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My First Visit to the Sierra Nevada

CSNS — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 19:38:39 -0700

An essay by Nellie Chenowith

I am writing about my first memory trip to the Sierra Nevada area. This trip occurred when I was nine years old (1967). We had recently relocated from Benson Arizona (southeast of Tucson) to Weimar, California. I was 'a kid from a desert terrain new to Sierra Foothill evergreens. At that time, my cousins, Betty Jo and Ruth Ann, were students at Colfax High School. The school band was scheduled to perform at a dedication ceremony being held at the Emigrant Pass overlook for a memorial celebration of the pioneers who made their way through Donner Pass.

School officials granted our request that I could accompany the students on the school band trip. We arrived at the Colfax campus early on a Saturday morning and made our trek up Interstate 80.

The ride on school bus made for a slow ascending drive up Interstate 80. This gentle roll up the hill was perfect because I was able to take in the majestic landscape. I was so taken with the trees and ferns. I was intrigued by their strength and shape. Tome it seemed that each tree had been artistically sculpted into distinct personalities as a result of the elevation as well as from the elements of the terrain, wind and sun.

These distinct shapes and varieties transitioned in shape and size as we ascended the mountain interstate. The varieties ranged from Black Oak, Foothill pine, Douglas fir, incense Cedar, White fir, Ponderosa Pine, Sugar Pine. To this day, I have a thing about trees. I enjoy looking at their shape, bark and especially to hear the wind blowing in their leaves.

Upon arriving at the destination, I explored the Emigrant Gap overlook site. For a kid from the desert, the view was literally "like nothing I had even seen before." It was like being at the top of the world. The cliff was so steep I could hardly get myself to look down. The canyon and mountain range spanned as far as I could see. The Emigrant overlook was an incredible and a breath taking sight. I imagined what the pioneers must have felt we stood in that very same spot. The sight was so massive, I felt ever so small like a tiny spec on a map. It's so amazing the pioneers tackled this brave and arduous terrain in wagons.

I'm embarrassed to admit, this was a difficult assignment to write because although I have resided in this area for the past forty years, I haven't taken many trips to the Sierra Nevada. I'm not a hiker or very outdoor oriented. Sadly, I've spent the majority of my years caught up in the rat race of the business world. I work too much. I am working to complete my AA degree and have not taken the time to "smell the roses," so to speak.

This class has sparked my curiosity and interest in the outdoors. I am looking forward to begin to experience the quietness and beauty of our area. During this course I have learned a variety of things; it's like going from black and white to Technicolor! Although I am a "newby," I am one with renewed interest to explore and experience our great Sierra Foothills.

Peaceful Place

CSNS — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 19:35:44 -0700

An essay by Michelle Morgan

I've never been a rugged outdoors type-of-girl, but I have always had a fascination with and a love for all things in nature. I used to go tent-camping with my dad on occasion, and I always loved the experience, but "roughing it" in a tent for a few days was not very appealing to me. So when my parents bought their first RV, and pop-up tent trailer, my mother and I were much more willing to go on a frequent basis. Our favorite place to go was Emigrant Trail. Mom and dad loved going there because they could find a place that was unpopulated, and had been left long untouched by humans. The trailer was so compact that it was easy for our small truck to pullover the rough dirt roads and through thick, overgrown brush.

We went out mainly in the warmer months, but I do remember seeing snow-dusted
boulders in the higher elevations in the springtime and fall. The drive was always an uncomfortable one, cramped in the so-called backseat of a Tacoma, but my mind was on the beautiful scenery rather than on the cramped quarters. The anticipation kept building as more and more trees and rocks and mountainous range rushed by. My favorite part of the drive was when we left the main road past Nyack and traversed the unpaved winding roads in search of the perfect spot. This was my opportunity to get an up-close view of much of the mountainside without fear of getting lost, hurt, or too dirty.

When we finally came to a clearing, my parents would set up camp while I explored the surrounding area. They set up the trailer, made a bathroom, and then we would all relax. The thin air always made me sleepy, so often I would lie on the bed in a sunny spot and listen to the forest. Those were my favorite naps. The noise never stopped, but it was soothing to hear the birds chirping, and the wind blowing through the trees created almost and ocean like sound. I could have slept for hours, but there was too much fun to be had.

