BLM Dispatch #23 - Summer Reading
It was a bountiful summer of reading, these books connecting me to friends and places near and far.
A visit to The Strand bookstore in New York brought me serendipitously to early hardcover editions of The Pine Barrens and Coming Into the Country and a signed copy of Macfarlane’s new book. Fifteen blocks south in lower manhattan, I picked up Things Become Other Things at McNally Jackson Books.
The Way Around came with me on a plane to Minneapolis, and then heartbreakingly stayed on the plane when I left it in the seat pocket along with two sheets of scribbled notes and dozens of dog eared pages and underlined sentences. Upon arriving to my sister-in-laws home in the Twin Cities, I walked to Magers & Quinn in Uptown and bought it again.
Vromans in Pasadena and City Lights in San Francisco rounded out the other connections, which further proves that the real reason to ever travel is to visit bookstores (and, for gods sake, MORE TIME TO READ).
Dropping in some capsule reviews for those who might be interested in picking up a new book or three…
—
BLM Dispatch #22 - Highway 120 East
I was driving north on California’s Hwy 395, Mono Lake just about to come into view, when I spotted a road sign for Highway 120 pointing east toward Benton.
Until then, my only experience with 120 was heading west into Yosemite via Tioga Pass and Tuolumne Meadows.
I’d driven this stretch of the 395 dozens of times, always craning my head towards the range of light, staring at the formidable chain of Sierra Nevada peaks rising a mile high from the sagebrush covered foothills.
I’ve walked a hundred miles of that high country, mostly along sections of the Pacific Crest Trail. I’ve switchbacked over the passes, swum in icy lakes, camped in the meadows, and watched shooting stars rip across the sky. Each excursion brought adventure, but I never felt…what’s the word…comfortable? Peace?
—
BLM Dispatch #21 - The Mesa With No Name
I’ll trade you a hundred Yosemites for just one of these lonely mesas at sunset.
I can’t say the exact feeling I had walking these BLM lands off Highway 120, but reverence is what I felt most deeply. As the fading light worked slowly upward along the mesa, illuminating Sage and Pinyon, and finally turning rocky outcrops crimson, words seemed useless.
I was camping once at the Carrizo Plain during the superbloom and the little campground was bursting with life and movement. There were people of all stripes scattered about. Botanists, flower chasers, mountain bikers, birders, and walkers, sleeping in tents and vans and trailers. But one older gentleman had captivated my attention, doing something I can’t remember ever seeing before…
—
BLM Dispatch #20 - My Evening With the Stallion
We made eye contact just as the last sliver of sun had dipped below the ridge. I had been wandering through a maze of sagebrush, pointing my camera in the general direction of west and north, studying shadows and watching the light slip upwardly along Granite Mountain.
That’s when I saw him.
Across the valley floor, a few hundred feet away, was a wild mustang. He was standing there motionless, like a statue, his head hanging in a posture that made him appear to be in a state of gratitude, as if he too had been appreciating the sunset. I was startled at first, not accustomed to seeing an animal five times my size. I scanned the surroundings for others, but he was as alone as I was.
—
BLM Dispatch #19 - Long Valley Caldera, California
Welcome to Eastern California’s Long Valley Caldera. I was out here in June, but have also visited in May, August, and October, experiencing the full palette of weather offerings, from pounding heat to snow, rain, and sleet under deliciously ominous skies.
The numerous hot springs are the main draw, but I prefer roaming the lonely hills that overlook the valley. Utah junipers nestle among boulder outcrops, while scattered rabbitbrush offers a choose-your-own-path walking experience.
If you’re looking for a spot to pitch a tent in the front country, it doesn’t get much better or easier than here. Park along Whitmore Tubs Road (see below), throw on a pack, and head for the hills. At 7,200 feet, you’ll have a front row seat to a sunset over the Sierra Nevada and a moonrise over the Glass Mountains.
And beneath your sleeping bag? One of the world’s largest dormant supervolcanoes. Quiet for 100,000 years, recent studies suggest 240 cubic miles of magma rest below. If it ever erupted, it could release over 800 times the material of the 1980 Mount St. Helens eruption.
—
BLM Dispatch #18 - Trinity Wild and Scenic River, California
Northwest California’s Trinity River begins high in the rugged Trinity Alps and winds through steep, forested mountains before merging with the (newly freed!) Klamath.
A fallen madrone branch in the headwaters — perhaps snapped off by a climbing black bear — would drift two hundred miles downstream before meeting the Klamath, and then another forty-four miles before the boulder bruised and battered limb would meet the salty waters of the Pacific.
Called Hun’ by the Hoopa Valley and Yurok Tribes — who have lived along its banks for thousands of years — the river is a vital thread of culture and lifeways. These nations have long stewarded its waters and stood at the front lines of its protection.
