A naturally human need to roam and wander the hills lured us out to verify water levels in some of our stricken water sources during this gnarly drought, and I hadn’t hiked to check on Boulder Canyon’s McGuire Spring since 2013 (Trail 23W03).
Several columns have celebrated 7,500-foot Reyes Peak, a breathtaking outcrop on the long Pine Mountain massif where we located Boulder Canyon. Many compelling day hikes originate from Reyes Peak (or the nearby Reyes Peak Campground).
On the extremely steep northeastern slopes of Reyes Peak towers a last stand of “ancient” pines — about 450 acres centered on Boulder Canyon and eastward (see Harrison map, 4.1.1.).
Below and around the lower limits of this remnant “sky island” of fragrant sugar pines, Jeffrey and ponderosa pines crowd the vast and dense chaparral shrublands, thorny and impenetrable.
Given the global warming that forms a hallmark of this alarming Anthropocene Age, climate change favors the drought-resistant chaparral plants and eats away at the remaining conifer forests that dominated the entire region 20,000 years ago.
In our new climatic regime, like aging brains in human individuals, the intelligent old-growth conifers shrink away drastically. Nature-lovers consider them to be sacred “sky island” remnants, and they harbor special plant and animal communities as well as a sort of group intelligence (see Part II).
The question arises about how best to shield our local sky island from climate change and also well-intentioned human interventions.
Forest biologists note the existence of forested “sky islands” in Arizona and northern Mexico, usually above 6,000 feet and shrinking as desertification and opportunistic chaparral reduce once-prevalent conifer forests.
Arizona’s Coronado National Forest boasts these rare sky islands, and in this parlance, the vast dried-out chaparral realms below form a sort of “sea” lapping at the mountainous pine “islands” left exposed. Many critters that thrive in the lower shrublands can’t adapt to the sky islands’ ecology, and also some mountain-top denizens fail to flourish at the lower altitude.
While Santa Barbarans can easily visit some medium-high-elevation pine forests on Mount Iwihinmu (Mount Pinos), Cerronoreste (aka Mount Abel) and more in the Lockwood Valley, the tiny stand on Reyes Peak is the closest certified sky island near Santa Barbara and Los Angeles.
Now, Los Padres National Forest has approved “thinning” more than 15,000 trees in the 750-acre parcel (the 450 old-growth acres are within this) — which it misleadingly terms “fuel reduction.”
It claims this catastrophic “thinning” will preserve the sacred sky island grove of old-growth giants, but other experts differ unequivocally, and I do not believe much significant research has delved into the sky islands problem (4.1.1. D’Antonio reference).
U.S. Forest Service managers speculate that in this region dominated by a “fire ecology,” we should expect wildfires to sweep through every 35 years. But the frequency and the range of such massive fires defy speculative “models” asserting burns “every 35 years.”
No in-depth studies of this mythical “35-year fire” model have been cited by Los Padres National Forest biologists. LPNF project manager Katherine Worn calls 15,000 trees a mere “blip,” but this massacre would yield a total of 885,000 board feet of commercial lumber.
That is no “blip” and would leave a huge scar on the mountainside open to erosion and other destructive issues. (One board foot is 12 inches by 12 inches by 1 inch deep.)
When my hiking guru, Mr. C, and I made the McGuire Spring day hike in mid-October, I had just learned about this controversial Forest Service decision to approve hacking down 15,000 trees (all of them up to 24 inches in diameter at breast height), and Boulder Canyon touches part of the tract in question.
It would be a great ramble, and we could enjoy some of the old-growth pines.
The trailhead for Boulder Canyon and McGuire Spring is just outside the entrance to dusty Pine Mountain Campground (which was packed with 15 vehicles parked, with children running about happily). Across the access road, hikers will see the prominent sign with “Boulder Canyon” and begin the trek right there.
With heavy boots, ample water, hiking poles, a Harrison map and 50 years of experience, Mr. C and I are ready for a scrambly day with some bushwhacking dedicated to experiencing the revered “old-growth” conifers.
After a brief ascent, this entire hike — 5.2 miles if you descend the entire way to the Ozena Ranger Station in the Cuyama Valley — meanders downhill in thickly forested Boulder Canyon. After passing some isolated tall pines, one enters the old-growth tangles and heavily damaged “trail.”
Wending along, we passed younger conifers, dead ones, palo verde trees, and some oak and oak scrub. After a half-mile, we stumbled on the unsigned and hard-to-see “left” trail spur leading another half-mile over to isolated McGuire Spring and an associated (very primitive) campsite.
I was amazed to find water in McGuire, and at another nearby spot, even more spring water pooled out in a steady trickle. Surely these two clefts furnish a great deal of sustenance to animals around, and we spotted deer approaching, desperate for moisture.
Gloves and a heavy overshirt helped in the occasional dense foliage, and this spur trail was very tough to follow — crawling beneath fallen timbers and other fun activities my 8-year-old grandsons would have loved.
However, I do not recommend this side-venture, but do urge readers to continue heading down the main Boulder Canyon Trail itself.
