As we approached Blair Pass, though, evidence of the fire
was all around us. But perhaps even more
evident was the regrowth. Scrub oak
sprung from its charred selves, like hundreds of phoenixes. Smiling wildflowers of many colors were
bending with the breeze. Bear grass
shoots reached tall. Yucca splayed out
around blackened stumps just inches high. Industrious ants scurried, preparing for what
will surely be a longer winter than usual for them. And improbably, from what was surely a dead
agave, a stunted flower stalk rose in testament to Mother Nature’s
resiliency.
At the pass, though, the fire had burned incredibly
hot. The manzanita thicket that adorns
the wallpaper of this page has been replaced by burnt, black sticks less than a
foot tall, jutting up from the damaged soil.
It was a moonscape. The trail
junction signs erected by the Forest Service had become charcoal, brittle,
black, barely legible, propped against the remains of their posts. The shadows of what remained standing on the
blackened granite cast an eerie pall.
Madeleine and I rested there while Dan and Arden went in search of a
small geocache he’d placed nearby in 2010.
They found it - the roll of paper within now a fragile, black cylinder
of carbon. I know the area will recover,
but it will not return to the way it was during my lifetime. This upsets me, in spite of my awareness that
my emotions mean little to the wilderness.
The trail beyond the pass deteriorated significantly. Due to the intensity of the fire and the
prolonged monsoon, erosion and run-off have effectively destroyed the
trail. It was difficult picking our way
through the rocky, narrowed channels, the charred underbrush whipping and
scratching our legs. At times we had to
rely upon Dan’s excellent route-finding skills.
Eventually, after we’d wound our way down from the pass, we entered an
area that hadn’t burned. At one point, the
trail was littered with pieces of white quartz.
Here we searched for and found the spur that led to the tree.
The tree stood as it always had: massive and majestic. The area to the west of it had burned,
though, close enough to have singed parts of the tree’s canopy. A small memorial made of white quartz at the
base of the tree commemorated the Granite Mountain Hot Shots who’d created a
fire break credited with saving the tree just over three months ago. There’s a fantastic photo of most of the hot
shots, in pyramid formation with sooty, smiling faces, dwarfed in front of the
tree.
I thought of them as we climbed in the tree, but they didn’t
dominate my thoughts. Instead, as I watched my daughters climb and rest,
cradled in its colossal arms, I thought of the comfort of permanence. The tree was still there, as it had always
been. It would surely outlive me, just
as it had outlived this fire and countless other hardships in the millennium
since it had sprouted. This tree, nearly
geologic compared to all other life in the Granite Mountain Wilderness, was unchanged
by the personal trials of our lives, unscarred by our small community’s
national tragedy. The tree was the same: a symbol of stability and timelessness, its
sacredness mere strength in the mundane monotony of life. We scurry about our busy lives like ants, except
when we make the time to pause, and breathe, and wonder. Click here for photos from our hike.
(If you go: from Iron Springs Road, turn at Granite Basin
Road. Park at Playa ($5 or use your
federal lands pass). Take Trail 261 to
Blair Pass, then continue due west from the junction. Be prepared for hazardous conditions beyond
Blair Pass; experienced route-finding skills are necessary as the trail is
dismal at best. Two miles to Blair Pass,
plus approximately 1.75 to the tree, approximately 7.5 miles round-trip. Have a map, GPS (and know how to use it),
plenty of food and water, first aid kit, and a flashlight. Be sure someone knows where you are going. This trail is not recommended for
inexperienced hikers. Know your limits. Do not add to or disturb the memorial at the
tree. Please leave no trace.)
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