Old Growth Forests

Old growth forests are considered an endangered habitat in Pennsylvania. However, just as with some endangered species, with care, effort, and enough time, forests can recover many of their old growth characteristics. While there is endless discussion about what exactly constitutes old growth, in general it means that a true old growth forest would be near climax and has suffered few, if any, intrusions by humans. It means that it would be as you would have found it prior to European colonization or perhaps even before Native Americans began imposing their imprint on it. Breaks in the canopy would be caused by falling trees, dying of old age or struck by lightning. "Tip-ups," the masses of roots turned up when a big tree falls over, would be common.

By that kind of a definition, there is virtually no old growth left at all in the Eastern United States, because disease has removed major components of most of our forests and extinction or extirpation have removed important contributions to the forest ecosystem. The chestnuts are gone, the passenger pigeons and the wolves are gone. The balance among the plants and animals is quite different than it was 500 or 1,000 years ago.

In spite of all that, there are still important forest remnants with old growth characteristics with much to teach us. They provide what we have left of the starting point, the bench mark against which our era can measure itself. Time and care can re-create what in the future will pass for old growth, in spite of its differences from the old growth of the past, so preserving future old growth sites is also an important work. That is why second-growth ravines such as those leading up to the plateau from Sinnemahoning Creek along Bucktail State Park Natural Area are included in this list. Such places are mature second-growth forests now. With time, they will become true old-growth.

Finally, it is also important to include representatives of different ecosystems in old growth, not only the typical hemlock-white pine or hemlock-beech associations of the well-known Cook Forest and Heart's Content. It is for those reasons that places are included in this tour such as Bear Meadows (a large ancient bog) and Cranberry Swamp, giving visitors a broader vision of the varied components of the entire macro-system. While it is true sometimes that "we can't see the forest for the trees," it is just as true that we should not confuse the forest with the trees. In other words, while we speak of old-growth forests in terms of the major tree species found there, old-growth is really a term describing entire ecosystems. The other plants and animals who live within the tree-defined framework are vital to the whole.

There really aren't any remnants of the horizon-to-horizon forest that was encountered by the first European settlers. Most of that was cleared for farms. Most of the remainder was logged off by the 1920s. What we have left now as "old growth" were, with one or two notable exceptions, largely the inaccessible, steep slopes or accidents of boundary overlaps. It's those that we celebrate here. They give us a fascinating glimpse of the majesty and complexity that was Pennsylvania old growth forest.

http://www.dcnr.state.pa.us/forestry/oldgrowth/index.aspx

Cool Forests

Boxerlovinglady's Quote du Jour

"The cure for anything is salt water; sweat, tears or the sea." - Isak Dinesen

Chetro Ketl in Chaco Canyon

Chetro Ketl

http://www.nps.gov/chcu/planyourvisit/chetro-ketl.htm

http://www.colorado.edu/Conferences/chaco/tour/ketl.htm

http://archaeology.about.com/od/cbthroughch/a/chetro_ketl.htm

Virtual Reality Tour: http://virtualguidebooks.com/NewMexico/PuebloCountry/ChetroKetl/ChetroKetl.php

Wrangell-St Elias National Park and Preserve

Wrangell-St Elias National Park and Preserve is the largest unit of the U.S. National Park System and, with its trademarks of high peaks and massive glaciers, one of the most spectacular. Designated as a national park in 1980, Wrangell-St Elias sprawls across 13.2 million acres in the southcentral region of Alaska. It abuts against Canada's Kluane National Park and together their 20 million acres represent one of the largest wilderness areas left in the world, the reason the two parks were recognized by the United Nations as a World Heritage site in 1979.