My mother and I enjoyed taking short hikes, or finding a pretty spot to sit and talk. I always loved going out shooting with my dad. We would find a steep mound or hill and set up targets in the dirt for target practice. Mostly those trips were meant for rest and relaxation. We spent most of the day around camp, just reading, or playing, or talking with one another. No matter what we were doing, we were all just reconnecting with ourselves and with each other .

Sequoia -- from the Eyes of a 10 Year Old

CSNS — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 19:33:59 -0700

An essay by Marilyn Stitt

It was July of 1954 and my family had just arrived in Southern California from a small town in upstate New York. I was not very happy, having left all my friends back home. My Aunt Bea and Uncle Howie had moved out West earlier and were already settled. They announced that they would take my brother and me to Sequoia, a place I had never heard of and didn't particularly want to see. I think the trip was designed to take our mind off of leaving the only home we had known. Besides Uncle Howie said it was just a short trip from Newport Beach. I learned not to believe everything he said.

Anyway, we hopped into the '47 Chevy early, really early, in the morning. A few hours later we were climbing into some mountains. I asked, "Is this Sequoia?" If so I was not overly impressed. Uncle Howie said, "No, this is the Grapevine." We ate breakfast at a place on the Grapevine called Castaic, which seemed to be the only settlement in what I thought was the Grapevine Mts. Finally this two lane road overlooked a huge valley below.

After traveling from Bakersfield to Porterville and beyond, I was getting car sick from this "short" trip from Newport Beach. Then my uncle announced, "I know a short cut to Sequoia from here." Wrong. We got hopelessly lost on a logging road. We finally had to turn around on this narrow dirt road. I hid in the back seat. If a logging truck had been coming down the road, I don't think I would be telling this story today. Well, we finally reached our destination in the dark. That short trip only took about 15 hours.

We pitched our pup tent for Aunt Bea and me while Uncle Howie and my brother slept in sleeping bags outside the tent. In the morning I got my first look at that place called Sequoia. There were so many trees and some of them were really huge. I was in awe at these magnificent monstrous trees. I learned they were the famous Giant Sequoia trees. And they were giants.

We had set up camp near a place called Beetle Rock. It was a huge expanse of rock. We spent a long time sitting on the rock and taking in a wonderful view of the forest. That view was only surpassed by the one we saw after climbing up Morro Rock. I was glad we made the trip. That was such an awesome place. Then Uncle Howie said we were going on a short hike to Heather Lake. Never believe your uncle.

Uncle Howie didn't tell us it was a difficult 8 mile hike to the lake. He kept telling us that there was an ice cream stand at Heather Lake. Wrong. But that kept us going for a while. We continued to fill our canteens with water from streams along the trail. In some places the trail was along a ledge which was scary. When my 10 year old legs didn't seem like they could walk any further, my uncle had a suggestion. "You can sit here on a rock and we'll pick you up on the way back. Oh, and by the way, if a bear comes by, don't talk to it." I kept hiking. When we finally reached Heather Lake, it really was beautiful. We ate lunch and spent quite some time simply enjoying the splendor of that setting. The hike back was more downhill and not so bad.

Another memory I have of Sequoia was of the bears. Bears and their cubs were numerous. People would put food on stumps and the bears would come by to eat it. When someone left food on a picnic table, a bear was right there to gobble it up. One bear opened a locked ice chest and helped itself to a meal of jam from a jar it also opened. In the evening people would drive to the dump to watch the bears looking for people food. (I was glad to find out in later years that the interaction between people and bears had changed for the better.)

Sequoia turned out to a place more amazing than I could have imagined. There was nothing in upstate New York or in Newport Beach, California to compare to that park. To this day I can visualize those awesome Sequoia trees. "Uncle Howie, I'm glad you took us on that 'short' trip. It was well worth it."