My home for three days of exploration was the BLM-managed Steel Bridge Campground, with thirteen sites tucked beneath a canopy of Douglas fir, ponderosa pine, and incense cedar. I focused my time on the seventeen-mile stretch of the Trinity that the BLM manages between the charming towns of Lewiston and Junction City (see map below), dropping into every trail and river access point I could find for walking, swimming, and boulder hopping…
—
BLM Dispatch #17 - Notes From the Sky
Greetings from 32,000 feet. I’m sitting in seat 33E, sandwiched between my thirteen-year-old son by the window and my ten-year-old daughter on the aisle. We’re two rows from the violent whoosh of the airplane toilet, somewhere between Grand Rapids and Los Angeles.
The rain and humidity of my sister’s farm in northern Michigan are still lingering on my skin and in my pores. My eyes are still mesmerized by the meadows, maples and marshes, along with the newborn calf still wet, her legs crooked, trying to walk for the very first time. I can still taste the blue eggs the hens laid and the wild raspberries we pulled off thorny branches and my mother blended into a pie. My t-shirt has the smell of sheep and cattle and chickens baked into its cotton.
I’m writing this dispatch on the plane because the week has crested the hill and is tumbling quickly toward Sunday - my self imposed newsletter deadline - and because, well, the only thing family vacations suffer from are a lack of putting fingers to keyboard.
—
BLM Dispatch #16 - Bodie Hills, California
The stillness hits me first. More than the altitude, more than the cold, more than the last sliver of sun cresting over the Sierra Nevada.
Nearby aspen groves are lit with an October concoction of fiery orange, their leaves offering a final showcase before succumbing to the cold and falling aimlessly to the earth. Sagebrush dominates the terrain, anchoring the landscape as everything else begins to shift from autumn to winter. And to the distant north and west, the formidable sentinels of the Sierra Nevada stand watchful.
My temporary camp is all set up, and my warmest clothes are fighting valiantly against the plummeting temperature. I pour a small glass of whiskey and plop down in my chair. There is no wind, no sound, no movement.
Welcome to the Bodie Hills, I think to myself.
—
BLM Dispatch #15 - South Yuba River, California
I had been reading harrowing and adventurous stories about the 65-mile South Yuba River in Northern California for a decade before I finally paid it a visit. There are drownings almost every year, brought on by swift currents and underwater boulders. There are nude beaches, a twenty-mile National Trail, and enough picturesque swimming holes to keep the residents of Nevada City and Auburn cool in summer, when triple-digit temperatures bake the western Sierra slopes.
The river introduced itself the moment I opened the car door. Water thundered through the granite-walled canyon at 2,000 cubic feet per second. A deafening roar. Imagine 900,000 gallon jugs of liquid crashing past every minute.
Walking the trail in early April was like walking through a green tunnel. Madrone, interior oak, toyon, fern, and foothill pine draped over the narrow path, causing a kind of bobbing and weaving walking experience. Moss clung to big leaf maple trunks. Small waterfalls stemming from unnamed tributaries cascaded over boulders and fallen branches. And everywhere smelled like wet granite and pine needles.
—
BLM Dispatch #14 - The Enduring Wild Is Here!
I am thrilled to report that this book I have been pouring my heart, my body (and the shallow waters of our savings account) into for the past five years is finally here.
It’s officially publication week for The Enduring Wild.
During all those lonely days and nights writing in 2023 and 2024 — especially when putting down words felt like a slog, and my thoughts and typing fingers seemed to be working against each other — I would tell myself that eventually this would be finished, and that one day the physical book would be in my hands.
Now that day is here, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more grateful in my professional life.
—
BLM Dispatch #13 - Millions of Acres of BLM Land On the Chopping Block
I continue to be dumbfounded by politicians who are ignoring the overwhelming majority of Americans and their own constituents who value our shared public lands.
According to the latest Conservation In the West poll (which does not include California, Oregon, and Washington) want their elected officials to prioritize clean water, healthy air, and wildlife habitat. An overwhelming 89% of voters across party lines support keeping National Monument protections in place.
Public lands - and the wildlife, biodiversity, watersheds, and recreation they support — remain one of the last places where Americans find common ground. Where else do you see hunters, birders, OHV users, and hikers standing shoulder to shoulder, all holding signs about the importance of keeping public lands in public hands?
—
BLM Dispatch #12 - Humboldt Sink, Nevada
I woke to the sound of something chewing on the side of my tent at exactly 4:53am, two minutes before my alarm was set to rustle me from sleep. As if the creature and the clock were in cahoots.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
My head, turned sideways on the pillow and snug against the tent wall, put my face just inches from the sound, my breath like a strange little space heater for the fellow.
I gave a gentle flick toward the noise (kangaroo rat? western whiptail?), and the visitor abandoned its post in search of less polyester fare.
Alright pal, I said, I’m up.
—
BLM Dispatch #11 - Pershing County, Nevada
On Tuesday, May 6, around 11pm, Republican Representatives Mark Amodei and Celeste Maloy introduced a surprise amendment to the House Natural Resources Committee that would authorize the sale of BLM lands in Nevada and Utah. The provision was quietly slipped into a sweeping environmental bill during the final hour of a 13-hour debate — without public input, transparency, or meaningful discussion.
