A 1985 methane explosion in L.A.’s Fairfax district turned a Ross Dress for Less into a disaster scene. Photo by Dean Musgrove, courtesy of the Herald-Examiner Collection – Los Angeles Public Library.
In the heart of Los Angeles, on a seemingly ordinary spring day in 1985, a sudden explosion tore through the Ross Dress for Less store at the corner of 3rd Street and Fairfax Avenue. This wasn’t an industrial accident nor was it an act of malice—it was a force of nature that had been lurking unseen beneath the city’s streets: methane gas.
The Fairfax District, a bustling area known for its shopping and historic Farmers Market, is also part of the larger Salt Lake Oil Field, a subterranean landscape rich in hydrocarbons. Over millions of years, decaying organic matter trapped in the earth’s crust had transformed into vast reservoirs of oil and methane gas. It was this methane that had stealthily migrated close to the surface, building up in closed spaces, waiting for an ignition source to set off a dramatic release.
On that day, as shoppers browsed through discounted apparel, an explosive mixture of methane, oxygen, and sewer gases found its spark. The blast shattered the storefront windows and caused a partial cave-in of the roof, turning the shop’s interior into a mangled wreck of metal debris. Twenty-three individuals were left with injuries severe enough to necessitate hospital care. In the aftermath, police cordoned off a four-block radius encompassing the bizarre spectacle of gas fires that jetted into the night sky, a haunting tableau that persisted until dawn.
The aftermath of the explosion was a scene of chaos and confusion. Emergency services sprang into action, addressing the immediate humanitarian concerns. But once the dust settled, a more profound issue loomed: the implications for the city’s ambitious underground Metro Rail project.
At the time, Los Angeles was in the throes of planning and constructing the Metro Red Line, a subway system that promised to link various parts of the sprawling city. Wilshire Boulevard, one of the busiest thoroughfares in Los Angeles, was to be a central artery in this new subterranean network. However, the explosion at Ross Dress for Less exposed the heretofore underestimated risk of tunneling through methane-rich zones.
The city of Los Angeles created a methane zone map showing shaded regions of the methane zone and methane buffer zones.
Fears quickly escalated about the potential for similar explosions occurring elsewhere, particularly along the planned subway routes. The public, already wary of the high costs and disruptions associated with the Metro line, grew increasingly concerned about the dangers of tunneling through methane pockets.
In the wake of the explosion, city officials and Metro Rail engineers faced a daunting challenge. They needed to ensure public safety without derailing the critical infrastructure project. This task required a multifaceted approach. First, there was a thorough scientific investigation. Experts from various fields, including geologists, engineers, and safety specialists, were brought in to assess the risks of methane gas in the Fairfax District and along the proposed Metro route.
In a comprehensive regulatory response, the city imposed stringent building codes and established the Methane Zone Ordinance, which required new constructions in certain areas to implement gas detection and venting systems.
But the blast also resulted in a measure of technological innovation. The Metro Rail project incorporated state-of-the-art methane detection systems and emergency ventilation procedures in its design, setting a new standard for subway safety. The process was aided to some extent by significant community engagement. Public meetings and forums were held to address community concerns, offer reassurances, and provide education on the measures being taken to prevent future incidents.
Despite these efforts, the fear of what lay beneath Los Angeles’ streets had a chilling effect on the Metro’s progress. The Red Line faced delays as policymakers and the public grappled with the cost and complexity of making the subway safe. It wasn’t until the early 2000s, with the introduction of advanced tunneling technologies and robust safety protocols, that the Metro expansion regained momentum.
The 1985 methane explosion, while a localized event, reverberated through time to shape the development of Los Angeles in profound ways. It brought to the forefront the invisible risks of urban growth, challenged engineers and city planners to innovate, and ultimately reaffirmed the resilience of a city determined to rise above its subterranean challenges.
1983 rendering for the planned subway station at Wilshire and Fairfax – a casualty of the Ross explosion. \Courtesy of the Metro Transportation Library and Archive.
The dangers of methane beneath Los Angeles are far from gone. The Porter Ranch leak, also known as the Aliso Canyon gas leak, was a massive methane leak in the Santa Susana Mountains near the neighborhood of Porter Ranch in the northwest section of the San Fernando Valley.. Discovered on October 23, 2015, gas was discovered escaping from a well within the Aliso Canyon underground storage facility. On January 6, 2016, GovernorJerry Brown issued a state of emergency, and numerous media reports suggested that the methane could be dangerous to residents. On February 11, the gas company reported that it had the leak under control, and finally on February 18, state officials announced that the leak was permanently plugged. Still, an estimated 97,100 tonnes (95,600 long tons; 107,000 short tons) of methane and 7,300 tonnes (7,200 long tons; 8,000 short tons) of ethane were released into the atmosphere.
Today, as the Los Angeles Metro continues to expand, the lessons learned from that explosive day in 1985 continue to resonate, ensuring that safety remains at the core of the city’s march toward the future.
Few marine processes have been as impactful on the abundance of sea life off the coast of California as upwelling. It may not be a term you’ve heard before, but the natural oceanic process of upwelling is one of the most important engines driving climate, biological diversity, and the ocean’s food web. It’s time to pay attention.
In simple terms, upwelling happens when deep, cold, nutrient-laden water moves toward the ocean surface, replacing the warm surface water. Along the California coast, it’s fueled by the California Current, which flows southward, and by prevailing northerly winds. The wind pushes surface water offshore, allowing the deeper water to well up and take its place. This isn’t just an abstract idea; it’s been studied extensively.
In California, upwelling occurs year-round off the northern and central coast. It’s strongest in the spring and summer when northwesterly winds are at their most powerful. Upwelling is reduced in the fall and winter when winds are more variable.
Killer whales benefit from upwelling because the nutrient-rich waters fuel a surge in phytoplankton, which triggers an increase in the populations of smaller prey fish and marine mammals that orcas rely on for sustenance. (Photo: NOAA)
Researchers from institutions like the Scripps Institution of Oceanography and Stanford University have used a variety of methods, including satellite observations and computer modeling, to study upwelling. One of the groundbreaking studies was the CalCOFI program (California Cooperative Oceanic Fisheries Investigations), which began in the late 1940s. It was a joint venture between Scripps and state and federal agencies to investigate the collapse of the sardine fishery. Over decades, it has expanded its scope and now provides invaluable long-term datasets that help scientists understand the dynamics of upwelling and its effects on marine populations.
