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August 1, 2010
A Coastal Redwood Forest Experience
Driving north on U.S. Highway 101 in Northwestern California, enticing road signs abound. See the “Trees of Mystery” in nearby Klamath, or divert to Old Highway 101 and experience the “Avenue of the Giants”. The Trees of Mystery is an ersatz tourist trap with an energy bridge to the land of Paul Bunyan. The oversized scene became complete when they installed an overhead tramway and a giant statue of Paul and Babe, the blue ox. On the other hand, the Avenue of the Giants is a real place featuring not much more than redwood trees.
Entering Avenue of the Giants from the south, one exits Highway 101 near Phillipsville. In order to enjoy the unique scenery of a Coastal Redwood forest the motorist has no choice but to slow down. If you try to speed-tour the redwoods, you will find yourself tailgating others who may wish to enjoy their redwood experience at a slower pace. Many motorists who I observed were unwilling to slow down, roll down their windows, and take even one deep breath. Many, it seems are unable or unwilling to enjoy unique scenery at a leisurely pace.
Many redwood trees are over one thousand years old. Most humans are less than one hundred years old. In order to bring one’s energy into alignment with that of a redwood forest, one must therefore slow down by a factor of ten. In order to let harried travelers pass you by, be prepared to pull aside often. The only alternative is to keep up the competitive racing game that most motorists play each day on the highways of America.
If you do elect to detour from The Redwood Highway, plan to stop early and often along the thirty-two mile Avenue of the Giants. Once you commit to traveling on The Avenue, if you race ahead, you will travel too fast to see the quiet alcoves and turnouts available to the slower, more discerning motorist. If it is your choice to speed, please do slow down where people are walking along the highway. Even as you try to speed-tour the redwoods, remember to respect your slower and more deliberate brethren. They are not lesser humans. Perhaps they have learned to take a deep breath and then enjoy nature in ways you may not.
If you do stop along the way, be prepared to be a magnet for others who do not know where to stop or how to enjoy a forest experience. As soon as possible, turn off your engine, unplug the ear buds from your iPhone and let the rear-seat DVD spin to a stop. Listen to the stillness and peace of the forest environment. Only then will you receive your invitation to enter the realm of the forest dweller, which all humans secretly crave. As early humans sought shelter under the canopy of the forest, they absorbed instinctual memories. Embedded in our human DNA, those instincts guide us back to these sacred spots.
We live in a world dominated by three dimensional time-space reality (3DTSR). Most people believe that 3DTSR is the only reality. Stopping long enough to let the fast-paced energies of the highway subside is a challenge for most tourists. Don’t we have to be somewhere soon? What will happen if we cannot make it to our next stop before dark? Should we stay and enjoy this unique forest experience or just “beat it” down the road? Although it feels unique to each individual, each motorist feels the same struggle. Each wants to enjoy the forest, but to do so quickly. The pressure is to absorb what we can and then move on down the highway.
When compared to our human lifespan, we know that redwoods are by nature eternal. If we do not take the time to see them now, we have the reassuring belief that they will be here next time we pass by, and the time after that, as well. If you do slow down and stop among the redwoods, you will see the last of a dying breed. We can measure their death in centuries, not days, weeks or months, yet die they must. What we see is both the largest intact tract of Old Growth Coastal Redwoods and a relict forest, isolated from others of its kind by miles of grasslands and chaparral. If we wish for this forest to thrive, we must stop and appreciate it at a pace befitting the redwood pace of life.
Over the years, vehicles have hit almost every large redwood that stands near The Avenue. Whether it was a Model-A Ford or a Maserati, the tree always won. The soft bark of a redwood acts like a shock absorber for the tree. Given that a coastal redwood can grow to enormous size and height, no high-powered sports car is going to uproot or topple one of these forest giants. In an earnest effort to protect the redwoods and errant motorists, reflective metal road markers demarcate almost every roadside tree.
In this redwood forest, one must accept his or her solitude in short stints. Seemingly, another SUV is always right around the corner, speeding toward your location. Vehicle speed is an indicator of the connectedness or disconnectedness its occupants currently feel. Why stop to smell the redwoods? From the flight deck of his or her luxo-cruiser, the speedy driver can experience it all in fast motion.
If not to experience the forest with one's own senses, why come to this ancient forest at all? Anything less than bodily entry into the forest is a synthetic experience. With more than a century of motion picture magic behind us, we accept almost any recorded video as part of our 3-D, time-space reality. Many 3-D IMAX movie houses are located in national parks, adjacent to museums or other natural wonders. In a redwood forest, those humans who retain their ancestoral forest memories can help their unconscious counterparts to reclaim their own natural heritage.