At Wrangell-St. Elias four great ranges, Chugach, Wrangell, St Elias and the eastern end of the Alaskan Range, converge in an area the size of six Yellowstone National Parks to form a crossroads of the mountains. The St Elias Range merges with the Wrangells in the heart of the park and then arcs eastward past the Canadian border where it forms the highest coastal range in the world. Within the park's borders are nine of the 16 highest peaks in the country, including the second highest, Mt St Elias (18,008 feet), Mt Bona (16,421 feet), Mt Blackburn (16,390 feet) and Mt Sanford (16,237 feet). From its glaciated roof of mountains and peaks, the park's terrain descends to the north as treeless tundra and then boreal-forested uplands. To the south the glaciers extend from the mountains almost to the tidewaters of the Gulf of Alaska.

Wildlife includes Dall sheep and mountain goats in the alpine region, caribou around the Wrangell Mountains to the north and moose in the bogs and brushy areas of the lowlands. Bison were released in Copper River Valley in 1950 and along the Chitina River in 1962 and remnants of those herds remain today. Black and brown bears roam throughout the park. Within 60 miles of Chitina, the McCarthy Road ends at a foot bridge across the Kennicott River. On the other side is one of the park's most noteworthy features; the now-deserted Kennecott Mine town site, a National Historic Landmark. After copper was discovered in the area in 1900, a group of wealthy investors formed the Kennecott Copper Corporation (named when a clerical worker misspelled Kennicott), built the Copper River and Northwest Railroad including its famous Million Dollar Bridge, established the company town of Kennicott and from 1911-38 made more than $100 million mining some of the richest copper veins the country has ever known. Since no gambling or drinking were allowed at the company town, McCarthy quickly sprang up nearby as a place where miners would find 'wine, women and song,' in its saloons, restaurants, hotels, and pool halls. A number of the buildings from that era still stand in both Kennicott and McCarthy, making the area the best remaining example of early 20th century copper mining.

Beyond exploring the old mining towns, other activities include backpacking and hiking, mountain biking, birding, camping, sport fishing and hunting, horseback riding, whitewater rafting and kayaking, mountaineering and ice climbing, wildlife viewing and flightseeing. In the winter visitors arrive to cross-country ski, snowmobile and snowshoe.

http://www.travelalaska.com/Destinations/Parks%20and%20Public%20Lands/Wrangell-St%20Elias%20National%20Park.aspx

Favorite Place du Jour:

http://www.travelalaska.com/MyAlaska/News/July%202011/geography.aspx?utm_source=MAN_JUL&utm_medium=email

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the population of Alaska is 710,231 as of April 2010. That might not seem like a lot in relation to its sheer size, but various communities in the state buzz with the energy of any city in the Lower 48. Anchorage, for example, is the largest city in Alaska with a population of 291,826. It’s a main hub for airline travel, and boasts an excellent dining and shopping scene along with farmer’s markets, art galleries and cultural centers. A little more than 300 miles north of Anchorage is the city of Fairbanks, the heart of Alaska’s Interior. Fairbanks and the surrounding area is the second-most populated city in Alaska, at 97,581 residents. Fairbanks serves as another main transportation center for travel to and from the state, as well as a prime location from which to venture into the Far North region.

Nestled between Anchorage and Fairbanks is Alaska’s third-place finisher for total city/borough population, the Matanuska-Susitna Borough. The Mat-Su Valley has 88,995 residents who mainly live either in Wasilla or Palmer (the Alaska State Fair celebrates its 75th year here this summer). Many visitors might be surprised to learn Alaska’s capital city of Juneau ranks fourth largest in the state, with 31,275 residents. Juneau has an international airport of its own and is a highlight on any visit to the Inside Passage region of the state. It’s also a main port of call on cruise itineraries.