The key to understanding the phenomenon of upwelling off the California coast begins with the importance of cold water. In colder regions, nutrients from the deeper layers of the ocean are more readily brought to the surface through various oceanic processes like upwelling, tidal action, and seasonal mixing.
Think of a well-fertilized garden versus a nutrient-poor one. In the former, you’d expect a lush array of plants that not only thrive, but also support a diversity of insect and animal life. Similarly, the nutrient-rich cold waters support “blooms” of phytoplankton, a critical component of the oceanic food web. Phytoplankton are microscopic, photosynthetic organisms that form the foundation of aquatic food webs, producing oxygen and serving as a primary food source for marine life. When these primary producers flourish, it sets off a chain reaction throughout the ecosystem. Zooplankton (tiny ocean-borne animals like krill) feast on phytoplankton, small fish feast on zooplankton, and larger predators, including larger fish, marine mammals, and seabirds, find an abundant food supply in these teeming waters.
Moreover, cold water has a higher capacity to hold dissolved gases like oxygen compared to warm water (one of the reasons that warming seas could be a problem in the future). Oxygen is a key factor for respiration in marine animals. In cold, oxygen-rich environments, organisms can efficiently carry out metabolic processes, which often results in higher rates of feeding, growth, and reproduction, thereby further boosting biological productivity.
A recent study has also shed light on how California’s rich marine ecosystem responds to climate patterns, particularly the El Niño and La Niña phases of the El Niño/Southern Oscillation (ENSO). Scientists found that during El Niño events, warmer waters and weaker upwelling lead to reduced nutrient levels in the California Current, which supports less phytoplankton and affects the entire food web, including fish populations. In contrast, La Niña conditions boost upwelling, bringing nutrient-rich waters to the surface and enhancing marine productivity. This research highlights the far-reaching impacts of climate cycles on ocean life and could help in forecasting changes that affect fisheries and marine biodiversity in California.
Sardines off the coast of California (Photo: NOAA)
Studies have also shown the direct correlation between the intensity of upwelling and the success of fish populations. A study published in the journal “Science Advances” in 2019 explored how variations in upwelling affect the foraging behavior and success of California sea lions. Researchers found that in years with strong upwelling, sea lions didn’t have to travel as far to find food, which, in turn, positively impacted their population’s health.
Upwelling is a critical oceanic process that helps maintain the stable and immensely productive California marine ecosystem, but there are serious concerns that the dynamics behind upwelling could be changing due to climate change.
Of course, upwelling isn’t just a California thing; it’s a global phenomenon that occurs in various parts of the world, from the coasts of Peru to the Canary Islands. But California is like the poster child, thanks to extensive research and its vital role in a multi-billion dollar fishing industry that includes coveted species like albacore tuna, swordfish, Dungeness crab, squid, and sardines.
Inspiration Point Channel Islands (Photo: NPS)
The Channel Islands provide an excellent example of a place off the California coast where the impacts of upwelling and ocean currents are particularly significant. Channel Islands National Park is uniquely located in a “transition zone” of less than 100 km where many ocean currents converge. This results in strikingly different ocean conditions at individual islands and affects where different species are found and how abundant they are.
Long-term studies of upwelling and the California Current system have shed further light on the importance of these complex and ever changing phenomenon. For example, the annual California Current Ecosystem Status Reportcaptures the big picture of the biology, climate, physical, and social conditions of the marine ecosystem. In 2021, the California Current continued a recent cooling trend, with researchers recording the coldest conditions on the continental shelf in nearly a decade. These cooler coastal waters resulted from strong wind-driven upwelling—nutrient-rich, deep ocean water coming to the surface.
Sea surface temperature anomalies across the northeastern Pacific in August, 2019. A marine heat wave spread across the northeastern Pacific Ocean from 2014 to 2016 and the expanse of warm surface water returned to the region in 2019. (NASA Earth Observatory)
But things have grown more precarious in the north and out to sea. For the last ten years, the northeast Pacific Ocean has been a hotspot for marine heatwaves. Just this past year, scientists monitored the seventh most intense marine heatwave in this region since records began in 1982. However, there was a twist in the tale: unlike in previous years, the elevated water temperatures remained further offshore, a phenomenon partly attributable to stronger-than-average coastal upwelling. As a result, the strip of waters closer to the coast was able to maintain its cooler temperatures, thereby preserving a productive environment for marine life.
Upwelling is a critical oceanic process that helps maintain the stable and immensely productive California marine ecosystem, but there are serious concerns that the dynamics behind upwelling could be changing due to climate change. Warming ocean temperatures and changes in wind patterns could potentially disrupt the timing and intensity of upwelling, putting the bounty of California’s coast at risk.
Understanding these shifts is imperative for devising strategies to mitigate adverse effects on marine life and commercial fisheries. Therefore, sustained research efforts must continue to dissect this complex (and incredibly important) oceanic process and its increasingly uncertain future.
The California landscape is dotted with numerous plant species, many of them native, but few have a story as rich and multi-faceted as the eucalyptus tree. Native to Australia, this tree has made California its home over the past century and a half, creating a blend of wonder, economic expectation, and ecological concerns.
The journey of the eucalyptus tree to California dates back to the mid-19th century. Attracted by tales of gold and prosperity, many Australians made their way to the Golden State. Along with them came seeds of the eucalyptus tree, which they believed had great potential value. By the 1870s and 1880s, California was amidst a timber crisis. Native woodlands were diminishing, and the state was in dire need of a rapidly growing timber source. The eucalyptus tree, known for its rapid growth and towering heights, appeared to be a promising solution. Its proponents, believing it would not only serve as an excellent timber source but also act as a windbreak and ornamental plant, began widespread plantations.
