How’s the Forest Treating You?

Big Sur - photo by JoAnn Sturman

Scott Sturman

My wife and I were trudging down the path towards the end of a 14 mile hike on the Pine Ridge Trail in Big Sur, and having forgotten to take the customary pre hike Advil, my feet and ankles were killing me.  We probably had met 50 to 75 fellow hikers over the past 7 hours, and greetings ranged from a cursory “Hi” to “good morning or afternoon,” or “how are you doing?”  These brief acknowledgements are commonplace and provide an element of short lived camaraderie among those who do not know one another but are experiencing a similar activity; they generally are not meant to provoke extended conversation or thought.  

A group passed by us on their way up the trail, and I extended a greeting to a less than robust, tattooed lad with long straight hair, pencil thin arms, and wispy mustache.  His reverie interrupted, he lift his gaze from the trail and asked, “How is the forest treating you today?” 

“It’s kicking my ass,” I replied.

And so ended our short lived conversation, with me perplexed about his unusual question and he by my bluntness.  Obviously, this man of costal, Northern California and we from the San Joaquin Valley held different perceptions of nature.  Like a beauty queen, Big Sur offers extraordinary scenery but its steep hills and quirky climate make it difficult to produce anything of tangible value with the possible exception of cannabis.  By comparison the Central Valley invites visions of a less striking female for whom beauty is only skin deep — outwardly monotonous to the extreme but with enough fertile soil and abundant sunshine to feed much of the world.

Personifying nature implies an entity with an intellect and consciousness, and illustrates a reoccurring theme of environmentalists for whom the planet has taken on spiritual significance.  Big Sur, breathtaking and unspoiled, may as well be Mecca West for the environmental movement.  For the true believer management of natural resources differs little between locations, just as long as they revert to pre 7th century conditions. 

With this summer’s extreme drought, the Valley struggled to supply the fruits, vegetables, and nuts on which much of the nation depends.  The West Side, without any water for irrigation, resembles the Sahel — bone dry, dusty, and in a state of disuse.  What’s fallow land and legions of unemployed as long as the delta smelt thrive?

The young man we met on the trail in Big Sur and his kindred spirits are in charge of California.  From billionaire, petrochemical hedge fund managers turned environmentalist to swishy movie stars and politicians who couldn’t grow tomatoes in the Garden of Eden, they have insulated themselves from the agricultural community.  But every once in a while there is a ray of hope — three years of extreme drought actually has convinced a few Democrats that it might be a good idea to build a dam or two and save some of the water which runs unused into the Pacific Ocean. Will wonders never cease?

Pa'san Ridge Trail - photo by JoAnn Sturman