Spirit Place

CSNS — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 19:31:03 -0700

An eassy by Joan Griffin

Every summer for the last dozen years, I have spent great lengths of time camping and hiking and picture-taking in Tuolumne Meadows, sometimes with family or friends, but most often by myself. It’s my favorite place on Earth, my centering place, my spiritual place, my energizing place.

One of my favorite spots to dawdle is literally right off the pavement, right alongside Tioga Road, about halfway between the campground and the entrance gate at Tioga Pass. It’s a small pond, often as smooth as glass, that reflects the trees that surround it, the boulders along its shore, and in the evening, the fire-colored, Alpine glow-tinged peak of Mount Dana, in its mirrored surface. I love to pause there of an evening and looking eastward, watch the color in the sky change from bright blue to a paler and paler shade. I know behind me the summer crowds are gathering in the Meadows to watch the sunset to the west, but I prefer the solitude of watching the eastern sky’s version of dusk. As the sky turns from blue to nearly pearl gray, the last rays of the setting sun, itself completely out of sight back down the hill, turn the already ruddy face of Mount Dana into a golden fire. Better even than watching the sky, is watching as Mount Dana’s color explodes upside-down on the pond’s otherwise silent surface.

Often, I have set up tripod and camera, in an attempt to capture the beautiful sight, the varying moods, the changing colors. Patiently, I wait, watch, and focus, as the drama unfolds. The photos are always pretty, but never do they reproduce the scene. How could they? The actual scene is a three-dimensional, 360-degree, ever-changing, surround-sound view. The photo is a two-dimensional, postcard-sized wisp of the original. But every year I try again and again; maybe one inspired day I will capture the spirits that call to me from the pond and the rocks, from the mountain and the trees.

One evening a few years ago, I met an old man there. He, too, had come for the unveiling of Dana’s evening mood. He stood with me near the pond’s roadside edge, silently taking in the show. After a bit, he sat down to rest on a fallen log, and told me his story. He told me he had come to this pond every year for over forty years, always on the last day of his annual stay in Tuolumne, to say farewell to the mountains for another year. And always he had walked around the perimeter of the pond, through the forest on the far edge; it was his yearly ritual and he savored the tranquil minutes it took him to circumambulate the water.

He lamented that time had finally taken its toll, and this year he dared not walk the ritual walk. His legs were too infirm, his balance too undependable. He had to content himself with just sitting and resting as he watched the evening’s colors unfold on the water. I offered to walk with him, to let him use my hiking poles for balance, but he wouldn’t allow himself to take my offer. So we watched together for a while, and then he walked to his car and drove away.

On another evening, even more recently, I was once again attempting to photograph the spirits of that special place, when I had another visitor who shared my love of that spot. I was completely and thoroughly engrossed in preparing my equipment. I had set up tripod and camera already, and was trying out new lenses and filters. I would put on a lens and looking through it, change setting after setting, preparing in advance for the fleeting moments of grand color that were yet to come. I wanted to have a plan that I could implement quickly. I wanted the perfect arrangement of lens, filter, settings, and camera placement. This time I intended to get the photo that had eluded me for so many years.

Looking through the lens at upside-down Dana, I felt, rather than heard, something behind me. I turned to look and, emerging from the dense trees into the clearing near the pond, was a bear, a beautiful, cinnamon-colored bear. About 100 feet from me, and well aware of my presence, the bear moved slowly and casually forward. Transfixed by its unexpected appearance, by its amazing beauty, I stood and watched as it moved. We made eye contact, watching one another carefully and respectfully, but with curiosity, as well.

As the bear moved down the slope from the edge of the trees, it passed in front of the slanting rays of the sun, beams of which streamed between the tall, black silhouetted trees, and backlit him, turning the edges of his fur the same fiery gold that Mount Dana, now behind me, was undoubtedly wearing at that moment. It was as though the bear were made of glowing molten gold. And still it moved forward, rounding a huge fallen log, and still I stood beside my forgotten camera and watched, transfixed.