While the eucalyptus grew impressively fast, hopes for it being a top-tier lumber source were quickly dashed. Most species planted in California had wood that was prone to warping and splitting upon drying. The enthusiasm surrounding the eucalyptus as a miracle timber tree gradually waned. What was initially perceived as a solution turned out to be more of a decorative element in the landscape rather than an economic boon.
Despite its failure in the lumber industry, the eucalyptus managed to root itself firmly in the Californian soil. Over time, this rapid settler began to pose significant environmental concerns. Eucalyptus trees are thirsty plants. Their deep roots often outcompete native species for water, hindering the growth and survival of native Californian plants and altering the balance of local ecosystems. Furthermore, eucalyptus groves have become a concern for wildfires. Their oil-rich leaves and peeling bark make them exceptionally flammable, amplifying dangers during California’s fire-prone seasons.
While over 700 eucalyptus species exist, only a handful made it to California. The most commonly planted and now dominant species is the blue gum eucalyptus (Eucalyptus globulus). Towering over most trees, the blue gum can reach staggering heights, quickly establishing its dominance in the landscape. Other species like the red gum (Eucalyptus camaldulensis) and the sugar gum (Eucalyptus cladocalyx) have also found their way into California, albeit in smaller numbers. The sugar gum is particularly present around the campus of Stanford University.
Sugar gum pods Stanford
By the late 1900s, concerns over the eucalyptus’ impact on native habitats led to movements advocating for their removal. Environmentalists and local residents began to see the tree as an invasive species that hindered the natural balance. Efforts to cut down and manage the eucalyptus population intensified, often clashing with those who had come to admire the tree’s majestic presence and the unique ambiance it provided.
Considered among the thousand-plus established alien vascular plants in California—two-thirds of which originated in Eurasia—Eucalyptus seems relatively benign. Of the 374 species in the genus that have been introduced since the 1850s, only 18 have naturalized, and only one of those, E. globulus, has become a nuisance, and then only at the urban-wildland interface along the fog belt of the central coast and Bay Area, and there only after humans gave it an enormous head start with plantations.
Even in these locations, self-sustaining feral forests have not grown dramatically beyond the boundaries of the original plantings. In the Golden State the blue gum has never been especially invasive; rather, it used to be hugely desirable. Other vegetation imported to California for ornamental purposes has spread far more widely or densely—for example, English ivy, periwinkle, ice plant, and pampas grass. Unlike Saltcedar (Tamarix ramosissima), Tasmanian blue gum is not a true problem plant. It cannot be considered a paradigmatic invader, or even a noteworthy one. The authoritative Encyclopedia of Biological Invasions makes note of the “enigmatic” low invasiveness of eucalypts worldwide—“orders of magnitude less successful as invaders than pines.”
From the perspective of both ecology and fire safety, the blue gum eucalyptus is particularly concerning in California when plantations of a single species have transformed into dense, closed-canopy forests. This issue, though, is confined to a limited number of areas within the fog belt. Even within these regions, the eucalyptus thickets are far from being barren, hostile environments.
Eucalyptus grove in California
That said, a relatively recent event did not cast the tree in good light.
The East Bay firestorm of 1991 was a catastrophic event that claimed 25 lives and rendered thousands homeless. Extensive areas of eucalyptus were consumed by the flames. For 26 years, the East Bay Firestorm firestorm was considered the worst fire in California’s history. It was also America’s most costly fire in the wildland-urban interface (WUI).
“People at the time, I don’t think, associated that with a planted plantation; it was just a eucalyptus forest,” CalPoly botanist Jenn Yost told KQED. “And then when the fire came through — I mean that fire came through so fast and so hot and so many people lost their homes that it was a natural reaction to hate blue gums at that point.”
However, it is again important to point out that the density of trees in the area was unusual and not representative of many other areas where eucalyptus have taken root.
Those opposed to the trees argue that their tendency to shed large quantities of bark exacerbates the fire hazard, and hence, they should be removed. On the other hand, proponents highlight that many of California’s native plants are also prone to burning. The 2018 Camp Fire scorched an area 153,336 acres in size, and destroyed more than 18,000 structures, most of the destruction happened within the first four hours of the fire and most of the destruction was the result of pine forests that have long been improperly managed. Both factions claim that science supports their viewpoint, but as of now, no definitive study has been able to settle the argument conclusively.
Camp Fire of 2018
This ongoing debate has stirred deep emotions. A few years ago, an incident in the East Bay hills saw federal funding for cutting down trees withdrawn after protesters, in a dramatic display of support for the eucalyptus, got naked and literally embraced the trees on the Cal campus. While some have argued that California needs to return its natural environment to a more “pristine” state, meaning just California natives, others say that the eucalyptus poses no greater danger than many species of conifer, and that the effort to expunge eucalyptus from the landscape, given its contribution to the culture and beautification of the state is tantamount to discrimination against immigrant trees solely due to their origin, an idea which some have extended to the human population.
“We’re not natives either,” the San Diego County chief entomologist said in defense of the county’s signature tree genus.
One ecological study that compared a gathering of oaks to a blue gum grove in the neighboring areas, concluded that the blue gem eucalyptus has no major impact on animal life. In fact, the tree’s leaf litter is bustling with life, containing a complex array of microhabitats. In fact, while oaks tend to be home to more rodents, eucalyptus contains a greater number of below-ground invertebrates.
Fruit of Eucalyptus globulus
The complex relationship between Californians and the eucalyptus reflects deeper questions about nature, risk, and our connection to the landscape, and it’s a debate that shows no signs of resolution.
Among the thousand-plus non-native vascular plants that have made their home in California—two-thirds of which hail from Eurasia—the Eucalyptus is relatively mild-mannered. Since the 1850s, 374 species of Eucalyptus have been introduced to the state. Yet, of these, only 18 have successfully naturalized, and merely one, the E. globulus, has ever become problematic. This issue is isolated mainly to the WUI boundary along the fog belt of the central coast and Bay Area, and even there, only after humans heavily promoted its growth through plantation efforts.