By
James McGillis
at 05:23 PM |
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January 7, 2010
Appreciate Nature, From A Distance
In December 2009, I drove south on U.S. Highway 101, known in far Northern California as The Redwood Highway. Near Davison Road, in a spot called Berry Glenn, I encountered a herd of Roosevelt Elk. About twenty-in number, they were migrating north along the far edge of the highway. Since we were within Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park and only a mile from Redwood National Park, I sensed that these animals had never heard the sound of a hunter’s rifle. Long before native Yurok Indians made their way along Redwood Creek, the distant ancestors of these animals had walked this path.
Since Roosevelt Elk are among the largest of the deer family, I stayed inside my vehicle, turned on my emergency flashers and then paused to take a few pictures. By the time I had pulled off the road and stopped, the bull who led this harem was hidden from sight. The visible herd included only females and juveniles. Where might the bull linger? Was he hidden in the brush along the highway? With a light drizzle falling, the females, walking in pairs, passed my open window. Although the elusive males can weigh up to half a ton, adult females easily top 600 pounds.
Although traffic was light that weekday afternoon, one driver came to a halt behind me, leapt out of his car and approached the herd while standing in front of my vehicle. It was then that I realized that a fight was brewing. A lone female, haggard by age and weather, protected the rear of the heard. By her actions, it was clear to me that she wanted no part of this human interloper. In defiance, she planted all four hooves in the center of the northbound lane and bellowed repeated warnings at the photographer.
Whether one is viewing whales in the ocean or elk herds by the road, the first rule of wildlife viewing is, “Do not approach wild animals”. According to Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada, far more humans are injured there by elk than by bears.
When I realized that this crazed looking cow was bellowing at the man, I called to him and said, “That animal is upset. She could charge you at any time. You’d better get away from there.” Although he never looked at me or acknowledged my presence, he did move back behind my vehicle and then returned to his car. As I departed the scene, I kept my emergency flashers on as a warning signal to approaching motorists. Only when I was far from the action did I breathe a sigh of relief.
As I continued my drive, I recalled a time in Yellowstone National Park when I took a risk in order to photograph an American Bison. Parking my car near a spring fed meadow; I spied a lone male bison grazing perhaps fifty feet away. Wanting to get the best picture possible, I walked closer to the beast. As seen in the accompanying photo, he was an adult male, in the prime of his life. Standing there, peacefully grazing in that meadow, he was by far the largest animal I had ever seen up close in nature. The word, "formidable" came to mind. If you break that word down, you get "form", "id" and "able". Certainly, that bison was an architype representing all three concepts.
Almost imperceptibly, I saw the bison turn his head tward me. Even as a low grunt emanated from his throat, I edged closer. After taking my picture, I backed away slowly. At what still felt like an unsafe distance, I turned and walked more quickly towards my car. It was then, with my back turned toward the bison that my mind's eye opened, if only to see him charging at me. If this were true, it would be a close race to my car. With a full ton of angry muscle and bone hurtling toward me, I could easily lose my concentration and composure.
Short of breath when I reached my car, I turned to look back at the bison. Still pulling up clumps of fresh grass to eat, the bison had not moved. At first, thinking that he was a dumb animal, I had trespassed across an unseen boundary that demarcated his territory. That summer afternoon, I had intruded into his peaceful energy field.
Humans and bison have had a continual, if distant relationship with each other in Yellowstone for almost two hundred years. In that time, I believe that the bison have found collective wisdom. As almost two centuries have passed, the Yellowstone bison herds have genetically self-selected their gene pool in favor of those who are indifferent to humans, no matter how provocative or foolish those humans may be.
In the future, we see a time when humans shall remain calm and respectful while in the presence of nature. If so, that elusive bull elk may elect to stand calmly in the brush, rather than crashing out on to The Redwood Highway and into the path of an oncoming automobile. In honor of humanity's future relationship with nature, we believe that soon it shall be so.
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December 29, 2009
That Sinkhole Feeling, Again
During a visit to the Intrepid Potash - Moab, Utah website we were pleased to see new safety related information regarding the mining and processing of potash (potassium chloride) and salt (sodium chloride) crystals at their Cane Creek potash plant. In an earlier article, we had criticized the company for not providing holding ponds designed to catch leaks or overflow from settling ponds at a higher elevation.
