Nature and Nutcrackers

Yesterday we made the long drive back from the Hoover Wilderness northeast of Yosemite after spending seven days in the backcountry with only the bare necessities.

The contrast was stark.

Where we'd been, moving under our own steam along barely maintained trails through untouched wilderness, the overarching truth was that everything there exists in perfect interconnection and waste is unknown.

Prius or no Prius, as we rode home along the freeway at 60 mph, barely moving a muscle, powered by ancient sunlight and contributing to the planet's greenhouse gas burden, the extent to which a human focus on material satisfaction and profit has overridden the needs of every other form of life was depressing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The American wilderness has remained a constant source of inspiration and renewal for me since my introduction to it several years ago. Leonard and I have been spending about a week in various wilderness areas for the last five years around August, and we have this idea that we would like to introduce others to the experience.

The scents of pines, sage and wet rocks; the roar of rushing creeks and waterfalls (comparable to the freeway in West Albany!), sometimes a silence so deep you can hear a (pine) needle drop, raucous or discreet bird calls, the alarums of squirrels, wind soughing in the treetops, the otherworldly sound of rocks dislodging and tumbling down slopes in the distance (a first for me), the echoing booms of thunder reverberating from peak to peak or sometimes crackling directly overhead; the changing light across mountain sides, receding horizons with craggy, jagged peaks, granite smooth and polished by glaciers, the perfect symmetry of fir trees and the delicacy of aspen – all these entice me back every year and make me forget the trudging and the lugging of what always seems like more stuff than we should need. (Since writing this, I have discovered Ray Jardine's book, "Beyond Backpacking," available from the library system and highly recommended for more lightweight travelling.)

I first discovered the Clark's Nutcracker on a trip to Garnet Lake (Inyo Wilderness). These grey and white crow-like birds are hard to miss, with their noisy calls, woodpecker-like flight, and a habit of sitting atop white pine to bang open the unripe cones with their powerful beaks for seeds to cache for the winter. They are said to be able to remember the locations of their caches for six to nine months, but the pines depend on them to forget a few for propagation.

Like the nutcracker, every creature up there has found its niche. There aren't many places for a wildflower or a grass seed to take hold, but where there is a little soil, occasional water and enough light, you'll be surprised by them, often the original versions of the species that grow in our gardens. Their seeds nourish chipmunks, their pollen and nectar feed the pollinators, their roots gradually help to build soil up there in the highest elevations.

On my last morning I spent some time with an ancient juniper, roots in granite and a trunk as solid as stone and nearly three feet wide yet barely six feet tall, which had established its niche on the bare mountainside and had flourished there through wind and snow, heat and rain for uncounted years. As I leant against it to take in the surroundings, two chipmunks and an inquisitive squirrel investigated our packs and I knew that the presence of this male juniper, along with the beautiful female berry-bearing trees it had helped spawn over the years, had created a liveable environment for all these other creatures, small plants and grasses, as well as the large black carpenter ants that were so adept at getting into – and out of – everything.

The deeper I look, the more I discover how truly inter-related and inter-dependent all the pieces of the wilderness ecology are. The trees drop needles, cones, dead wood; the ants break these down to make soil for plants; ants are eaten by birds; birds' eggs are eaten by squirrels; young birds and squirrels are eaten by raptors; raptors nest in trees, the poop of all of them adds to the richness of the soil ... and that's just a tiny part. It's perfectly designed, with no waste whatsoever.

Permaculture seeks to bring the same integrated and interrelated design to all systems, from gardens to schools to neighborhoods to cities. To create a truly resilient community in Albany, we can take inspiration from the example of the wilderness and gradually recreate our lives to fit more perfectly into our local ecology without creating harm.