Even within these specific regions, the self-sustaining “feral” forests haven’t expanded significantly beyond the original planting sites. In California, the blue gum eucalyptus has never been notorious for being particularly invasive; rather, it was once highly sought-after. Other non-native plants brought to California for decorative purposes, such as periwinkle, English ivy, ice plant, pampas grass, and tamarisk, have spread much more extensively or densely.
Pampas Grass
Unlike plants like Scotch and French broom, the Tasmanian blue gum eucalyptus doesn’t qualify as a genuine problem plant. It’s not viewed as a typical invader, nor is it even considered particularly noteworthy in that regard. A state survey that consulted floricultural experts produced a broad spectrum of opinions concerning the potential threat posed by eucalyptus to California’s wildlands. This contrasts sharply with the unified negative evaluation of salt cedar, which has bedeviled land managers from Southern California to Mexico.
The final verdict on the fate of eucalyptus in Southern California has yet to be rendered. Many still think the trees have become an iconic symbol of the state, with so many trees proudly and elegantly lining pocketed and immensely Instagrammable stretches of California highway. Perhaps the key to the trees survivability and reputation is simply one of proper management. Where the trees have become too dense in fire-prone areas, maybe some measure of thinning is prudent. But to eliminate them entirely would be a great loss to the aesthetic visual appeal of California, an appeal that many Californians, even conservation-minded artists like Ansel Adams and Erin Hanson often summoned in their work.
The eucalyptus tree’s journey in California is a tale of expectations, surprises, and evolving perspectives. Whether viewed as an ornamental marvel or an ecological concern, the eucalyptus remains an integral part of California’s diverse tapestry.
Amid the barren, high-altitude desert of California’s White Mountains, the Bristlecone Pines stand as enduring sentinels, their gnarled forms chronicling millennia of survival in one of the planet’s most unforgiving landscapes. For thousands of years, these ancient organisms have endured drought, freezing temperatures, and brutal winds. Each twisted trunk and weathered branch tells a story of resilience. Yet in a bitter twist, one of the oldest among them, a tree known as Prometheus that once grew in the nearby Great Basin National Park, met its end not from the slow violence of nature but from a single human decision. And it wasn’t the result of malice or careless destruction, like the foolish vandals who felled the U2 Joshua Tree. It was a mistake, made in the name of science.
The Prometheus stump. All that is left of one of the oldest organisms on Earth.
Prometheus, named after the Titan who defied the gods in Greek mythology, was an extraordinary specimen of the Pinus longaeva species, or the Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. It is believed to have germinated around the time of the Bronze Age, making it likely older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. By the 1960s, when its existence was noted by researchers, it was already around 4900 years old. Unfortunately, that’s when tragedy struck.
In 1964, a young geographer named Donald Rusk Currey was studying climate dynamics of the Little Ice Age. He was especially drawn to Bristlecone pines because their rings hold valuable records of past climate conditions, a core focus of dendrochronology, the study of tree rings, which continues to be an important scientific tool today. Some details of the story vary, but Currey had supposedly been coring several trees in the area to measure their age, but he encountered difficulties with Prometheus. He was unaware that the tree was not only ancient, but likely the oldest non-clonal organism on the planet. The coring tool broke, and unable to get the data he needed, Currey believed that cutting down the tree was the only way to continue his research. The Forest Service, unaware of the tree’s significance, approved the request.
And so he cut it down.
Bristlecone forest in the White Mountains of California (Erik Olsen)
Once Prometheus was cut down, its extraordinary age became clear. By counting its growth rings, Currey estimated that Prometheus was at least 4,844 years old, making it the oldest known tree in the world at the time. A few years later, this age was increased to 4,862 by Donald Graybill of the University of Arizona‘s Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research.
The scientific community and general public were outraged at the unnecessary loss, sparking conversations about the protection of these ancient trees. In the words of one writer-activist, Currey had “casually killed (yes, murdered!)” the world’s oldest tree. As if a curse had been unleashed, a year after Prometheus was cut down, a young Forest Service employee died of a heart attack while trying to remove a slab from the tree. Currey was obviously beside himself. Whoops.
Whether Prometheus should be considered the oldest organism ever known depends on how we define “oldest” and “organism.” Some clonal species may claim even more ancient origins when we consider the entire genetic individual rather than a single stem or trunk. The creosote bush ring known as King Clone, located in the Mojave Desert in California, is estimated to be nearly 12,000 years old. Similarly, the massive aspen colony known as Pando in Utah spans over 100 acres and may be more than 14,000 years old. Unlike Prometheus, which was a single, ancient tree, these clonal colonies persist by continuously regenerating themselves, allowing the larger organism to survive for tens of thousands of years.
Creosote growing in the Mojave Desert (Photo: Erik Olsen)
Prometheus’s death brought global attention to the incredible age and ecological value of Bristlecone Pines, sparking a deeper appreciation for their role in Earth’s history. In the years since, increased protections have been put in place to preserve these ancient trees. Today, they are part of the Inyo National Forest’s Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, a protected area in the White Mountains that draws scientists and visitors from around the world.
California is home to the oldest, tallest, and largest trees on the planet, not just the ancient Bristlecone Pines, but also the sky-scraping coast redwoods and the enormous giant sequoias. It’s also the most biodiverse state in the U.S., making it one of the most ecologically exceptional places on Earth.
Even as we mourn Prometheus, it’s important to remember that it is not the end of the story for the Bristlecone Pines. There are still many of these ancient trees alive today. One of them, named Methuselah, is known to be 4,851 years old and is often considered the oldest living tree in the world. While it is known to live somewhere in the White Mountains of California, its exact location is kept a secret to protect it. The tree’s name refers to the biblical patriarch Methuselah, who ostensibly lived to 969 years of age.
There’s also the potential for even older specimens. Given the harsh, remote habitats these trees often occupy, it is likely that there are older Bristlecones yet to be discovered.
California’s White Mountains (Photo: Erik Olsen)
The cutting of Prometheus was a mistake, an irreversible loss. But its story became a turning point, highlighting the need to treat ancient and rare life with more care. While Prometheus is gone, many other long-lived and fragile organisms still exist. Its fate is a reminder that our curiosity should always be balanced by a responsibility to protect what can’t be replaced.