The mere presence of hundreds of huge, naturally fallen timbers throughout the area demonstrates that there hasn’t been a devastating fire in these parts in hundreds of years — and I do mean far beyond the artificial “line” that the Forest Service established for the 750-acre raking and supposed thinning.
One could argue then that “thinning” and clearing the ladder story growth here is necessary; one would more logically contend that the lucky region has avoided heavy fires for hundreds of years and requires no human oversight.
I was never quite sure where the old-growth timber stand dominated, but perhaps the 300 acres of chaparral within the 750-acre tract does need hacking back. One demonstrable fact is that this entire area has not burned in a very long time.
We found none of the burned bushes or blackened stumps we looked for — and we found no signs of human saws or cutting (after the first quarter-mile of the trail).
Scientists don’t really understand why a few of these mountaintop sky islands haven’t burned in hundreds of years, but they’re determined to mitigate an event that hasn’t occurred for a very long time. Some estimates reach 700 years for this sacrosanct ancient stand fringing Reyes Peak.
In a misguided example of “human exceptionalism,” we have the U.S. Forest Service believing it is saving this sky island by butchering down all of the “smaller” trees. An 18-inch- or 23-inch-diameter conifer is actually a very large tree.
After hiking in there, I assure readers that chopping down 15,000 trees will denude the area and turn the mountaintop into a kind of arboreal zoo. As Simon Schama and others have shown, our conception of a “wild” landscape is usually blinkered by quaint ideas of “landscape” mainly conforming to our limited human vision and memories.
In the Forest Service’s well-intentioned but misguided clearing proposal, only the dramatic oldsters will be left: no saplings, no young or medium-mature conifers, no understory, no massive giants left on the pine needles serving as soil builders and furnishing sustenance to many species.
Why do these biologists imagine a “museum” kind of nature “preserve” up there? Old-growth doesn’t always imply a bias against younger trees, and “saving” is an arrogant and antiquated human outlook.
Many of us who revere and love these noble old-growth conifers on Reyes Peak contend that the Forest Service should simply monitor the area and leave it alone.
Amazingly, more than 16,000 emails and messages went to the Forest Service opposing its contemplated decision — Los Padres National Forest management spurns these comments and powers forward under a Trump-era commandment.
When I hiked into this glorious last stand of Reyes Peak old-growth trees, it was crazy wild and pleasantly demanding. Scrambling through old-growth chaparral, crawling beneath fallen timber giants and sashaying among high-altitude pines obliged deep time reflection and awe. What a magnificent tangle and splendor to explore with children!
I agree with those who believe that Reyes Peak does not adequately protect the ancient conifer sky island there, and it misses cool opportunities to enthrall the public, especially kids, with “deep time” experiences among the beautiful, old-growth pines, the vanilla smell of ponderosa pine bark, and secret sacred springs.
At the end of Pine Mountain Road, some interpretive signage by the Forest Service extols the unique allure of the region, going on about dwarf mistletoe, but this is actually about entering the nearby federal Sespe Wilderness. What about the southeastern slope of Reyes Peak and the exotic conifer sky island there?
I guess the Forest Service leaders in Coronado National Forest are more enlightened than the scientific leaders of Los Padres National Forest today.
Why not celebrate the glorious flora and fauna up there right now rather than walk over woodchips between scattered elder giants? Why pretend that acquiring 885,000 board feet of premium salable old-growth lumber isn’t part of this equation?
This project plan may be less about mitigating forest fires than carrying on Trump-era, 20th-century thinking: “Hey, let’s make a profit out of this natural resource.”
4.1.1.
» Driving to Pine Mountain Campground (and Reyes Peak): Take Highway 101 south to Ojai and follow Highway 33 past Ojai and past Rose Valley to the well-signed Pine Mountain Road; drive 4.5 miles to Pine Mountain Campground (park outside and avoid paying $10 to Parks Management Co.).
» Map: Tom Harrison’s “Sespe Wilderness Map” (easiest to read), cf. Craig Carey, “Hiking and Backpacking Santa Barbara and Ventura” (second edition, 2021, his route 77, p. 264).
» References: S. Schama, “Landscape and Memory.” My 2013 report on Boulder Canyon and McGuire Spring. Carla D’Antonio, distinguished professor of environmental studies at UCSB, contributed a highly critical 10-page academic proposal against LPNF’s proposal for logging the sky island. As others have noted, hers appears to have been the only comment to LPNF on its plan that came from a professional academic in the field of fire and other subjects in Southern California’s chaparral and conifer forest environments. Richard Halsey of the California Chaparral Institute has been similarly critical, and he is upholding the importance of the “old-growth chaparral” itself. N.B. More than 90% of Los Padres National Forest is chaparral shrubland, thus enhancing the importance of preserving these pine tree sky islands just as they are.
— Dan McCaslin is the author of Stone Anchors in Antiquity and has written extensively about the local backcountry. His latest book, Autobiography in the Anthropocene, is available at Lulu.com. He serves as an archaeological site steward for the U.S. Forest Service in Los Padres National Forest. He welcomes reader ideas for future Noozhawk columns, and can be reached at cazmania3@gmail.com. Click here to read previous columns. The opinions expressed are his own.