The bear began to claw at the underside of the ancient fallen tree, then lay on its back, shimmied its way into a gap under the log, and feasted on what ever grubs and bugs it had dislodged. After several minutes, it made its way to the pond’s edge, took a long drink of the clear water, and returned to the log to repeat the process. Finally, after what had to have been fifteen or twenty minutes, the bear ambled slowly off in the direction from which it had come.

All during the time we were together in that special place, the bear made it clear that it was completely aware of my presence, watching me as I watched it. I was never frightened, though I was certainly keenly aware, watchful, and cautious, and I never felt threatened by the bear’s looks or actions. I barely moved, entranced. The only picture I managed to take of the bear was dark and completely out of focus, taken as it was, directly into the sun’s rays toward a darkening forest. But it doesn’t matter; the scene is indelibly printed in my mind.

I have always loved that roadside vantage point on a quiet evening, but now I feel as though its spirit includes not only the spirits of the pond, rocks, and mountains, but also those of the bear and the old man, as well as my own. It has become for me a spiritual spot where wild meets tame. Just calling it to mind, brings the spot’s unique vibrational energy to my present awareness.

My First Experience in the Sierra Nevada

CSNS — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 10:37:44 -0700

An essay by Davis Stewart

My first experience in the Sierra Nevada that I can remember is when I went backpacking for the first time with my dad. I was about ten years old, and my dad and I went on a three day backpacking trip to Loch Leven Lakes. The lakes are located up 1-80 near Big Bend. The hike up to the lakes is about three to four miles and about a thousand foot elevation gain. I remember the long steep hike up, it seemed to never end. But when we finally reached the top it was worth it. The roar of the cars racing up and down 1-80 was silenced and replaced by the sound of the wind sweeping through the trees.

We set up camp at the far end of the first lake. After a little rest we decided to explore the area and do a little fishing. We wandered around the lake and found a good spot to fish. My dad and I fished until dusk and then headed back to camp to cook dinner and go to bed. The next morning we got up, ate breakfast and decided to go on a hike. We hiked up the middle lake and after hanging out there for a while, decided to climb a small peak on our way back to camp. We made our way up the peak, walking up huge granite slabs. We reached the top and the view was amazing, mountains as far as you could see. On our way down we noticed there were grasshoppers everywhere. My dad and I spent a good hour chasing them down and catching them. We went back to camp, got our gear and went fishing. We caught our share of fish and headed back to camp to cook them up. The next morning we lingered around camp, caught more grasshoppers and went fishing. We packed up in the early afternoon and headed back down the mountain. As we hiked the sound of the wind was replaced by the roar of cars. We reached our car loaded up and headed home.

This is the first trip that I can remember, and one that I Will never forget. I have been backpacking ever since and have seen some amazing places. I love being outdoors, and love the Sierra. My dad and I are planning on backpacking the John Muir Trail this summer. I can not wait to spend a month hiking in the Sierra Nevada.

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings" -- John Muir

A Memory Worth Reliving

CSNS — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 10:31:09 -0700

An essay by Eric Cohen

On a cool November morning of September I, 1995, I awoke sitting in bed, glancing over at the calendar to my left. I realized it was the day my family would be moving, for my father received a transfer to McClellan Air Force Base near Sacramento, California. We had bought a house in Granite Bay, about twenty miles north of the city. I was only seven years old at the time, and remember my excitement to be moving to a place I had believed had vast open grasslands and plenty of wild species roaming all around.

It was a four day drive before we began entering the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, and as we began exiting the freeway, a heard of deer grazed on the hillside beside us. I stared in amazing disbelief, for the number of wild deer was greater than any I had ever seen. The city of Roseville was located about ten miles north of our exiting ramp, and much of the land had not yet been developed. "My family is blessed to be living in such a beautiful area," I thought, "hopefully never to be disturbed by harsh realities in the surrounding world."

A few months passed before my family began planning a trip to Lake Tahoe. We explored the mountainside around us, amazed that so many pines and oaks scattered the rocky landscape. As the forest cleared up, many open areas of native grasslands gave the land ascent of color along with the flowers blossoming in the underbrush. A lot of the area had been undisturbed by man for thousands of years, the immense life forms showing a very healthy environment around us.