Alaska is home to more than 3,000 rivers, the biggest of which is the Yukon River. The Yukon is almost 2,000 miles long, making it the third largest river in the United States. It flows west from Canada through Alaska’s Interior and Far North regions before emptying into the Bering Sea in Alaska’s Southwest region. During the gold rush era and for thousands of years before, it has been an important connection between remote communities. Today, visitors can embark on a variety of activities in and around the river, including fishing, rafting, hiking, kayaking and gold panning. Other popular rivers for recreational activities include the Kenai River, accessible from Cooper Landing, Kenai and Soldotna; the Copper River from Cordova or Gakona; the Chena and Tanana rivers near Fairbanks; the Stikine River near the Inside Passage town of Wrangell; and many, many more.

A number of travelers to Alaska have set their sights on one thing: viewing a colossal, glittering glacier. Five percent of the state is covered with glaciers, and before you consider that number small, note that five percent of America’s largest state equals around 29,000 square miles and an estimated 100,000 glaciers! The largest of these is the 850-square-mile Malaspina Glacier, North America’s largest piedmont glacier. It’s located at the northern end of the Inside Passage region, inside Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Visitor bureaus in communities throughout Alaska can provide travelers with a list of the most spectacular glaciers to see on a trip to any region in the state, many of which are accessible right off major roadways. Tours that offer guests access to these icy dazzlers include activities like glacier trekking or flightseeing and are widely available in communities throughout the state.

Boxerlovinglady's MOUNTAINS Etsy Treasury June 10, 2011

http://www.etsy.com/treasury/NzA0NjQyMHwzMTc3MDI3ODA/m-o-u-n-t-a-i-n-s

Map and Photo du Jour: Alaska

http://www.travelalaska.com/Destinations/Regions.aspx?utm_source=MAN_MAY&utm_medium=email

I'd probably start here:

http://www.travelalaska.com/Destinations/Regions/Interior.aspx

Photos du Jour: Canyon de Chelley

Boxerlovinglady's Etsy Treasury: STAIRS: ETSY FINE ART

http://www.etsy.com/treasury/4d9b81380cbe8eefcf1bbf94/stairsetsy-fine-art

Spring: Verlyn Klinkenborg's Latest......

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/04/opinion/04mon4.html?_r=1&ref=opinion


April 3, 2011

Gains and Losses

By VERLYN KLINKENBORG

After a long, scentless winter, apart from the tang of woodsmoke in the air, you could suddenly smell the earth again early one morning last week. It seems odd to call the scent fresh — it was darker and mustier than that — but fresh is how it felt, hovering like a ground fog above the last banks of snow. A whole field of clover could grow in that smell alone.

When the snow slid back at last, the grass looked as if it were waking from a long, sodden nap, and all but the stoutest plants, even the yuccas, had been bulldozed. Vole trails are still visible on what looks like a lawn of crushed velvet, and the ground isn’t quite soft underfoot yet, except where the gophers have been digging, and there it is spongy and accepting. The only ice left is under the scattered hay where the horses fed in the middle pasture. Every time I walk across it I think of 19th-century icehouses packed with the winter’s pond ice and insulated with sawdust and straw.

This was a winter with casualties. The snow undid the bottom row of insulators on the electric fence, one by one. I’ve lost track of the mice that wandered into my traps. Two losses above all leave me disheartened. One is the beehive. There was nothing stirring there on a 60-degree day a couple of weeks ago, no bees on the aconites or snowdrops. There will be a mournful spring harvest of honey as I clean out the hive and prepare it for a new colony next spring

What worries me most is the barn cat, whom I haven’t seen since the harshest days of early February. He had been coming up to the house to eat on the deck, but I usually saw him up in the hayloft, watching warily as I tossed down bales, or basking in a wedge of sunlight in the run-in shed. In the heaviest snow, he waited on a low dogwood branch until he saw me coming, and then hid until I set out his food. I believe he’s gone. But there’s just a chance that one warm day I’ll see him sitting — black and tailless — on a fence rail, looking at me as if to ask where I’ve been.

Walk through the redwoods......

Colorado Web Cams

http://www.dickgilbert.com/coloradocams.htm

The Rural Life: Verlyn's Latest on Autumn....

