Manzanita, My Love

Manzanita, My Love

Story by Dingus Milktoast

A sturdy example.
Photo by Charles Foster

I have this dream. I'm walking naked in the wilderness, hot sun beating down upon my back. I have to get somewhere and I'm following a trail. I round a bend and stop, aghast. The trail ends in an open area. I'm faced with a trackless sea of manzanita. But I must continue.

Gingerly, I take the first step into the gnarled, low-lying branches, scratching my leg almost immediately. Wincing, I take another, trying to stand upon the trunk of the next plant. As I take the weight off the first foot, the second collapses in a crack of splinters and blood. A gouge of flesh is ripped from the outside of my anklebone and I scream loudly in the silence of my nightmare. I hurriedly take another step, again incurring scratches and thorns. I look ahead; I have a very long way to go. I look back; I've come three steps and I'm already bleeding badly. The sun continues to beat down. The sense of urgency remains. A whisper on the wind says "Hurry!"

I take the next step without caution, letting the foot land where it may. Heedless of pain, I simply begin walking as if I were on a flat, level, cleanly swept concrete floor. Much to my surprise, the pain of my first few steps is gone. I look down but can't clearly see my feet. Its as if a green fog of foliage has camouflaged my lower extremities. As I continue walking, I start relaxing. Whereas before I was taking the cautious, halting steps of an invalid or a baby, now I march along with the confidence of a general.

Branches no longer snap under my weight. Thorns no longer tear at my flesh. Soon, I reach the other side of the clearing. As I approach the next forested area, the manzanita begins to die out and I'm once again naked in the wilderness, walking on granite gravel, hobbling and wincing along. I wake up in my suburban home, scratching at my legs, wondering vaguely why my feet aren't bleeding. I stumble into the shower, dream already forgotten. My attention has moved on to the tasks of the day. I'm getting ready to head up into the mountains and I have a lot to do. The steam of the hot water washes the last remaining tendrils of the prickly dream from my conscious thought.

I don't often dream of manzanita. In fact, I encounter it much more in my waking world. It is there that manzanita offers the greatest opportunity for nightmare. It is in the waking world that manzanita most often lies between me and my goals. The reality of manzanita on a landscape is harsh compared to the manzanita of my dreams. There is no escape from the truth of this gnarly bush.

Manzanita can be found throughout my home range of the Sierra Nevada. Like many climbers, hikers and other back country misfits, I use the term manzanita loosely; to fit a class of low-lying chaparral, or shrubs. I won't usually split hairs over the particular plant that has imbedded a sharp branch in the side of my leg. It's all manzanita, even though it may be gooseberry, deer brush, mountain misery or any of another dozen species of ornery bushes. They can be found growing on open or partly open, dry slopes. It seems they thrive in areas where other plants are doomed to failure. Owing to their peculiar biology, manzanita or chaparral stands require periodic cleansing by fire. All California home owners would do well to heed this warning; where there is manzanita there will be fire.

Manzanita seems to thrive in colonies. The Spaniards called this chaparral, or scrub oak. From a distance, it appears to be a gentle, green or dark brown and green colored carpet. Those of us who have tried to penetrate a chaparral know better. These groves present a most formidable navigation hazard. They are so successful in their niche of competition within the plant world that often they are the only plant type to be found on entire slopes. They form a barrier to the sky that chokes out the sun to the seedlings of other plants. The sap from their wood forms a poison in the soil that prevents other plants from germinating. The older the stand, the more one-sided the competition becomes until finally, even the manzanita seedlings have no chance of living at the feet of their parents. The soil becomes even more depleted and the old plants, now mature and some even tree-like, begin to whither and die. It is now that fire is needed to reestablish balance, to reset the clock. Fire sweeps through the old stands of chaparral, burning everything in it's path.

The remains of the burned plants fertilize the soil, putting back some of the nutrients taken away over the years. The fire, when hot enough, also causes destroys the toxins in the top layer of the ground. Seeds are released. The first few seasons after a chaparral burn are a riot of growth and color, as heretofore suppressed species of flowers, trees and more benign shrubs get a chance to take hold and thrive. But due to the nature of the Sierra summers, the dry aspect of most of these slopes and the inevitable cycle of the shrub, within a scant few years, manzanita will once again dominate the landscape. But without fire, even the manzanita becomes stagnant and unable to reproduce.

These amazingly tough shrubs can be found from the fringes of the oak belt in the foothills to well above the timberline in the high Sierra. Again, they are not all necessarily the same species. But whether we are talking about Parry or Whiteleaf manzanita in the foothills, or huckleberry, chinquapin or pinemat manzanita in the pine forests, or greenleaf manzanita in the higher environs, these shrubs are ever present on the dry, sun exposed slopes of the mountains.

I love manzanita. The trunks of the elder bushes are smooth and somehow sensuous. I have seen the trunks of some of these "trees", and that's what I must call the larger examples, often exceed a foot in diameter. How old must one of these ancient plants be? I want to run my hands over their smooth bark. The plunderer in me idly wonders what kind of unique furniture I could make from these elegant woods. The mats of foliage form a dense green carpet that colors what would otherwise be a drab world. Tunnels, made by animals or climbers, or even animal climbers, lead through the more mature stands of brush, offering passage through what would otherwise be inpenetrable chaos.

We may curse manzanita when it stands in our way. But how often do we thank it when it saves us from grief? I have used manzanita growing from the cracks and fissures of the granite I so love to climb as hand and footholds, even as protection. I have used the springy branches to reach distant holds while on climbs or more commonly while bouldering. I have hung implements from it's branches out of convenience. I have even sought shelter for a night beneath it's prickly branches.

Yes, manzanita is an obstacle to travel. But even the worst chaparral can be navigated by those with a will and some experience. A sharp eye must detect weaknesses in the pattern of growth. A nimble foot must be able to seek out and stand upon hidden branches, often spanning holes and boulders that if stepped into will cause a fall or worse. A feel must be developed to know when and how a particular bush will break. There are many times when a savvy traveler will step on a given plant with the full knowledge that it will collapse, but will collapse in a particular way designed to yield forward progress. Shorts and manzanita don't really go together, but owing to the hot nature of its environment, that is what I most often am wearing when confronted by these noble shrubs. My legs bear the evidence of my choice in clothing.

I have had appointments with these bushes on countless adventures. From the untracked stands of manzanita occupying the space between boulders on Tuttle Creek to the endless slopes of the upper portion of North Dome Gully, from Shuteye Ridge to the Hoover Wilderness, from Mineral King to Whitney Portal, these ever present companions have scratched, gouged, snapped, crackled and popped beneath me infinite times. I once even used some dead manzanita for a warming fire during a long night out.

Yes, I love manzanita. It is woven into the California landscape. It fills a niche that those from more watered lands cannot appreciate. While it can be a serious impediment to travel, it can also offer shade, shelter and even life itself. Life is pervasive. Life wants merely to go on living. While all plants and animals are the epitome of this natural process, manzanita survives in ways that are unique. It is a being of fire and drought. While I have cursed it on many occasions and while my legs certainly hold the scars of previous encounters, I have long realized that manzanita is my friend. Like most friends, it offers both companionship and stimulation, but also pain and stubbornness.

Manzanita, my love. The waking is better than the dream.

DMT