Eventually, we reached Sequoia National Park, where many giant sequoias grew and were protected by law. We could walk underneath the roots of a tree, for the species stood so tall it looked as if it were up into the clouds. I later read a sign that said many of these trees had been cut down by pioneers in the 19th Century, with no rightful cause but to prove that they actually existed. I felt a sense of sadness come to me, but my mother patted my back and assured me that California would do everything it could to protect these magnificent life forms.

A few days later, we stopped at Donner Lake to take pictures and view the place where the Donner Party had originally passed through. We hiked up a trail that led up to the state line, and I played with myself by jumping from one state to the other, laughing with my parents. After having enough amusement, we moved along and read signs that told about the Donner Party's journey through the mountains. It was astonishing to read that they reverted to cannibalism once their food supply had run out.

Finally, our last day was spent hiking around the shores of Lake Tahoe. Birds chirped in trees, chipmunks squirmed across the soil, and hawk soared high above. I could feel as if I had stepped back three hundred years, before Europeans had colonized the continent, living in the old world of the Native American. Everything felt so pure, and even as a seven-year-old boy, I knew that this place had life in itself. This was the very life of the Sierra Nevada.

Now that I am nineteen, many years have passed and the area is developing very quickly. I pray that Placer County and other areas in the Sierra establish a no growth policy, in where builders have to displace buildings they have already constructed to build more. The human population grows ever larger, and this is a great threat not only to the Sierra but to humanity itself. If too many people exist, too little space exists for living, not enough food is available, and the economy will likely go short because of a higher unemployment rate. China already has restrictions, and I fear the United States might have to set limits someday as well. We need to find some way to stabilize the population so that the Sierra can be safe from being over developed, and so humans can live in peace.

First One to See the Lake

CSNS — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 10:27:33 -0700

An essay by Tacy Hahn

Summers were spent at Lake Tahoe. From the time when baths were given in the kitchen sink. Then, when school was out. My Mother, brother, the dogs and I loaded up. There was no air conditioning early on. We tried different routes, the Jack- Tone cutoff through lone, where we stopped at a fruit stand for Delaware Punch. Highway 50. It was a very hot trip.

One time we had to leave the dog in Placerville with a vet -because, we were told, - his blood was coagulating. We always stopped in Placerville. Hangtown. We knew why it was called Hangtown. There was a body hanging from a noose on the main street... We ate at The Bluebell cafe. They had a Treasure Box where we could pick out little gifts. My favorite was the small cylinder of braided straw into which one puts a finger at each end and pulls. The Chinese used these for Finger Torture. From Hangtown we continued up into the Sierra.

The air became cooler and we started to smell the pines. Heads out of open windows, all inhaling. Camino. The Hickman's apple orchard was in Camino. We could see their house from the road. They were good friends of my grandparents. We continued climbing. And then we were following the American River. Foaming, plunging, bringing the runoff out of the mountains. So many bridges crossing to little cabins. All so inviting. Just before Lover's Leap, the large half dome from which an Indian maiden had jumped, we passed Slippery Ford. This was the grade where, my mother told us, they had to stop and fill the radiators in the' old days'.

When it was wet they would have to gun the engine and make a run for it, often several times, in order to get up and over. Lover's Leap. Horsetail Falls. Camp Sacramento. My Mother's Aunt had a 99 year lease cabin at Camp Sacramento. They didn't have electricity and their cold provisions were kept in a little stream which ran behind the cabin. The wildflowers were abundant. Echo Summit. We would all strain as we came around the corner, pushing each other to get furthest to the right hand side of the car...

FIRST ONE TO SEE THE LAKE. We were there. Well, almost. The ride on down the grade could take a long time. Cattle were being herded into the various dairies and would block the highway in both directions until they came to a clearing and could be pushed off the road for cars to pass. We turned right at the "y".More meadows. Willow choked streams. Just past Globins Market we turned left onto Lakeview Drive. Al Tahoe. Globins Pier. Meyers Store where we went for ice cream after dinner.

