| The Magazine of the CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES |
|
|
|
A trail less traveled Sierra
Buttes In the obscure stretch of the Sierra Nevada north of Donner Pass, there reigns a jagged crown of rock known as Sierra Buttes. Looking at first like a labor for technical rockclimbers, the Buttes are in fact easily ascended and are one of the northern Sierra Nevada's most astonishing hikes. The view from the summit of the highest peak between Mt. Lassen and Donner Pass is stunning, and well worth the effort, especially in autumn when the summer haze has cleared and fall colors are at their peak. Towering nearly 5,000 feet above the North Yuba River at Sierra City, the Buttes dominate the Lakes Basin Recreation Area, a popular destination with over 45 alpine lakes, numerous trails, and campsites. Immediately to the east runs the fault scarp of the Sierra Nevada, and to the west the long, twisting watersheds of the Yuba and Feather rivers. The Buttes are a geologist's and naturalist's classroom, a place to study the evolution of the California landscape in one full sweep. Shouldering a well-supplied daypack, I have come to hike the Buttes in late July to monitor the progress of spring during an unusually late year. Snow patches still cover parts of the trail, but my friend and I expect to encounter a profusion of wildflowers. She brings Norman Weeden's A Sierra Nevada Flora, which works well for the area, and we both carry binoculars for identifying hummingbirds. Much of the route is visible from the Packer Saddle trailhead, with the Buttes rising precipitously to the southeast. The hike is a steady climb with numerous rest stops, each with a dramatic viewpoint. Our first order of business, however, is a quick review of high-elevation trees. We have a rare opportunity to study western white pine, a tree seldom encountered in much of California but common here. Its five-needle clusters and checkerboard bark can be easily distinguished from the single needles and smooth pale bark of white fir, the other tree common along the trail. Immediately up the trail we see evidence of the typically intense winters at this elevation–seedling firs bent over at a right angle (called "pistol butt" or "snow knee") from the weight of snow. The organic soil layer is thin, but already lilies and orchids are blooming, slowing us down as we scour Weeden's Flora to identify several dozen flower species in the first quarter-mile of hiking. Pinemat manzanita, with thick dark green leaves and red-barked stems, lines the old roadbed that serves as the trail for the first mile. This species forms a ground-hugging alpine version of the impenetrable chaparral found at lower elevations. All about us on this high, exposed ridge stand old, wind-sculpted western white pines. At one mile the roadbed cuts across the ridgeline and descends, but the trail continues south along the crest of the rocky ridge that inclines upward towards the Buttes. Dark slaty rocks suggest a different origin than the granite comprising much of the Sierra Nevada. The Buttes are formed of old metamorphosed volcanic rock scrapped off an ancient seafloor and pushed together by sliding plates. As the trail ascends onto higher slopes, we also find pretty pink and green volcanic rocks, and, even more curious, the pale cauliflower-like imprints that characterize volcanic rocks erupted underwater. These rocks are highly resistant to erosion, giving the Buttes a kind of permanence, even as the Sierra Nevada uplifted and the dual forces of glaciers and stream channels cut deeply all around them. As we move from the ridgeline onto the slopes of the Buttes for the final ascent, we enter a pleasant forest of large pines, and a new tree. Having become familiar with western white pine, and its cones–light tan with sharply contrasting dark bases on each scale–we immediately notice the fallen, smaller, and uniformly brown cones of mountain hemlock and look up from the hypnotic cadence of our rhythmic steps at the branches that surround us. John Muir called it "the most singularly beautiful of all the California coniferae." Red-breasted nuthatches, mountain chickadees, and a pair of Clark's nutcrackers feeding two young also relish this high patch of forest. The nutcrackers work feverishly stuffing an endless supply of pine seeds into their squawking youngsters, starting them early on a narrow diet that will carry them through their entire lives. Near the summit, hummingbirds joust over huge patches of scarlet penstemons. Calliope hummingbirds probably nest in the area, while rufous are stopping by on their migration south, and Anna's and black-chinned are here as refugees from the dried husks of the baking foothills. A young rattlesnake on the path seems terribly out of place at 8,500 feet, but we hardly pay attention because the views have become simply overwhelming. Ascending a series of steel ladders up a rock pinnacle, we clamber onto the catwalk of the Sierra Buttes Lookout to discover 360 degrees of panoramic splendor. This is not for the faint of heart. The steel grating underfoot looks down the dizzying sheer east face of the Buttes into a broad glacier-carved bowl. Far below, steep lateral moraines stand 1,000 feet above the sides of Sardine Lakes, marking the approximate height the glaciers once reached. Further to the east lies Sierra Valley, the largest alpine valley in North America, and beyond, the Virginia Mountains on the west shore of Pyramid Lake. On a clear day you can see Mt. Lassen to the north, and with effort, the tiniest sliver of Mt. Shasta (nearly 150 miles distant). In the foreground lies Lakes Basin, an enchanting region of rocks, lakes, and hiking trails. To the west stretches the long deep canyon of the North Yuba River, a stream-carved slice through intensely deformed and recrystallized seafloor sediments several hundred million years old. The western view encompasses a vast swath of the Central Valley and at least a hundred miles of the Coast Ranges. The high country of Donner Pass and Lake Tahoe stretches to the south; Castle Peak (three spires beyond Jackson Meadows Reservoir), the Desolation Wilderness, and Mt. Tallac are some of the many familiar landmarks. After an hour we begin the journey down, lingering amongst the flowers, basking in the golden afternoon light, reluctant to leave this stellar view of the California landscape we know and love. David Lukas is a freelance writer and naturalist living in the Sierra Nevada foothills. His book, Watchable Birds of the Great Basin, is due out next spring. |
Fall 1998
|
