BLM Dispatch #29 - King Range National Conservation Area - Coastal Prairie
This is one of my favorite photos from my book.
My friend Noah and I set out from our temporary home at the Mattole Beach Campground on a ten-mile loop that would wind us high above the ocean and back again. Two miles in, after climbing nearly seven hundred feet along Prosper Ridge Road, the day shifted. An old two-track path through the prairie veered from the gravel road and we followed it toward Strawberry Rock. Within moments — a snap of the fingers — the clear blue September skies dissolved into fog, a curtain sweeping over the ridge and swallowing the sun whole.
I took this photo, then turned around to shoot some frames in the other direction. When I turned back, he had disappeared…
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BLM Dispatch #28 - King Range National Conservation Area, Part 1
I remember the exact moment I first heard about a magical place called the “Lost Coast.”
A friend described an undeveloped shoreline where steep mountains plunge straight into the sea, old-growth trees rise from a temperate rainforest, and the isolation is so complete that residents carry helicopter insurance.
It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. I assumed it must be in the Philippines, or off the coast of Africa, or tucked away in New Zealand — or at the very closest, somewhere in Hawaii.
When he told me it was in California, I practically knocked him over as I ran to my computer.
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BLM Dispatch #27 - Mount Irish Petroglyph Site, Nevada
First, you have to open the wooden gate.
It’s hooked to the adjoining fence via a few pieces of tightly wound barbed wire, which takes me far too long to pry over the post it’s wrapped around.
I push it open, drive through, then shut it behind me. From here, it’s 8.7 miles along Logan Canyon Road to the Mount Irish Petroglyph Site.
The gravel road is in various degrees of September conditions - rutted, rocky, dried to a crisp. I pray to the backroad gods that the highway tires on my 2009 Toyota hang in there, and then treat each rock, divot, and pothole with tentative care.
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BLM Dispatch #26 - A Short Film from Nevada's BLM Lands
Back in May, when Representatives Mark Amodei and Celeste Maloy slipped in a surprise amendment to authorize the sale of BLM lands in Nevada and Utah, the headlines focused on the sheer numbers — 540,385 acres marked for sell-off. What was missing was any sense of the places themselves.
So my friend Roberto and I went to see them. If these lands were going to be handed to the highest bidder, the least we could do was bear witness, to create a record of what stands to be lost.
While I focused on still photographs, Roberto gathered moving images. The result is a four-minute short — a quiet passage through sagebrush, rivers, mountains, and wildflowers, woven with a reading from The Enduring Wild.
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BLM Dispatch #25 - State Route 447, Nevada
The sun dropped over the Carson River, a dark ribbon winding through the basin. Sagebrush and greasewood, silver-green in the last light, spread low across the floodplain. Along the banks a band of weathered cottonwoods stood in loose formation, their green still strong against the fading blue sky. I walked the outside edge of those trees where the BLM land began, tracing the cottonwood line for two miles before letting the river go, returning to the highway, and heading north toward Silver Springs.
I passed through Fernley, Nevada just past seven pm, sky darkening behind a Pilot gas station sign protruding from the earth, green and red bulbs signaling unleaded and diesel prices. Three twenty-five a gallon for unleaded. I stopped and filled up.
Then straight north through Wadsworth toward Empire, crossing over the Truckee River just before it runs into Pyramid Lake along the way.
Gerlach was bustling for a Monday night, or possibly every night, this being my first time passing through. I walked the town from end to end. Half a mile. Bearded patrons stood outside the bars with drinks in hand, their laughter rising and folding into the smoke from their cigarettes, the whole scene carrying the kind of relief that comes when a town finally exhales after weeks of Burning Man’s noise, dust, and strangers.
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BLM Dispatch #24 - Granite Mountain Wilderness, California
I had it in mind to climb the mountain.
First week of July, first heat wave to knock on the door of the Eastern Sierra and sweep across the leftover snow like the opening of an oven. Even at eight thousand feet above the sea, temperatures flirt with ninety degrees. Sweat rolls down legs, out of armpits.
Winds at 1-2 miles per hour, imperceptible. Gnats bite incessantly.
Despite the heat, we decide to make a go of it. No trail to speak of. We meander around sage, switchback up steep sandy pitches, climb over sections of class 3 granite, and eventually summit in the early afternoon…
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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…
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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?
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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…
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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.
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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.
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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…
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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.
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