The little cabin was waiting. We called it Pine Needles. Doors open, down to the lake. A line of yellow pollen following the shoreline. Lapping waves. Touch and go. Prime the pump. Storm shutters off. Look out for bats. My grandfather had built the cabin in 1926. Much of the wood, the windows, doors, sink and marble counter had all come from houses being tom down at 16th and Harrison in San Francisco. My Mother and Uncle had collected the rocks for the fireplace and chimney with their grandfather. It always smelled so good. We slept upstairs in the attic. Its plaster board walls had been covered with magazine photos by my grandmother. Summers were spent at Lake Tahoe.

A Youngster's Memory of Yosemite and Elvis Presley

CSNS — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 10:23:33 -0700

An essay by Arlene Jamar

Thinking about my first experience in the Sierra Nevada Mountains brought back memories of a family outing that was unique for many reasons. My family often took trips during school holidays but these were usually to a resort with a swimming pool and often in area where there were hot springs.

We lived in Inglewood, California which was really just a contiguous part of Los Angeles. With so much city surrounding us, it was difficult to leave the city to experience the "country" and then when we did, everyone else seemed to be there also. We might go to the mountains to play in the snow in the mountains in the Los Angeles area. My family didn't go camping because my mother refused to "rough it" but fortunately, I was able to have camping and hiking experiences at Girl Scout summer camp.

This family outing was special and different -we were going to Yosemite National Park! We piled into our brand new, yellow 1954 Buick. As usual, my two sisters and I were in the back seat. I don't think that our cat was along on this trip. My middle sister would occasionally become car sick -possibly because of my parents' peculiar habit of smoking while traveling in the car.

This was the time that Elvis Presley was a rising young star and I can remember leaning into the front seat as the family discussed this young man with his unique musical style accompanied by gyrating hips. We had no idea then of what a legend he would become.

This trip was memorable too because we were actually going to "rough it" a bit. We were to stay in Curry Village in one of the tents on a platform. We ate our meals in the dining room and planned the day to include the Ranger talk. We were in awe at the most exciting and spectacular event each evening, the fire fall. After dinner, someone from the valley floor would yell up to Glacier Point, "let the fire fall!" and a stream of fire would cascade to the valley floor just like a waterfall.

I remember Mirror Lake, a part of the Merced River that idled through the valley floor and widened out to perfectly mirror the trees and mountains behind it. It was a wonderful new experience walking in such a wooded setting while enjoying the river and deer. I had never seen such water falls!

In my mind's eye, or in an actual photograph somewhere in the album is our big new yellow Buick as it drove through the huge tree with a road cut through it.

Our trip ended and we returned home. Little did I know that this visit to Yosemite National Park would be my first experience of many wonderful experiences in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

I have since returned to Yosemite and enjoyed very different view points from hiking the many trails. Many years after our visit in the new Buick, my Dad and I hiked to the top of Yosemite Falls. Another very memorable hike, was from Glacier Point with an overnight at Little Yosemite campground, to the top of Half Dome and then down to the valley floor. Yosemite is a spectacular gem of a place and my first fond memory of experiencing the mountains in my backyard, the Sierra Nevada.

My Early Impression of the Sierra Nevada

CSNS — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 09:36:49 -0700

An essay by Caroline Hickson

Although I visited Lake Tahoe as a baby, and again in Jr. High, my first significant appreciation is from my high school years. Throughout my life I have heard all about Tahoe because of its special place in the family of my mother. Its magic spell continues to this day for me, in spite of the degradation that has occurred since my teen years.

My grandfather and grandmother met at Tallac in 1910, when he worked as a fisherman there. They went on to have a family, buy a lot and build a house on Brockway Hill, and spend many weeks there in my mother early years. She continued the tradition by spending many spare weekends there in her young adulthood. She has shared many stories of the fun she had there, but interestingly they aren't colored with the overwhelming appreciation of Tahoe's size and beauty that my narrative would have included. Is this a trade-mark of her generation and its "take with a grain of salt" attitudes toward damaging the earth's resources? My generation is consciousness of degradation that was not considered a threat in my parent's generation (even though in those days sewer went into the lake, and logging took place in the lake basin.)