Their website now states that, “the solar ponds are lined with heavy vinyl to 
prevent valuable brine from leaking into the ground and the Colorado River. A series of holding ponds have been constructed to catch any spills and return potassium-rich brine to the ponds.” Whether these safety features existed all along, or are recent additions, we do not know. Either way, Intrepid's release of more information about their operation, rather than less is laudable.
In the event of a catastrophic failure at the upper ponds, what percentage of the brine might the holding ponds catch and retain? With the continued absence of information regarding holding pond capacity, we can only guess and hope that it is adequate. “Adequate for what?” you might ask. We can think of at least two scenarios in which a catastrophic failure might test Intrepid's holding pond design and capacity.
First is weather. What is the expected level of water flow into the settling ponds during a “one hundred year flood”? What about the "one thousand year flood"? In order to determine the size of a one hundred or one thousand year flood within the Shafer Basin and Potash, researchers must consider both historical data and paleoflood records.
Now that a drier climate in the Four Corners region is an established fact, we can expect storm and flood activities to increase in intensity, if not in number. Lack of an historical record does not preclude the formation of larger storms there in the future. In that regard, we would not be happy with a holding pond system that provides less than full containment of all settling pond brine.
A second threat at the Cane Creek Plant and its ponds results from the solution mining of potash itself. The Intrepid Potash - Moab Utah website indicates that, “water from the nearby Colorado River is pumped through injection wells into the underground mine. The water dissolves the potash from layers buried approximately 3,000 feet below the surface.” Missing from the company’s website is information on injection well locations, and their proximity to the fragile holding ponds.
In order to understand the importance of proximity, we need look no further than the City of Carlsbad, New Mexico. According to a recent Los Angeles 
Times article, New Mexico mines used a solution-mining technique similar to that of Intrepid, at Moab. Over the years, six million cubic feet of brine solution mining has been extracted from a salt deposit located directly beneath Carlsbad.
Although there has not yet been a collapse at the Carlsbad mine, in 2008 two similar mines north of the city experienced catastrophic failures. With the collapse of the overlying rock, each of those mines became a sinkhole four hundred feet across and one hundred feet deep. Since the mines operated within state and federal guidelines, there does not appear to be easy recourse against them. The state and the mine operators can simply call these unexpected events “Acts of God” and then proceed to disown any further liability.
In the case of Carlsbad, New Mexico, a collapse under the busiest intersection in town is a real possibility. Rail lines, an irrigation ditch and a mobile home park are now under threat of collapse. In the case of Intrepid Potash – Moab, Utah, no one knows how likely a catastrophic mine collapse might be. In an event similar to the Carlsbad scenario, might the solar ponds disappear into a sinkhole? Worse yet, could gravity cause the brine to cascade downhill towards the holding ponds and the Colorado River below?
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November 24, 2009
Help Conserve Precious Water - Drink Rare Utah Wines
During our October 2009, visit to Moab, Utah, we noticed that fall color had arrived in the Spanish Valley. The deciduous trees showed bright yellow leaves, but the scarcity of freezing weather had produced few of the burnt-orange or flame-red leaves we had hoped to see.
Before the sun drops behind the Moab Rim, there is often good light to the north and east. From my vantage point at the Moab Rim CamPark, the Slickrock sparkled in the late afternoon sun. Likewise, the Moab Rim reflected light along the length of its crest. To the east, clouds shaded the La Sal 
Range. Dark green foliage faded into dark gray granite near their summit. As the cloud formation moved slowly across the sky, its virga veil trailed below. With the recent warm, dry weather, there was no snow, even on the highest peaks. In the high country, autumn was over, but winter had not yet begun. From the top to bottom, the relict forest of aspen seemed to have dropped its leaves all at once, leaving behind only a trace of color.
The next morning, we set off to explore in and around the Spanish Valley. Our first stop was at Johnsons on Top, a mesa bounded by Mill Creek Canyon to the north and the Spanish Valley to the south. Several years ago, Grand County and the State of Utah approved a low-density, high-end residential development on that mesa. When the real estate market dematerialized, that project, known as Cloudrock went on hiatus.
Since last year, the only “improvement” to the mesa was additional signage admonishing off-road vehicle drivers to stay on the road. For years, the access gate at the road has made it look like an entrance to private property. Only the locals and a few Moab old-timers know that there is an undeveloped mesa at Johnsons on Top. It follows that marauding outsiders probably did not make the many off-road tracks we saw that day. More likely, some locals felt entitled to make a social road wherever and whenever they pleased, even if it was across Utah Trust Land.
