the john muir exhibit - john_muir_newsletter - redwood snag
Reflections on a Redwood Snag
by Ron Limbaugh
(Reprinted from the
John Muir Newsletter
, Vol. 2, No. 3, Summer 1992)
In the late 1890s John Muir prepared a report for Charles S.
Sargent, the Harvard botanist, describing big trees he had
located. On one trip along the Kings River he had found a huge
`stump' that stood some forty feet in diameter five feet from the
base--the largest specimen he had ever discovered. I remembered
reading about Muir's snag in the late spring of 1984, when I
first had occasion to visit Converse Grove, three miles south of
King's River, just outside King's Canyon National Park. Those
who are familiar with the Converse tragedy--the wanton
destruction of thousands of Big Trees by loggers at the turn of
the twentieth century--might wonder why any nature lover would go
there today. It is an ecological wasteland, where stumps and
shards by the thousands stand or lay in mute silence, monuments
to human arrogance and greed. Yet amid the destruction there is
also peace and quiet, for it is off the tourist route and few
visitors pass by. To those seeking relief from the teeming tide
of humanity at nearby General Grant Grove and from the fumes of
auto exhaust along the main road from Fresno to King's Canyon, it
is a place for contemplation.
After walking for miles through this forest graveyard, trying to
imagine what must have been the awesome splendor of its primeval
appearance, I started back over the same gravel road on which I
had arrived. About a half-mile before the junction with Highway
108, I glanced to my right and saw a blackened trunk nearly
hidden by a canopy of new growth. It was a battered old snag,
the remains of a giant redwood. I had missed it on my way in
because it was hidden by a young sequoia, some 150 feet tall,
that stood between it and the roadway. The sight of this charred
and broken old tree, its massive bulk still standing at least 100
feet above the forest floor, heightened my reverie, and I
wondered if by a coincidence I was viewing the same old stump
that John Muir had identified a century before. In his report to
Sargent he had described it as "the largest I measured." He
wrote:
It was burned half through. I cleared away the charred surface
with an axe & tried hard to count the wood layers through a lens.
The first five feet from the outside was clear & regular & in
this distance there are 1672 layers but beyond this point toward
the center the wood was so contorted & interrupted by wounds that
I was unable to get a sure count, thought I made out upwards of
4000 layers. Perhaps by building a high scaffold a much closer
approximation to the age of this grand monument might be
obtained.
[1]
.
Anxious to make a closer inspection, I parked beside the road and
walked down to the tree. Nature had prepared an enchanting
approach. Enveloping it on all sides like sentries guarding a
deity or angels before a throne, young white firs stood, with an
occasional cedar and limber pine adding to the complexity of
foliage and form. The muted toot of a nuthatch greeted me as I
drew closer, and an unknown warbler's song filled the air. A
single scarlet cluster of Indian paintbrush offset the dark green
ferns which carpeted the forest floor at the base of the snag. A
green patina of moss and algae covered the first twenty feet of
the scarred surface, softening the ebony char that marked the
path where fires had worked their way toward the heartwood. I
could not be sure whether it was Muir's snag or not, but I seemed
to be approaching a historic shrine that had stood majestically
for 1,000 years or more, witnessing the passing of humanity.
Some time in the distant past it had died, doubtless killed by
fires from lightning long before Muir or the axemen had arrived
in the Basin almost a century ago.
For all its bulk and evocative imagery, what captivated me most
when I first saw the tree was its great "eye", a circular orifice
about two feet in diameter near the broken top of this immense
obelisk, a hundred feet or more from the ground where once a limb
grew laterally from the trunk. Time and weather had deepened the
hole so that on the ground one could see through it to a patch of
sky in the distance. The cathedral aura, enhanced by the
birdsong chorus in the background, made a striking impression. I
found myself thinking of the all-seeing eye, symbol of divine
omnipotence and omnipresence, that hangs over the altars of many
early missions and cathedrals.
I neared the base in awe, like a pilgrim at Golgotha. Shivers
ran up my arms and back as I stood before it, humble and
supplicant. I walked entirely around it, touching the blackened
heartwood, observing the stress lines and fractures and the rings
that one could still see by the thousands. To judge the girth
roughly, I counted 33 steps around the perimeter, the same number
I counted for the Chicago Stump, another hugh relic butchered by
loggers about two miles away. Many others have stood before this
huge tree. I saw graffiti of times past carved into the trunk,
some with dates as early as 1895. Then I walked inside the deep
black cavity hollowed out by fire in the distant past, and stood
there in silent contemplation. Although right alongside the
gravel road leading to the Boole Tree, a live redwood giant about
three miles away, few people notice the top of this jagged
landmark as they pass, and fewer still stop to inspect it. Only
one car passed during the hour I spent at the site. Inside the
hollow bole I instinctively cocked my ear, but the only sound was
the sweet bird music in the distance. Yet I did not feel alone.
The great ebony void around me seemed palpably alive with memory
and mystery, as if Muir and all the mighty wilderness giants had
come to be with me. I shivered again, then slowly backed
outside. As I returned to my car, I looked back and saw through
the eye to the clouds passing in the background making the
orifice seem like a portal opening to the heavens. Even if this
is not Muir's snag, I thought to myself, it is an historic and
holy landscape, a fitting abode of gods and pilgrims to the wild.
Note
-
John Muir,
Big Trees [holograph ms., ca. 1900], in John Muir
Papers, Microform edition, Reel 43, 09979.