The most startling thing about the lake to me when I was in high school, aside from its size, was its clean rocks. In annual treks to Trading Post Resort in Carnelian Bay, I was continually thrilled, and appreciative of the complete absence of lake slime of any kind upon entering the lake to take a swim. In those days (1965, 1966) there was no algae, at least in the north end. I guess I'd been to enough lakes by then that I could rejoice at the cleanliness of Tahoe. I remember always remarking about this when I went swimming.

So, now my base at the lake is in Incline Village where my parents retired. How sad it has been to watch the algae get a firm grip on Crystal Bay, with no reversal in sight. When we walk out to swim, we slip and slide on the thick algae covering the rocks, stir it up into the water, and wonder if it is destined to remain this way forever. In addition there is now the evil weed growing in the marinas of Crystal Bay, milfoil, an invader from another continent, I think. Will our efforts to reduce pollution into the lake from the air and land cause these plants to recede in my lifetime? I am not optimistic.

Now, the next generation, my children who spent weeks every summer playing at the Tahoe beach, value Tahoe as a gem, and a place to revere and protect. But the Tahoe they know always had algae. In spite of the many reforms in practices that have been instituted since my teens, the opposing pressure of development has not been able to reverse damage that has occurred, or even stop the degradation where it stands. So the current young adults are fighting to protect a Tahoe that they have known -- which is a lesser place than the one I knew a short time ago.

What of the rest of the Sierra Nevada ecosystem? Where are there other changes which are significant to the health of the range? What will change in the next ten to twenty years before, as a society, we chose to protect the range with changes in behavior throughout California. Or are we destined to accept, one generation at a time, something less that what was? Is that the inevitable cost of the progression of civilization?

The Sierra Nevada Experience

CSNS — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 09:28:56 -0700

An essay by Ben Jones

During the end of the summer in August of 1993 my parents decided we would move to American for better economic opportunities. Although I was young, I was old enough to understand that my parents wanted a better life for our family. Moving to this country was like moving to a completely different world. The culture, the economy, the people, and the places were all so new and exciting. It was like being introduced to another universe.

My first memory of the Sierra Nevada was my first trip to Yosemite National Park. I had never been on any trips inside California and I was young and knew nothing about national parks. During the beautiful drive up highway 50 into Nevada on the 395 and on to Yosemite I remember coming up to a spot full of trees and benches to sit and eat. We saw all sorts of wildlife and plants. I specifically remember seeing squirrels and birds soaring or should I say gliding through the air. As if these things were not beautiful enough, we took a short walk along the trail that was just a few yards away. While walking on this trail, the name of which I do not know, we got to see the beautiful rocks, and plant life. I do not remember the name of these plants but I know they were not native to the Sacramento Valley, at least in the lower elevations.

As we continued on the drive I was still awestruck by the beautiful scenery of the Sierra Nevada's. Growing up in England, we had many community parks, places to go, and country land everywhere, however, the Sierra Nevada's had much more to offer. Upon arrival to Yosemite National Park the unequivocal beauty of the mountains and stunning landscaping took my breath away. It was as if I was seeing a masterpiece created by a master artist. The long wait could not prepare my eyes for what it would see. As I got out of the car, I noticed in every direction were wildlife, grass, mountains, rivers, streams, cliffs, and hiking trails as far as the eye could see. I remember taking a long one hour hike up to the top of a small hill where you could view half dome. As a six year old kid, I just remember thinking "wow I have never seen anything like this before" I really like California, I hope everything is like this." However, all grown up now, I know this is not the case.

After a short lunch, we decided to have a long rest in the middle of the grassy fields. This is when nature really was observed. We saw birds communicating, listened to the sound of the tall trees whistling in the wind. We also saw many different creatures crawling about, whether it was on the ground or crawling on our arms.

The trip to Yosemite definitely has stayed in my mind. I still think about that trip all the time, so much so that I am planning on making a return trip this semester. This part of the Sierra Nevada's is not only the most popular in California, but it seems to have a place of peace, one that someone can escape from the craziness of our over growing world.