Today, a cross-section of Prometheus is on display at the Great Basin National Park visitor center in Nevada, as well as the U.S. Forest Service’s Institute of Forest Genetics in Placerville, California. The tree’s thousands of growth rings are a reminder of its incredible longevity and a sobering memory of the tree that had survived for millennia. The region’s diverse landscapes are home to an incredible abundance of life, from ancient trees to unique coastal ecosystems. Protecting and understanding these natural treasures ensures they remain for future generations to study, appreciate, and enjoy.
The Mojave Desert, a harsh yet strikingly beautiful landscape that extends across four western U.S. states, is home to an equally fascinating and resilient creature: the desert tortoise (Gopherus agassizii). This fascinating reptile has evolved to survive in one of the world’s most inhospitable environments, but today, it faces numerous threats that are jeopardizing its existence.
The desert tortoise is a tortoise species in the family Testudinidae native to the Mojave and Sonoran deserts. They are specially adapted to withstand the extreme conditions of their desert habitat. Desert tortoises can tolerate water, salt, and energy imbalances on a daily basis, which increases their lifespans. On average, adult desert tortoises measure between 10 to 14 inches in shell length and weigh from 8 to 15 pounds. They have a high-domed shell, typically brownish in color, which serves as protection from predators. Their strong, stocky limbs are adapted for digging, an essential behavior for both foraging and creating burrows for shelter.
One of the desert tortoise’s most fascinating adaptations is its ability to store water. They have a large urinary bladder that can store over 40% of the tortoise’s body weight in water, urea, uric acid, and nitrogenous wastes. During the hot, dry summer months, this stored water can be reabsorbed back into the tortoise’s system, effectively allowing them to survive up to a year without access to fresh water.
a close-up of a desert tortoise
Desert tortoises are a testament to survival, with their lineage dating back 15 to 20 million years. They are primarily herbivorous, with a diet consisting of a variety of desert grasses, herbs, and wildflowers, along with the occasional consumption of insects and new growth of cacti.
Tortoises spend much of their lives in burrows, which provide refuge from extreme heat, cold, and predators. They are most active during the cooler hours of the day, and their activity pattern shifts with the changing seasons. Mating typically occurs in the spring and fall, with females laying a clutch of up to 15 eggs, though the survival rate of these hatchlings is low due to predation and harsh environmental conditions.
In 2011, on the basis of DNA, geographic, and behavioral differences between desert tortoises east and west of the Colorado River, it was decided that two species of desert tortoises exist: Agassiz’s desert tortoise (Gopherus agassizii) and Morafka’s desert tortoise (Gopherus morafkai). The new species name is in honor of the late Professor David Joseph Morafka of California State University, Dominguez Hills.
Desert tortoises spend 95% of their lives in their burrow. Seeing them on the landscape is a rare treat.
Estimates suggest that the population of desert tortoises has plummeted by as much as 90% since the mid-20th century. This decline is due to a variety of factors, including habitat loss from urban development and agriculture, road mortality, predation by dogs and other introduced species, and disease. In particular, upper respiratory tract disease (URTD), caused by the bacterium Mycoplasma agassizii, has been responsible for significant mortality.
Recognizing the threats faced by the desert tortoise, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service listed the species as threatened under the Endangered Species Act in 1990. This has led to numerous conservation efforts aimed at preserving the desert tortoise and its habitat.
Habitat conservation is a key focus, with several Desert Wildlife Management Areas established to protect crucial tortoise habitats. Efforts are also being made to reduce the impact of roads and highways on tortoise populations, such as the construction of underpasses and fencing along known tortoise crossing areas.
Education and public engagement are also critical components of conservation efforts. Initiatives are underway to educate the public about the desert tortoise and the importance of not removing them from their natural environment, a practice that can lead to population decline and the spread of disease.
Over the past few decades, desert tortoise populations have declined significantly, with estimates suggesting a staggering 90% reduction in some areas of the Mojave Desert. This decline has led to the desert tortoise being listed as “threatened” under the U.S. Endangered Species Act.
Desert tortoise facts Lifespan: 30-50 years, but some can live to be over 80 years old Weight: 8-15 pounds (3.5-7 kilograms) Length: 9-15 inches (23-38 centimeters) Range: Only found in the Mojave Desert in California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah Conservation status: Listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act
Nature Conservancy
Numerous factors contribute to this decline, including habitat loss due to urbanization, off-road vehicle use, and livestock grazing. Additionally, the introduction of non-native predators, such as the common raven, has led to increased predation on juvenile tortoises.
Conservation organizations, government agencies, and local communities have come together to implement various strategies aimed at protecting and preserving the desert tortoise. These efforts include habitat restoration, fencing off sensitive areas, and developing educational programs to raise awareness about the species.
One such initiative is the “Adopt-a-Tortoise” program, which allows individuals and organizations to symbolically adopt a tortoise, with the proceeds going towards conservation efforts. Another important initiative is the “Head Start” program, which raises hatchlings in captivity until they reach a size less vulnerable to predators before releasing them into the wild.
We also have the world’s tallest and biggest trees.
California’s giant sequoias and redwoods are nature’s skyscrapers. Redwoods exist in a few narrow pockets in Northern and Central California and into Southern Oregon. Sequoias live exclusively in small groves in central and Northern California with the largest grouping of them found in Sequoia National Park. These two tree species are wonders of the biological world. They are also some of the most magnificent things to behold on the planet.
I have personally climbed the Stagg tree for a New York Times story years ago (see photo below, that’s me). The Stagg is the fifth-largest sequoia in the world, and I will forever remember the experience…even though I chickened out a bit and didn’t make it to the top.
The author climbs the Stagg tree, the fifth-largest tree in the world. (Erik Olsen)
We are lucky to still have our big trees, what’s left of them, anyway. Just a century and a half ago, old-growth redwoods and sequoias were remarkably plentiful. People marveled at them, with some early settlers in California spinning unbelievable yarns of trees that rise from the earth “like a great tower“. They also saw them as a bounteous resource, ripe for plunder (mankind, sigh).
