This is a photo of a photo of a Texas Horned Lizard in the arid Chihuahuan Desert scrubland, from a roadside plaque near Las Cruces, New Mexico. The actual habitat is within the White Sands Missile Range and is off limits to the public. This UNESCO recognized special biosphere, Jornada—meaning day’s journey without water—, is open to scientific researchers from USDA, USFWS and NMSU, with limited school trips to the Chihuahuan Desert Nature Park in the southernmost corner. For many decades, the Department of Agriculture has been studying the climate here, gathering useful data about the fragile desert ecosystem. The Fish and Wildlife Service mostly focuses on the Bighorn Sheep and other species in the adjacent San Andres Mountains. New Mexico State University organizes research efforts and assists student scientists.
While you can’t visit the Jornada biosphere or disturb the wildlife, these scientific research zones are extremely important for understanding global climate change and the ecosystems that support unique species. But the southwest region has two internationally recognized biospheres that you can visit: Big Bend and Big Thicket. Big Bend, like Jornada, is part of the Chihuahua Desert, and it also includes a biodiverse riverine ecosystem. Big Thicket is one of the most biodiverse places in the US, where the bayous, leafy forests, pine forests, plains and sand hills intersect and provide habitat for thousands of species. While these areas provide enjoyable excursions for Americans, they are also important beyond our borders. Scientists from all over the world actively support protecting and studying these areas to ensure the survival of species globally.
From 1991 to 1993, eight people lived in this huge sealed greenhouse or giant terrarium in Arizona, growing their own food and attempting to live without outside intervention. Built at a cost of some $250 million, the complex includes the artificial ocean above, multiple tropical growing zones, industrial HVAC, and even a unique, massive ‘lung’ to equalize air pressure at different temperatures. Results were mixed, but there are important lessons to be learned.
Humans like to believe we can control our environment and that we have conquered nature. The truth is that we don’t completely understand nature, and when we try to control it, there are unintended consequences.
The most serious problem was a gradual reduction in oxygen, which threatened to kill the participants by around day 500 and required emergency intervention. Despite all the plants, overall, the system produced too much carbon dioxide. Also, the participants complained of constant hunger, unable to eat enough calories per day, which made it difficult to complete their extensive daily chores. Many plants and pollinators did not survive, but stowaways like cockroaches thrived. Still, they survived for two full years. Others later managed shorter stints, but bickering and mismanagement soon ended fully sealed living experiments.
From 1995 to 2003, Columbia University managed the site and completed groundbreaking research here scientifically proving up to 90% declines in oceanic coral due to artificially high levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide. Unfortunately, the coral later died when the site went back on the market, although there are plans to try to reintroduce it. Today the site is run by Arizona State University, which offers both a general self-guided tour and specialized guided tours, in addition to hosting students and researchers. When fully funded, the semi-tropical desert forests are very well controlled and measured, enabling many scientific experiments on micro ecosystems to be carried out under laboratory conditions. Tracers can be added to water and carbon dioxide, so researchers can figure out exactly what plants are doing in different conditions. Unfortunately, the whole complex is extremely energy intensive, and it is run on diesel and natural gas, which both contribute carbon pollution to exacerbate the climate crisis.
Some believe that technology will allow us to adapt to the worst effects of climate change. The truth is that we need to spend our time, energy and money trying to protect Biosphere 1 (Earth) from carbon pollution. This massive, extremely expensive, carefully engineered and scientifically researched project could barely take care of eight people for two years. That’s neither an efficient nor effective use of resources, but it quickly illustrates how difficult it is to scale environmental technologies to the point that they are practical. How big of a terrarium would we need to feed eight billion people? Far better to take care of the Earth, while we still have hope.
General Sherman, the Giant Sequoia above, is the largest living single organism on earth. Over half of the largest trees on earth are in this park and in neighboring Sequoia National Monument, Sequoia National Forest and Kings Canyon. This park is my favorite for giant trees. For millions of years, these magnificent trees thrived here, near the southern end of the Sierra Nevada—‘jagged, snowy’—mountains. The taller, thinner coastal redwoods mainly live closer to the Pacific where cool ocean breezes bring fog, protecting them.