Can we live without making waste? Compost toilets are a start. Recycling is a small contribution, but how about simply not buying products that entail packaging that goes into recycling or the landfill? Repairing what's broken (what a concept!), getting creative with leftovers or other peoples' discards, travelling under our own steam or sharing electric vehicles charged with local solar- or wind-generated power, eating food grown locally without chemicals, insulating our homes and/or using passive solar energy to obviate heating or cooling, collecting and using rain to water the garden, using household water more than once, utilizing local, renewable materials (mud, sand, straw, bamboo, recycled wood) for building … some of these measures may seem extreme now, but as the pressure to redesign our lifestyles grows (from climate events and the rising price of energy and other non-renewable resources), they will sound more and more attractive. Beat the rush! Become resilient now!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The first night was warm and clear, the moon was dark, and the dry summer had created almost unheard-of mosquito-free conditions: what a combination! We were camped at a high spot near Barney Lake looking out over the valley to the east and spent much of the night oohing and aahing at the star-studded sky and watching meteors.

Next morning as we prepared to leave, one of our tightly-packed sleeping bags rolled down the slope unseen and bounced into oblivion in the dense bush below. We never found it and regret leaving such a significant piece of human baggage in the wilderness, but hope it's at least keeping a family of chipmunks cosy!

That afternoon we were caught in a thunderstorm and camped for the night in an awkward and boulder-strewn place where our single remaining sleeping bag not only proved itself adequate for two but also helped us generate enough heat to dry off wet clothes. The next day dawned hot and sunny so everything dried out before we moved on to a more copasetic and woody base camp, between Robinson and Crown Lake. Robinson Creek, a lively stream that splashed and bubbled its way downhill not too far away, was our constant companion for four nights and, filtered, provided most of our water.

On the third day – Leonard's birthday – we stayed close to camp, which was just as well because it rained for four hours straight that afternoon, although our tent was warm and comfortable. Later we heard that several significant landslides in the area had been triggered that afternoon.

After another clear night that brought out the bats, it once again dawned clear and hot and we had the perfect day for a nine-mile day-hike loop across Rock Island Pass into Yosemite Wilderness, through Kerrick Meadow and round to Peeler Lake. At 10,000 feet we saw a tiny frog and a water snake, obviously drawn out by the previous day's rain (our passing may have saved the frog's life!). A yellow-bellied marmot greeted on our approach to Snow Lake in its spectacular 10,100 foot-high valley, and as we crossed the pass there was an immediate change of flora on the Western side – more lush, more forest, more wildlife. One of three velvety horned bucks took time to leisurely pass water before ambling off with his mates. The large and spectacular Kerrick Meadow was all golden grass, but we found a clear pool of last night's rain with which to replenish our water bottle. Arriving at Peeler Lake we were impressed with the clarity and depth of the water, a perfect temperature for a dip (Leonard tested it). The final leg took us around the lake on a spectacular and rocky path home.

Each night we simply poured boiling water into a foil bag to dine like royalty on (mostly) delicious freeze-dried dinners – even desserts some days – all stored in canisters designed to foil the most persistent of bears, of which we saw not a sign. (Ray Jardine's book has given us food for thought on this type of trail food, which is trash-heavy and less nourishing, if lighter, than fresh food). Once it got dark we'd turn in (no campfires allowed) and sleep until dawn. A lovely, restful schedule.

On our final full day at the campsite we set out early to revisit Peeler Lake from the shorter direction and managed a lovely swim before clouds gathered in. After lunch by the lake we settled down to enjoy a front row seat to a rather intense thunderstorm that battered us with wind and hail. Two miles away and an hour of relatively dry hiking later, piles of hailstones like snow lay in pockets around our site but everything was intact.

We walked back out over two days, revisiting the first campsite for our last night in the wilderness, watching and listening to a thunderstorm over Twin Lakes on Friday night that barely skimmed us, and making it to the trailhead by 11 am on Saturday.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This is an experience anyone who loves nature can enjoy. Although I did hardly any preparation this year in terms of exercise, I remember realizing after last year's trip that it would have been more fun if I'd worked out, or at least walked a lot, for three months prior. The altitude takes getting used to: lungs strain to get enough oxygen until they have adapted, and stopping for a day or two at an intermediate altitude could help.

If you've always wanted to experience the wilderness, or would like to join us next August, please email me at catherine@sonic.net. We would love to share the beauty, the raw nature and the joy of wilderness backpacking with you.