Initial estimates suggested 11,000 acres would be affected. But as conveyance, disposal and checkerboard resolution maps became available of the exact parcels marked for disposal, the number ballooned to 540,385 acres.
Everyone was talking about the land totals — but no one was showing what the landscapes actually looked like.
So I decided to go see them. If these lands were going to be handed over to the highest bidder, the least I could do was document them. To create a photographic record of what we stand to lose.
—
BLM Dispatch #10 - Carrizo Plain National Monument - Part 2
The Carrizo Plain is roughly fifty miles long by fifteen miles wide, framed neatly between the Temblor Range to the east and the more formidable Caliente Range to the west. There are just two main entrances to the Monument: from the north and the south, both connected by Soda Lake Road, a bumpy but reliable gravel road that runs straight through the valley.
I’ve spent many lovely nights out there under the stars, mostly during drought years, when the valley choked with dust, Soda Lake was dry, and the grasslands resembled a giant bale of hay.
But in early 2023, a series of atmospheric rivers dropped thirteen inches of rain just as I was working on an essay about the Carrizo for The Enduring Wild. When I visited that April with a botanist, I arrived to a scene that left me stunned. From the book:
The landscape was so incomprehensibly different I couldn’t help but stare in disbelief. Soda Lake Road had become a yellow brick road, and I had wandered into the Land of Oz. I couldn’t figureout where to look, as if my eyes and brain had gone haywire into a hyper state of mesmerizing distraction that left me utterly speechless. It was like taking Dorothy’s first step into the technicolor world of Munchkinland after living in sepia-toned Kansas.
—
BLM Dispatch #9 - Carrizo Plain National Monument - Part 1
Last weekend, I guided a group of 20 urbanites out to the BLM-managed Carrizo Plain National Monument for another USAL Project camping trip. We were there to see wildflowers, hike my favorite trails, drive the back roads, and share some epic nightly fires under dark skies.
Except there were almost no flowers across the entire plain, outside of a few scattered lupines, lacy phacelia, and stands of bladderpod giving it a valiant effort.
And the weather! It was like a deranged toddler running rampant after crushing a pack of skittles: loud, destructive, and totally unpredictable. In three days, we received rain, hail, 25 mph wind gusts, overcast skies, and nightly temperatures that dipped into the 30’s.
Wind chill minus a thousand. Muddy shoes. Whipping tents. Campfires traded for huddles around a sputtering stove…
—
BLM Dispatch #8 - Berryessa Snow Mountain National Monument
Building on my last dispatch from the Cache Creek Natural Area, we now move to its next door neighbor: the massive 344,476-acre Berryessa Snow Mountain National Monument.
Designated by President Obama in 2015 and named for its two geographic anchors — Berryessa Peak in the south and Snow Mountain to the north — this monument forms a stunning hundred-mile corridor through California’s Inner Coast Ranges, with elevations ranging from near sea level to over 7,000 feet. The U.S. Forest Service oversees the northern half; the Bureau of Land Management stewards the southern stretch, including Molok Luyuk, a sacred ridge newly added in 2023. That addition is now co-stewarded by the Yocha Dehe Wintun Nation.
I’ve visited Berryessa many times over the past several years, but one of the most memorable trips came in April 2022, when I set out with two of my sisters for a half marathon day hike into the Cache Creek Wilderness, one of the Monument’s most remote and rewarding corners…
—
BLM Dispatch #7 - Cache Creek Natural Area
Welcome to the Cache Creek Natural Area.
The sheer abundance of greenery, spanning every imaginable shade, is reason enough to visit. The grasslands have patches of emerald, lime, and neon. The blue oaks are starting to leaf out, their new growth a darker, foresty kind of green. Wavy-leaf soap plants stretch up in pale pistachio stalks. Hillsides dotted with gray pines soften the view with their muted sage and gray undertones — earning them their nickname, Ghost Pines, for their spectral, ethereal presence in early light.
For the walkers, this place is paradise. While there are dozens of miles of developed trails, you can also have a field day choosing your own route up and down the foothills, weaving between the gnarled bark of the blue oaks, stopping to inspect whatever catches your eye…
—
BLM Dispatch #6 - Point Arena-Stornetta
Point Arena-Stornetta can be moody as hell.
I experienced the full spectrum of weather along California’s rugged north coast: heavy fog, fleeting sun, and wind strong enough to push you around — all before 10 a.m. It was the kind of day where you find yourself in a t-shirt one moment and reaching for a winter hat the next.
My windbreaker snapped and hollered along with the mighty waves, and all notions of quiet quickly vanished.
I followed a narrow trail through damp golden fields to the mouth of the Garcia River, where the 44-mile waterway meets its inevitable end. The area was alive with sound: the guttural barking of sea lions, the chatter of ravens, the flapping wings of cormorants, oystercatchers, and gulls. Even a few otters bobbed in the surf, making their presence known with casual nods toward shore.
—