But in a small fraction of one Giant Sequoia’s 3,000 year lifespan, humans have burned so much carbon into the atmosphere that the mountains here no longer hold snow all year, serving the immovable trees an eviction notice. Just in 2020-2021, between 13% and 19% of the world’s Giant Sequoias were burned to death in consecutive huge wildfires here. These trees evolved to survive fire, and, until recently, mature Giant Sequoias survived wildfires. The Climate Crisis has changed that, putting this species at risk of extinction in our lifetimes.
Many of the groves and much park wilderness are currently unreachable, due to post-fire erosion washing out roads, bridges and trails. Finding sections of the park unmarred by burn scars is challenging. The trees here are magnificent, but I recommend visiting Redwood to find solace. While most of our Giant Sequoias still live here for the time being, please don’t burn gas to get here. The last giant forests the loggers failed to destroy with sawmills, we are destroying with our cars and airplanes. By choosing to burn carbon, we are destroying the ecosystem these magnificent trees needed to live naturally for thousands of years. It would be too sad to visit only to say goodbye.
John Muir loved the view from Panoramic Point above, as did Stephen Mather, the first national parks director. I visited the park years ago with my family, and the scenery was stunning. But the view was less inspiring when I visited this summer. Smoke from a wildfire shrouds the view of Kings Canyon in the distance. You can hardly see the lake in the photo above. Behind me stand acres of dead trees burned in the huge wildfires of the past few years, and the main road into the heart of Kings Canyon wilderness was still closed this summer due to fire damage. If Muir & Mather visited now, they would be as heartbroken as I.
Experts employed at this California park have long argued influentially in favor of more fires, have implemented prescribed burns in forests across the west, and they chose to let the wildfire above burn itself out. Their dogma blamed past firefighters for causing today’s wildfires. Even though park rangers are not allowed to smoke, leave campfires unattended, burn out shelters in trees, or use fire to hunt, this park’s scientists used to argue that we needed those ‘Native American burn practices’ for forest health, even though these forests evolved without humans. Too many forest rangers and climate change deniers use this illogical nonsense to ignore and dismiss the danger of carbon.
This year 46 million acres of wilderness forests burned in Canada in roadless wilderness areas consistently ignored by firefighters in the past. How could these wildfires have been caused by past ‘fire suppression’? The dogma is wrong. After the unprecedented recent wildfires, park scientists here have belatedly begun to recognize the predominant threat of climate change, far worse than any prior suppression errors.
When Muir & Mather described the area, they did not remark on seeing any large areas of burned trees, made no note about any fires that regularly demolish many thousands or even a million acres every few years, and they did not write about the supposed benefits of Native Americans regularly setting fires while pelt hunting. Instead, they were inspired by the beauty of huge swaths of living forests and pledged to protect them forever. Scheduled fires, tree density limits, species removal, reseeding, and other human intervention are not what Stephen Mather had in mind when he called such places ‘untrammeled wilderness’. Muir would have harsh words against the ~$250 million annual timber sales in the forests he and Teddy Roosevelt protected.
If Muir & Mather could return, they would notice that the whole forested range has changed dramatically, the air and ground are drier, the temperature is unseasonably hot, the rivers and creeks are dry, and that the snow is gone from the mountaintops. They would be dismayed by the decline of once abundant wildlife. Muir, who never rode in cars, preferring horses or hiking, would see the lines of buses, RVs and cars burning gasoline, and he would shout ‘STOP’!
In the future, doubtless people will be horrified to learn that in the face of climate change fueled wildfires, we chose to burn our remaining forests ourselves, releasing even more carbon into the air. It’s like using leeches to cure people, even though they make the patient weaker. Or like destroying the village to save it.
Forest science must face the future, not misrepresent the past. We need national policies to limit carbon pollution, not taxpayer-funded ‘prescribed burns’ that increase carbon pollution. If new conditions require fire breaks or dead trees need to be removed, then why can’t trees be cut down and buried with sand, instead of being burned? If certain types of trees will no longer survive in the future hotter climate, then we shouldn’t be paying people to plant seedlings for more of the same trees in the same places that burned down two years ago. We need to charge visitors in gas-burning vehicles a carbon surcharge to encourage people to switch to electric vehicles (and to mitigate some of the damage they do).
We ended wilderness. Our carbon pollution is trammeling every species on earth. We have precious little time remaining to figure out how to save species before they go extinct forever.
“Without wilderness, we will eventually lose the capacity to understand America. Our drive, our ruggedness, our unquenchable optimism and zeal and elan go back to the challenges of the untrammeled wilderness.”
Even though the Hoh Rain Forest is on the far side of the park from Seattle, it’s popular in July, so I watched an otter playing in the water for half an hour while waiting my turn to drive through the gate to look for parking. (A parking map at the gate would save everyone time). The Hall of Mosses Trail above is easily hiked from the visitor center, and it’s impressive and definitely worth the trip. Several of the trees appear to be 1000 years old, and the streams are clear from spring water, where I saw tiny salmon among the bright green watercress.
There are some signs that the increased heat from carbon pollution is damaging some of the mosses, and while the overall annual precipitation has remained the same, it’s more concentrated in heavy downpours and less in the misty fog-drip that these sensitive plants require. The glaciers are also disappearing rapidly and will disappear completely in a few decades or less, severely impacting all the downstream ecosystems. Still, it’s my favorite park for moss.
Of course, Olympic also has mountains, including Hurricane Ridge and Mount Olympus, which feeds the Hoh and Queets Rivers. There’s a Hot Springs resort at Sol Duc and boating at Lake Crescent. The Olympic Peninsula also has Native American Reservations which help manage the coastal wilderness, wildlife refuge and marine sanctuary. For me, their crown jewel is their large temperate rainforest, but the other areas are also stunning. Some artists are painting the glaciers before they melt, but wouldn’t it be better if we all did our part to reduce our carbon footprints?
The horizontal line across the Garden Wall on the other side of the valley is the Going-to-the Sun Road, which I finally drove—3rd time’s the charm. This year the dramatically scenic road opened on 13 June with little ice & snow visible in July. Just over the wall in Many Glacier, old photos show the many large glaciers are now very small, rapidly melting glaciers. My son and I rode horseback up in 2018, and the area should be renamed Many Lakes. Combined with its neighbor across the border, Waterton Glacier International Peace Park is still a UNESCO World Heritage Site, despite the obvious melting problem.
Melting ice and glaciers are one of the tipping points that will flip our Climate Crisis into a catastrophe. Consider the Arctic ice cap. Every year recently, the multi-year ice has been shrinking at an accelerating rate. Eventually, the ice will disappear in summer. Then the same energy that currently raises ocean surface temperatures by 1° will raise it by a multiple of that amount. There are two reasons for that. First, the white ice will no longer reflect the sun. Second, the existing ice will no longer be there to act as a temperature break. When you boil water with ice, it takes something like three times the energy as water without ice, because most of the energy goes into melting the ice first. So, not only is it bad that glacial ice is melting due to flooding and dry rivers in the fall, but once the ice is gone, the surface temperature rise will accelerate much more rapidly. Please, reduce your carbon footprint.
Clockwise from top: Morning Glory pool, Daisy, Grand and Old Faithful geysers.
Most of the world’s geysers are here, near the country’s largest high elevation lake and the headwaters of the longest free-flowing river in the lower 48, in a park bigger than some states. For wildlife alone, this is my favorite national park, plus the geysers are my favorite geologic feature in a park. There’s a lot to see and do, but I’m not going to write more about it. Come see for yourself.
Oxbow Bend (above) is popular at sunrise as wildlife gathers in the coils of the Snake River and the light hits the Teton Range high on the right. Owls, a bald eagle, beaver and bugling elk all appeared out of the mist. Elsewhere in the park, pelicans, geese, ducks, osprey and many different small birds, then foxes and a large herd of bison wandered into view. Black bears foraging for hawthorn berries forced a trail detour, but I only saw scat.