At the far rim of the mesa, we snapped our “MoabLive” outdoor portraits. From that high ground, we saw Mill Creek Canyon below. The dust storms of spring 2009 had hastened snowmelt upstream in the La Sal Mountains. Pools of sand, terraced in the streambed, provided an illusion of flowing water. A photo of the La Sal Mountains that we took from that spot one year prior showed a snowpack at high elevation.
When the creek went dry, the Grand Water and Sewer Service Agency (GWSSA) had to close its Sheley Diversion Tunnel from Mill Creek. When water no longer flowed down the tunnel to Ken’s Lake, the reservoir had no other replenishment source. By October 2009, demand for irrigation had drained the reservoir almost to the elevation of its outfall pipe. Oversubscription and overuse of Ken’s Lake water resources are now a fact. If early snowmelt becomes the norm, future years may bring only one brief shot at filling Ken’s lake. As the major source of irrigation water for the Spanish Valley, that resource may now too valuable to support large-scale alfalfa farming in the desert.
Using data collected in 2001, the Utah Department of Environmental Quality/Division of Water Quality (DEQ/DWQ) found increased temperature to be the major “pollutant” present in Ken’s Lake. Blaming it on solar heating alone, the DEQ/DWQ petitioned the U.S. EPA to reclassify the lake as a “warm water fishery”, rather than to find ways to retain its old designation as a “cold water fishery”. In so doing, they ignored the fact that only 400 acre feet of water is normally present in Ken's Lake at the end of any summer season. Perhaps it was not obvious to the state agency, but such a small pool of water exposed to the summer sun near Moab would rise in temperature.
The solution to this dilemma rests largely with farmers in the Spanish Valley. By leaving a higher residual waterline in the lake each year, that larger mass should not heat up as quickly as the smaller pool now does. That would require a "conservation mentality", rather than the current "extraction mentality". In October 2009, there was barely enough water in Ken's Lake to 
support a small warm water fish population. It would soon drop to its minimum level, after providing Spanish Valley grape growers the final shot of irrigation water necessary to protect their rootstock from the coming winter freeze. In less than ten years, Ken’s Lake has gone from full to empty and from cold to warm. If spring 2010 again brings dust storms to the La Sal Range, expect to see hotter water and less of it at Ken’s Lake. With the recent spate of regional dust storms and the continued drying of the western climate, we believe that the new pattern of rapid snowmelt is likely to continue.
Departing the mesa, we came upon a ridge overlooking the Spanish Valley. From there we saw a high desert environment, sprinkled with irrigated fields, ranchettes and homes. With the Pueblo Verde Tract directly below us, we scanned the valley for other signs of irrigated life. In the center of the valley, we saw greenery that was the vineyards at the Spanish Valley Vineyards and Winery. According to their website, the estate comprises several acres of vineyard and its attendant small farm winery, both of which are owned and operated by the Dezelsky Family. There, they grow and produce wines made from Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Gewurztraminer and Riesling grapes, as well as a unique cherry wine.
Having found the tasting room closed Sundays, on a Monday afternoon we made our second attempt to visit the winery. Located on Zimmerman Lane, just off Highway 191 South, the winery would benefit from a “cultural location sign” on the highway. In California, each wine-growing county provides tasteful highway signage directing motorists to local wineries. Perhaps Utah will see both the economic and the environmental light and then begin promoting their rare vineyards and wineries.
When nearby Arches Vineyards and Winery ceased production, the Dezelsky’s bought their remaining stock of bulk wine, finishing it under the Spanish Valley Winery label. In 1998, the owners of Red Cliffs Lodge purchased Arches Winery, collocating it with the lodge and renaming it Castle Creek Winery. When Castle Creek Winery opted to purchase grapes from outside of the state, that left Spanish Valley Winery as the last which grows, produces and bottles only Utah appellation wines. In almost any state other than Utah, that alone would be enough to elevate the winery to the status of a cultural landmark. In a state which legalized bonded winemaking only in 1988, the state's overall attitude towards wineries and winemaking remains one of indifference and neglect.
One needs to look only as far away as the Mimbres Valley near Deming, New Mexico to find St. Clair Vineyard and Winery producing and bottling a fine New Mexico Zinfandel, among other varietals. Luna Rossa Winery also grows and produces in the Mimbres Valley, at an elevation similar to the Spanish Valley. Both valleys sit atop large aquifers. The sensible way in which New Mexico supports desert viticulture provides an example of how Utah might support its own growers and producers.
