On day seven, our rag-tag group travels through the Snowcrest Mountains. Picking our way through lodgepole pines, we clamber over fallen trees and rough rocks. Finally, we come across a clearing, one where thick grasses and flowers blanketed the ground.
The clearing is a solemn one – between the skeletal and dying whitebark pines, blue-white forget-me-nots grow.
We admire the clearing and start class, settling in a loose circle. