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.
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.”
Ross Lake is atop three dams on the Skagit River which provides power to Seattle, but it still has some old growth forest near the visitor center which you can hike through on the River Loop and To Know a Tree Trails. Since the park is managed and surrounded by the North Cascades National Park, they run the visitor center. The Gorge High, Diablo & Ross Dams can all be seen in short hikes, and the good news this year after decades of tribal petitioning is that ‘fish passage’ will be added to all three dams! Hydroelectric power is zero carbon, but it must not be at the expense of salmon and other species that we’re driving extinct.
Anyway, I highly recommend those two hikes which total about three miles, and include waysides explaining the different types of trees, their niches in the forest and the natural cycle of wildfire. Another improvement would be building wildlife bridges along the highway & over the river, so that animals like Grizzly Bears could migrate between north and south sections of the park more easily. Well, in any case, Ross Lake extends to the Canadian border and has many paddle-in campsites for folks who rent gear from the resort or somehow portage their kayak around the Ross dam after paddling across Diablo Lake. Seemed like too much work to me to explore an artificial lake, but maybe if I had more time to try fishing, it would make a nice vacation.
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.
Congaree is one of my favorite parks, so I saved it for my last entry of the year. Once, every river in the southeast was filled with hardwood forests like this, supporting many species of birds, fish and wildlife, and keeping our air and water clean. Now, this may be the last great one left. Around late May, the fireflies blink in synch, so you’ll need to plan months ahead if you want a campsite then. The 2.5 mile boardwalk hike from the main Harry Hampton visitors center takes you past a few of the tall trees that fill the swamp: beech, bald cypress, water tupelos and loblolly pines. The latter are the largest, most massive pines in the eastern half of the US. Congaree may have been saved much more recently than some of the more famous parks in the west, but for biodiversity, it is exceptional.
Of course, being basically a swamp or flood plain forest in the middle of a giant watershed stretching from the Blue Ridge Mountains to the Atlantic, the best way to see the park is by paddling. I dragged out my trusty OruKayak and spent several glorious hours exploring Cedar Creek by myself. There were folks on tour at the boat launch, but once on the water, I didn’t see anyone. Longer trips can be arranged on the Congaree River. Several people asked about my kayak, including a couple that happened to be from my old hometown, and I explained that it is lightweight, a bit tippy, and fits easily in the trunk of my Tesla Model 3. (I know everyone is hating on Elon right now, but he made a good car, as long as you don’t use the autopilot).
Apologies for botching another photo, but I should point out that the knobby things sticking up from the bank on the left are the knees of the bald cypress. They say it’s a mystery why the tree has knees, but obviously, the knees help dry out the roots, preventing rot. Above them, you can see some dwarf palmetto illuminated by the sun, and further upstream, the creek was blocked by falling trees, which are becoming more frequent with climate-crisis fueled storms. I also heard a variety of birds, although most of them flew away as I approached. Definitely worth bringing a map & GPS, since there are many side routes and obstacles that may require changing plans on the water. Beautiful.
While the Lake of the Arbuckles is popular for wasting gas zooming in circles on the water, I think the hiking is the best form of recreation here. The smaller Veterans Lake is reserved for paddling, but since you can see everything from the boat ramp, there’s no point. I hiked for a couple miles near the Travertine Nature Center through the ecotone that ranges from Redbud to Cactus, along the CCC developed creeks and mineral spring pools, admiring the foliage, the tall Sycamores and various Oaks, and I watched an armadillo digging around in the brush. There are half a dozen simple campgrounds, and when the water is flowing there are many small waterfalls and an old pavilion where they used to bathe in mineral waters. Once tourists observed bison wallowing in the muddy pools, but now the area suffers in man-made drought.
To prevent over-development, the Chickasaw and Choctaw nations sold the springs and surrounding forest to the Interior Department, hence the name. I very much recommend visiting the neighboring Chickasaw Cultural Center, which connects to the park by the pedestrian Inkana Bridge. There I observed a pair of Great Blue Herons, admired the pollinator gardens, toured the replica village, watched a stomp dance, and learned about the tribe in their beautiful museum. The history of the Chickasaw is tragic, fascinating and inspiring, including conflicts with the Spanish, French, British and the US. My trip to the southeast goes in the direction their ancestors traveled many centuries before the tribe was removed to Oklahoma.
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