As a bonded winery, Spanish Valley Winery represents a way of life once thought to have great promise in Southeastern Utah. Our friend Jim Farrell told us that his Moab Rim Campark used to include the phrase “and Vineyard” on its highway sign. Patrons of the RV Park loved the ambiance that the vineyard provided. When interest in viticulture waned in this century, Jim redeveloped the vineyard into a row of rental spaces for recreational vehicles. Although he enjoyed being a grower, economics dictated that Jim sacrifice romance for economic necessity.
In the 1970s, a University of Arizona viticulture survey found great promise in the Spanish Valley. With its highly mineralized, gravelly soil, hot days and cool nights, the study concluded that the Spanish Valley had potential to become one of the premier viticulture areas in the country. That survey, plus the backing of one Utah state agency encouraged locals to plant grapes. In the late 1980s, just as the first viable crops matured, another state agency declared that winemaking was illegal in Utah. By 1988, when winemaking became legal in Utah, many of the early growers had abandoned or removed their vineyards. The few stalwart growers remaining near Moab have only Spanish Valley and Castle Creek wineries as outlets for the sale of their grapes.
More recently, former Governor Jon Huntsman pushed the Utah legislature to rationalize Utah's liquor laws. Until then, the unofficial stance by the state was disdain for Utah winemaking and sales at its wineries. Since the 1970’s, whenever latter-day Utah wine makers went up against the moral strictures of the Latter Day Saints Church, the winemakers lost every time. Even now, one cannot taste or purchase wine on a Sunday or holiday at any Utah winery. An official summary of Utah Liquor Laws does not even mention wineries or their tasting rooms. With almost sixty days of forced closure each year, how can any business expect to prosper? This is ironic in Utah, which retains a state monopoly on the sale of all packaged liquor, except for beer. With politics, morality and economics stacked against Utah’s small farm wineries, is it any wonder that this potentially rich viticulture area grows alfalfa instead of grapes?
As of this writing, the Spanish Valley Vineyard and Winery is for sale. For over twenty years, the Dezelsky’s have either worked for or owned the operation. By their choice, it is time for them to move on. A sale of the property will allow a new owner to build on their solid reputation as producers of Utah appellation wines. For less than two million dollars, a new owner could own acres of cultivated vineyards, an abundance of high tech equipment and facilities that could handle far larger production.
In 2009, the Christian Science Monitor wrote that the Four Corners area is already hotter and drier than it was fifteen years ago. Not since the Great Disappearance of Pre-Puebloan Indians around 1200 CE, has the climate been this hot or dry. With that knowledge, the State of Utah should actively encourage, rather than discourage its citizens from growing grapes and producing wine. An easy way to show that they care would be to allow bonded wineries to offer tasting and retail sales on Sundays and some holidays. For the moralists among us, the overall consumption of alcohol in Utah would not rise perceptibly. Raising water-stingy grapes with drip-irrigation might then become a viable economic alternative to growing water-thirsty alfalfa in the desert. Additionally, Utah should allow tasteful highway signage, directing visitors to each rare and unique winery in the state.
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When dustbowl storms swept across the Great Plains in the 1930’s, the federal government Shelterbelt Program encouraged farmers to plant trees as windbreaks, thus retaining loose soil in their fields. Farmers and ranchers in Southeastern Utah should likewise be encouraged to plant grape-arbor windbreaks adjacent to their fields. By doing so, the arbors could help diminish the intensity of regional dust storms that now plague the area. At Monument Valley High School, Utah, a small plot of grapes grows near the athletic field. Could this signal a renaissance in viticulture in Southeastern Utah? For the sake of the few remaining warm-water fish in Ken’s Lake and all of us who love Utah wines, we hope so.
After leaving the winery, we spotted a large American Bison resting in the yard of a home on Spanish Valley Drive. In the 1870s, bison herds were so large that transcontinental rail traffic often halted for hours so that the animals could cross the tracks. Despite their historically large numbers, they did not destroy their natural environment. As the wheels of off-road vehicles sink ever deeper into the soft soils of Johnsons on Top and other mesas, we must face facts. Creation of new social roads in the desert threatens both our soil and our water. Inadequate water conservation threatens to leave us like that lone bison, resting under the desert sun on the last patch of irrigated soil in the Spanish Valley.
When off-road enthusiasts eschew new social roads, alfalfa farmers take less water from Ken’s Lake and all of Utah begins supporting its homegrown wine industry, we may yet again see balance in the water cycle of the Spanish Valley, Utah
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