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/18/opinion/18sat4.html?ref=opinion


September 17, 2010

Dark Comes

By VERLYN KLINKENBORG

I don’t go looking for the places of deep comfort on this farm. They call out to me. Why does the mounded hay in the horses’ run-in shed look so inviting? Why does the chicken house — warm and tight and brightly lit — feel like a place where I could just settle in? I climb the ladder to the hayloft and the barn cat watches me warily from his redoubt in the hay bales. I feel like getting my sleeping bag and joining him.

Night comes, but the fog comes first, dragging the last light with it across the hilltops. The leaves have started to fall — just ones and twos, but already scorched into autumn colors. It is still too warm for the woodstove, the kind of evening that feels like summer in mourning, though without any real sadness. On a night like this, “grieving” sounds like the noise the wind would make if it got into the attic.

Real autumn is a long way off yet, no matter what the pumpkins say. The sight of them at the farm stands seems to jerk me forward, and I am not ready. I want to consume the particulars of the day ahead of me, one by one.

I was away from the farm for two days this week, and it sprang ahead without me. The bees, uproarious around the hive-mouth when I left, are nowhere to be seen in the dusk, though I know they’ll be out again in the morning.

That hive is another place of comfort. I don’t know whether their labor feels like labor or whether necessity is joy to them. I never see the bees coming and going without wondering what so much kinship means. I loved the education Merlin gave the young King Arthur in T. H. White’s “The Once and Future King,” turning him into creature after creature. I teach myself the same way every day I’m at the farm.

Verlyn's Latest is a GEM......

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/18/opinion/18tue4.html



One Final Evening

By VERLYN KLINKENBORG

Nearby, I can hear the sound of the 10, a waterfall of asphalt and rubber. A helicopter putters past overhead, and there is the sudden, tubular flare of a motorcycle — a big one — climbing the on-ramp just a few blocks away. Mockingbirds swoop from fence to wire down the long line of backyards in this part of town, and the small, gray bird nesting in an angle of my porch-roof has bedded down with her eggs for the night. The twilight sky has reached the moment when, if I could, I would break a shard from it to light my way in the darkness.

Meanwhile, up in the village, every restaurant is full, every corner crowded. Claremont, Calif., is a college town, of course, and the parents have arrived for graduation. They have put their simulacra through college, and now they are all dining out in a haze of anticipatory nostalgia. I know the feeling. I graduated from this place — Pomona College — a long time ago, and I remember the eerie sensation of seeing so many adults who looked so surprisingly like their younger selves. I remember the nostalgia, too.

I have never had children, so, for me, there is something a little extra in coming to semester’s end with the students I’ve taught. Week by week, I watch their thoughts get clearer and clearer until, suddenly, my students are able to say things we can no longer quite account for. One by one, they come into focus, to me and to each other, in their writing. Just why this should be such a beautiful thing I have never figured out, unless perhaps it’s this. Even at their age, they carry such a weight of life. They are such experts in the particulars of their circumstances. They have the strange and impermanent gift of not knowing how much they know.

One by one, I’ve talked to my students about what comes next. There are plans, places. Beijing, France, Woods Hole, London. Schools of every kind, and every kind of service, as well. One by one, my students express their longing and their sense of loss as they get ready to leave this place. I tell them to keep in touch, to write and to send me what they’re writing. I am the constant one. I am now a voice in their heads, a voice that will sound surprisingly familiar to them the next time we talk. Yet only a few of them will keep up the uneven acquaintance of professor and student, which is just as it should be.

What I get in return is the knowledge of who they are at this very moment. I get to see, through the writing they’ve done for me, how life appears to them just now. And looking at my students, I can only wonder who I was all those years ago, on this same night, this one final evening. But I am long forgotten, even to myself. Tomorrow I leave this place like everyone else, and what I will think of is that nest in the porch-roof and how the last light shone through the leaves of the orange tree before I sat down to write.