By 1900, nearly all of California’s tall trees had been purchased by private landowners who saw in the trees not beauty, but dollar signs. By 1950, an estimated 95% of California’s original old-growth coast redwood forests had been logged, particularly along the coast from Big Sur to the Oregon border. For giant sequoias, about one-third of the original groves had been cut down, largely in the late 19th and early 20th centuries before protections were put in place.
Between 1892–1918, the Sanger Lumber Company logged the Converse Basin Grove, one of the largest stands of sequoia in the world, using ruinous clearcutting practices. They cut down 8,000 giant sequoias, some of them over 2000 years old, in a decade-long event that has been described as “the greatest orgy of destructive lumbering in the history of the world.” Only 60-100 large specimens in the grove survived. We wrote about that awful event here.
Today, only a small fraction of the old-growth coast redwood forest remains. The largest surviving stands of ancient coast redwoods are found in Humboldt Redwoods State Park, Redwood National and State Parks and Big Basin Redwoods State Park. It’s a wonder and a blessing that there are some left. And even then, they face an uncertain future thanks to climate change.
The remarkable size and height of these incredible organisms are largely due to California’s unique geography, though genetics likely play a significant role as well. Before diving into those factors, let’s take a moment to appreciate just how extraordinary these trees truly are.
Professional tree climber Rip Thompkins at the top of the Stagg tree, a giant sequoia. (Photo: Erik Olsen)
Sequoias and redwoods are closely related. Both belong to the cypress family (Cupressaceae). The primary difference between sequoias and redwoods is their habitat. Redwoods live near the moist, foggy coast, while sequoias thrive in higher-elevation subalpine zones of the Sierra Nevada. Redwoods are the tallest trees in the world. Sequoias are the biggest, if measured by circumference and volume. Redwoods can grow over 350 feet (107 m). The tallest tree in the world that we know of is called the Hyperion, and it tickles the sky at 379.7 feet (115.7 m). But it is quite possible another tree out there is taller than Hyperion. Redwoods are growing taller all the time, and many of the tallest trees we know of are in hard-to-reach areas in Northern California. Hyperion was only discovered about a decade ago, on August 25, 2006, by naturalists Chris Atkins and Michael Taylor. The exact location of Hyperion is a secret to protect the tree from damage.
The giant sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum) is Earth’s most massive living organism. While they do not grow as tall as redwoods – the average size of old-growth sequoias is from 125-275 feet – they can be much larger, with diameters of 20–26 feet. Applying some basic Euclidean geometry (remember C = πd?), that means that the average giant sequoia has a circumference of over 85 feet.
Giant sequoia and man for scale (Photo: Erik Olsen)
Sequoias grow naturally along the western slope of the Sierra Nevada mountain range at an altitude of between 5,000 and 7,000 feet. They tend to grow further inland where the dry mountain air and elevation provide a comfortable environment for their cones to open and release seeds. They consume vast amounts of runoff from Sierra Nevada snowpack, which provides groves with thousands of gallons of water every day. But some say the majestic trees face an uncertain future. Many scientists are deeply concerned about how climate change might affect the grand trees, as drought conditions potentially deprive them of water to survive.
The General Sherman tree in Sequoia National Park. (Photo: Erik Olsen)
The world’s largest sequoia, thus the world’s largest tree, is General Sherman, in Sequoia National Park. General Sherman is 274.9 feet high and has a diameter at its base of 36 feet, giving it a circumference of 113 feet. Scientists estimate that General Sherman weighs some 642 tons, about as much as 107 elephants. The tree is thought to be 2,300 to 2,700 years old, making it one of the oldest living things on the planet. (To learn more about the oldest thing in the world, also in California, see our recent feature on Bristlecone pines.) Interesting fact: in 1978, a branch broke off General Sherman that was 150 feet long and nearly seven feet thick. Alone, it would have been one of the tallest trees east of the Mississippi.
Many sequoias exist on private land. Just last month, one of the largest remaining private stands of Sequoias in the world – the Alder Creek Grove of giant sequoias – was bought by the Save the Redwoods League conservation group for nearly $16 million. The money came from 8,500 contributions from individual donors around the world. The property includes both the Stagg Tree mentioned above and the Waterfall Tree, another gargantuan specimen. The grove is considered “the Crown Jewel” of remaining giant Sequoia forests.
Redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens), also known as coast redwoods, generally live about 500 to 700 years, although some have been documented at more than 2,000 years old. While wood from sequoias was found to be too brittle for most kinds of construction, the redwoods were a godsend for settlers and developers who desperately needed raw material to build homes and city buildings, to lay railroads, and erect bridge trestles. The construction and subsequent reconstruction of San Francisco following the 1906 earthquake heavily relied on redwood timber, prized for its strength, resilience, and natural resistance to decay, making it a foundational resource for the city’s growth and recovery after the earthquake.
The timber companies who profited from redwoods only began to cut them down in earnest a bit over a century ago. But cut them down they did, with vigor and little regard for the preservation of such an amazing organism. After World War II, California experienced an unprecedented building boom, and the demand for redwood (and Douglas fir) soared. Coastal sawmills more than tripled between 1945 and 1948. By the end of the 1950s, only about 10 percent of the original two-million-acre redwood range remained untouched.
The author standing by burned sequoias. (Photo: Erik Olsen)
OK, you got this far. I hope. So how did these trees get so big and tall? Most scientists agree it has to do with climate. Sequoias benefit from California’s often prodigious snowpack, mentioned above, which seeps into the ground, constantly providing water to the roots of the trees. In addition to the snowpack, the thick (up to 2 feet), fire-resistant bark of sequoias helps protect them from wildfires. This forest ecology helps as well, since the fires themselves clear competing vegetation, allowing more sunlight and nutrients to reach the trees. The temperate climate of California, with its relatively mild winters and summer fog, also helps sustain these giants by moderating temperatures and reducing water loss, creating an environment where sequoias can thrive for centuries.
