner said. "A sapsucker has a brush-shaped tongue. He drills a hole, and then waits for the sap to fill in and for the bugs to stick to the sap. Then he eats the bugs and the sap."
Our most spectacular birding success came on the fifth day, when we had our toughest challenge - a 12-mile hike with a 2,500-foot elevation gain to the top of Sawtooth Pass.
At this point, I'd acclimated to the high altitude, and my legs were feeling stronger by the day. But still, after six hours of hard hiking, all up, I was getting tired.
As we approached Sawtooth Pass, one small laborious step at a time, I could feel the muscles of my thighs shaking. Every breath of the thin air seemed to give me just enough strength to move my feet one more step.
Euphoria filled me when we reached the top of the pass - the entire world seemed to be spread out at our feet. I dropped my pack and sat down on it, exhausted and thrilled. Out of the blue sky, two golden eagles appeared on an updraft just a few yards overhead. From this vantage, we shared their heavenly perspective.
Warner had frequently invoked the spirit of John Muir during the trip; it was Muir whose tireless campaigning in the 1890s convinced politicians to set aside Sequoia and Yosemite so that future generations of Americans could experience the wonder of these wild places.
To Muir, the wilderness held the keys to a fulfilled life; to be fully human means to be a part of the natural world. Warner had recited from memory Muir's "Climb the Mountain" passage a couple of times during our week in the park, and now at the end of our trip, those words came back to me with their full meaning: "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of autumn."
Chris Welsch is a reporter and photographer at the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where he's been covering travel for 14 years.
FAQ
Search Forums
Log in
Register
Re: Obama's and Ayers: Somebody Answer This!
Re: Answering Question
Re: Obama's and Ayers: Somebody Answer This!
Re: Answering Question
Re: How dare you!!!
Re: TO THE HEIDI LOCKRIDGEs of the WORLD
Palin: Another Morally Corrupt Extremist
Re: Michelle Malkin?