Pronghorn migrate from here in Wyoming as far as New Mexico, and the headwaters from the nearby Continental Divide eventually reach the Pacific. This is an important park, ecologically, more than just a great photo stop. Still, the many lakes provide lots of flat hikes with steep mountain backgrounds, and lots of mountain hikes with water vistas. Or you could take the Jenny Lake boat across for even more views. Kayaking is a hassle with the permit & inspection process, and the views are wonderful on scenic drives and trails. Jackson Hole is crowded and expensive now, so look elsewhere for a place to stay.
This park needs some explanation. Behind over-developed Ocean and Atlantic Cities in New Jersey, there’s a large underdeveloped lowland pitch pine forest with rivers, creeks, swamps and bogs. The ground is sandy, so colonial farmers wrote off the whole area as the “pine barrens”. There were a few failed attempts at industry, including mills, glassworks and munitions, but the lack of elevation meant little hydro power. In the 1920’s Atlantic City boomed, but the swamps were mostly for bootleg gin and mosquitoes.
In the 1970’s developers and environmentalists faced off to decide the fate of the remaining forest. By then, cranberry and blueberry farmers had begun commercial farming, roads crisscrossed the area, and there was a diverse mix of increasing rural and residential growth. Development is the primary cause of unnatural fire suppression, which changes the ecosystem over time. The pine land was becoming valuable and the forest at risk.
Environmentalists argued that the unique pine forest was home to several rare species—including Pygmy pine, a tree frog, an orchid and many birds—, and, by adapting to historic wildfires, the hot-burning pitch pine trees became dominant by regrowing faster than hardwoods. They also pointed out that underneath the entire sandy swamp was a huge pristine freshwater underground aquifer that supplied places like Atlantic City. Develop the forest, and you create big problems in the future. The battle is still ongoing, but much of the forest is now protected. UNESCO has recognized the Pinelands as an International Biosphere Reserve.
The park service only protects the main river—just the water—, and much of the land alongside the river is maintained piecemeal by different county’s parks. The largest undeveloped pine forest area is managed by the state, and there are four state forests in the Pinelands, along with many wildlife reserves and other parks. The Pinelands National Reserve is affiliated with but not run by the National Park Service. Since I’m visiting official national park units, my challenge was finding the river amid the forest.
I stayed at one of the county campgrounds near Mays Landing, Lake Lenape West in Atlantic County, where it’s easy to put a kayak in the water and paddle around. Lake Lenape itself is like a neighborhood recreation area, with a ridiculous little lighthouse, but if you paddle up to the top, there are nesting bald eagles where the river enters. There is at least one campground upstream, Winding River, that rents equipment, but be advised that there are likely obstructions from low hanging trees potentially blocking progress near that section of the river. Estell Manor Park downstream has a nature center with extremely knowledgeable park partners who patiently explained all this to me and directed me to the side channel in the river above, where there’s an artesian well and the overgrown ruins of an old business. It’s a fascinating area in an underrated state that just requires a bit of extra effort to figure out and explore.
Best paddling day yet! I took the Cooks Lake to Scatterman Paddling Trail, and the middle section is like a slalom through the trees. A local canoe guide told me about the old trees above, several of which are over a hundred and fifty years old. The loop is about 5 miles and goes up through some low current dead ends and back downstream via the Naches River, so it’s not a difficult paddle. The only trick is to explore the flat water, try to get a close up of the snapping turtles before they jump back in the water and try to quietly sneak up on the wood ducks before they take flight. Blue skies, green leaves and muddy water. Glorious.
After so much frustration trying to kayak the Rio Grande, this has been a slice of paradise in the Big Thicket, supported by another excellent Texas State Park (Village Creek) and an exceptional local restaurant (Tia Juanita’s Fish Camp). Remind me to winter here for the rest of my life. My main suggestion is to budget more time for this area. There are roughly eight different sections of Big Thicket to explore, miles of paddling trails and nearby state parks including beaches. My final Texas park unit is one of my favorite parks for paddling.
Zero Carbon Travel 