Conversely, Redwoods get much of their water from the air, when dense fog rolls in from the coast and is held firm by the redwoods themselves and the steep terrain. Because of the unique interplay of ocean currents and climate in California, the amount of fog that is available to trees is highly unusual. The trees’ leaves actually consume water in fog, particularly in their uppermost shoots. According to scientists who study the trees using elaborate climbing mechanisms to reach the treetops, in summer, coast redwoods can get more than half of their moisture from fog. (In fact, fog plays a central role in sustaining several of California’s coastal ecosystems.) The reason is that fog is surprisingly dense with water. One study from scientists Daniel Fernandez of California State University, Monterey Bay, showed that a one-square-meter fog collector could harvest some 39 liters, or nearly 10 gallons, of water from fog in a single day.
Giant sequoia – family for scale (Erik Olsen)
Another possible explanation for the coast redwood’s remarkable size lies in its extraordinary genome. According to research from the Redwood Genome Project, the coast redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) is hexaploid, meaning it carries six copies of each chromosome in every cell, an extremely rare feature in trees. In contrast, humans and most other plants and animals are diploid, carrying only two sets of chromosomes.
The coast redwood genome is indeed massive, estimated at around 27 billion base pairs, which is approximately nine times larger than the human genome (which has about 3 billion base pairs). While not exactly ten times larger, the general comparison holds and highlights the tree’s genetic complexity.
By comparing the coast redwood’s genome with those of other conifers, researchers have found hundreds of unique gene families, many of which are associated with stress tolerance, wound repair, fungal resistance, toxin metabolism, and the biosynthesis of flavonoids, all compounds that help mitigate cellular stress.
This rich genetic toolkit may contribute to the tree’s legendary resilience, longevity, and ability to grow to extraordinary heights, though the full relationship between genome size and physical traits in redwoods is still being studied.
Yet another factor may be the trees remarkable longevity. They are survivors. The Sierra Nevadas have long experienced dramatic swings in climate, and this age may be yet another of those swings that the trees will simply endure. Or maybe not. For most of the time that redwoods and sequoias have existed, they have done a remarkable job fighting off fires, swings in climate, as well as disease and bug infestations. Because their bark and heartwood are rich in compounds called polyphenols, bugs and decay-causing fungi don’t like them. Many trees, not just redwoods and sequoias, have genes that help them resist the typical aging processes that limit the lifespan of animals. For instance, trees can compartmentalize and isolate damaged or diseased wood, preventing the problem from spreading to the rest of the tree.
Giant sequoias in California. (Photo: Erik Olsen)
As the air heats up due to global warming, there is a rising threat to the trees’ survival. Warm air pulls moisture from leaves, and the trees often close their pores, or stomata, to maintain their water supply. When the pores close, that prevents carbon dioxide from nourishing the tree, slowing or even halting photosynthesis. The climate in areas where the trees grow hasn’t yet experienced the kind of temperatures that might kill them, but we are really just at the beginning of this current era of global warming, and some scientists warn hotter temperatures could doom many trees.
That said, other studies that show the increased carbon that causes warming could actually be good for the trees. According to an ongoing study from Redwoods Climate Change Initiative, California’s coast redwood trees are now growing faster than ever. As most people know, trees consume carbon dioxide from the air, so, the scientists argue, more carbon means more growth. However, scientists caution that climate change is not a net benefit. Increased drought, fire risk, and ecosystem stress may ultimately outweigh these temporary growth gains.
We will see. While coast redwoods have shown resilience during recent droughts, with no widespread mortality observed, giant sequoias have not fared as well. In the past decade, drought, bark beetles, and intense wildfires have killed nearly 20% of all mature giant sequoias, a sharp and alarming decline for such a long-lived species.
Redwood grove in Northern California (Photo: Erik Olsen)
It all comes down to some kind of balance. Trees may benefit from more carbon, but if it gets too hot, trees could start to perish. That’s a bit of a conundrum, to say the least.
The prospect of losing these magnificent trees to climate change is a double whammy. Not only would a mass die-off of trees be terrible for tourism and those who simply love and study them, but trees are some of the best bulwarks we have on the planet to fight climate change. Redwoods are among the fastest-growing trees on earth; they can grow three to ten feet per year. In fact, a redwood achieves most of its vertical growth within the first 100 years of its life. Among trees that do the best job taking carbon out of the atmosphere, you could hardly do better than redwoods and sequoias.
The Archangel Ancient Tree Archive, an organization out of Copemish, Michigan, has been “cloning” California’s big trees for nearly a decade. They take snippets of the trees from the top canopy and replant them, essentially creating genetically identical copies of the original tree. It’s more like propagating than cloning, but that’s what they call it. The group’s founder, David Milarch, believes fervently that planting large trees is our best bet in stopping climate change. This is the video story I produced about Milarch back in 2013. It’s worth a watch. He’s an interesting character with a lot of passion.
Preserving and protecting what’s left of these amazing organisms should be a priority in California. These trees are not only part of the state’s rich natural legacy, but they offer ample opportunities for tourism and strengthening the economies of the regions where they grow. It’s hard to visit Redwood National and State Parks or Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Parks and to come away with anything but awe at these magnificent organisms. California is special, and we are blessed to have these trees and the places where they grow in our state.
Lying east of the Owens Valley and the jagged crags of the Sierra Nevadas, the White Mountains rise high above the valley floor, reaching over 14,000 feet, nearly as high as their far better-known relatives, the Sierra Nevadas. Highway 168 runs perpendicular to Highway 395 out of Big Pine and leads up into the mountains to perhaps the most sacred place in California.
Far above sea level, where the air is thin, live some of the most amazing organisms on the planet: the ancient bristlecone pines. To the untrained eye, the bristlecone seems hardly noteworthy. Gnarled and oftentimes squat, especially when compared to the majestic coastal redwoods and giant sequoias living near the coast further west, they hardly seem like mythical beings. But to scientists, they are a trove of information, offering clues to near immortality and to the many ways that the earth’s climate has changed over the last 5,000 years.
In the January 20, 2020 edition of the New Yorker, music writer Alex Ross writes about the trees and the scientists who are trying to unlock the secrets of the bristlecone’s unfathomable endurance. The trees, he writes, “seem sentinel-like”.
Video of ancient bristlecone pine that I shot and put together.
Bristlecones are the longest living organism on earth. The tree’s Latin name is Pinus longaeva, and it grows exclusively in subalpine regions of the vast area known to geologists as the Great Basin, which stretches from the eastern Sierra Nevadas to the Wasatch Range, in Utah. Bristlecones grow between 9,800 and 11,000 feet above sea level, where some people get dizzy and there are few other plants or animals that thrive. The greatest abundance of bristlecones can be found just east of the town of Bishop, California in the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. There, a short walk from where you park your car, you can stroll among these antediluvian beings as they imperceptibly twist, gnarl and reach towards the heavens.
While most of the bristlecones in the national Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest are mere hundreds of years old, there are many that are far older. Almost ridiculously so. Methuselah, a Great Basin bristlecone, is 4,851 years old, as measured by its rings, taken by scientists decades ago using a drilled core. Consider that for a moment: this tree, a living organism, planted its tentacle-like roots into the soil some 2000 years before the birth of Christ, around the time that the Great Pyramids of Egypt were built. By contrast, the oldest human being we know of lived just 122 years. That’s 242 human generations passing in the lifetime of a single bristlecone that still stands along a well-trodden trail in the high Sierras.
National Park Service
That said, if you were to try and see Methuselah for yourself, you are out of luck. The Forest Service is so protective of its ancient celebrity that it will not even share its picture. What’s more, it’s probably the case that there are bristlecones that are even older than Methuselah. Scientists think there could be trees in the forest that are over 5,000 years old.
How the bristlecone has managed this incredible feat of endurance is a mystery to researchers. Many other tree species are prone to insect infestations, wildfires, climate change. In fact, over the last two decades, the vast lodgepole pine forests of the Western United States and British Columbia have been ravaged by the pine beetle. Millions of acres of trees have been lost, including more than 16 million of the 55 million acres of forest in British Columbia.
But insects don’t seem to be a problem for bristlecones. Bristlecone wood is so dense that mountain-pine beetles and other pests can rarely burrow their way into it. Further, the region where the bristlecones live tends to be sparse with vegetation, and thus far less prone to wildfire.
A recent study by scientists at the University of North Texas looked at the amazing longevity of the ginkgo tree, examining individuals in China and the US that have lived for hundreds, perhaps more than a thousand years. One thing they found is that the trees’ immune systems remain largely intact, even youthful, throughout their lives. It turns out the genes in the cambium, or the cylinder of tissue beneath the bark, contain no “program” for senescence, or death, but continue making defenses even after hundreds of years. Researchers think the same thing might be happening in the bristlecone. This is not the case in most organisms and certainly not humans. Like replicants in the movie Blade Runner, we seem to have a built-in clock in our cells that only allows us to live for so long. (I want more life, f$@$@!)
Scientists at the University of Arizona’s Laboratory of Tree-Ring Research (LTRR) have built up the world’s largest collection of bristlecone cross-sections, which they carefully examine under the microscope, looking for clues about how the trees have managed to survive so long, and how they can inform us of the many ways the earth’s climate has changed over the millennia.
The LTRR houses the nation’s only dendrochronology lab (the term for the study of tree rings), and the researchers there have made several discoveries using tree cores that have changed or confirmed climate models. For example, in 1998, the climatologist Michael E. Mann published the “hockey stick graph,” that revealed a steep rise in global mean temperature from about 1850 onward (i.e. the start of the industrial revolution). There was intense debate about this graph, with many scientists and climate change skeptics saying that Mann’s projections were too extreme. But numerous subsequent studies, some using the trees’ rings new models, confirmed the hockey-stick model.
Bristlecone Pine
The bristlecones will continue to help us understand the way the earth is changing and to see into the deep human past in a way few other living organisms can do. They also improve our understanding of possible future environmental scenarios and the serious consequences of allowing carbon levels in the atmosphere to continue to grow.
In this sense, they truly are sentinels.
Bristlecone pine in the White Mountains (Unsplash)
Interestingly, it wasn’t until 1953 that we found out just how ancient these trees are. Credit for this breakthrough goes to Edmund Schulman, a dendrochronologist. Schulman and his colleague Frits Went stumbled upon an ancient limber pine while conducting research in Sun Valley, Idaho. This tree, which they found to be around 1,650 years old, got them thinking: could there be even older trees hidden away in the mountains?
Shulman then traveled to the White Mountains and began a long-term exploration of the Bristlecone forest. He took core samples from many trees and made a startling discovery. At night, at his camp, he began counting the annual growth rings on a slender piece of wood. He counted and counted, not daring to believe what was unfolding before his eyes. When he finally put down his magnifying glass in the enveloping darkness, he had counted rings that went back past the year 2046 BCE. Schulman had stumbled upon a tree that had been alive for over four millennia. Not only alive, but continuing to grow!
Schulman had effectively expanded our understanding of how long a single tree can endure—providing key insights into environmental longevity, climate history, and even the resilience of life on Earth.
Bristlecone forest in the White Mountains of California (Erik Olsen)
In tribute to the momentous find, he dubbed the tree “Pine Alpha,” a name that’s as much a testament to the tree’s age as it is to the groundbreaking nature of Schulman’s work. Until then, no one knew a living tree could be that old. The discovery was a pivotal moment that opened up a new frontier in the study of dendrochronology, and it became a cornerstone example of how trees serve as living records of Earth’s history.
It should be said that the trees themselves, in their gnarled, frozen posture, are truly are beautiful. They should be protected and preserved, admired and adulated. Indeed, Federal law prohibits any attempt to damage the trees, including taking a mere splinter from the forest floor. The trees have also become an obsession for photographers, particularly those who favor astrophotography. A quick search on Instagram reveals a stunning collection of images showing the majesty and haunting beauty of these ancient trees.
So, if you are ever headed up Highway 395 into the Sierras, it is well worth the effort to make the right-hand turn out of Big Pine to visit the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. The air is thin, but the views are spectacular. And where else can you walk among the oldest living things on the planet?
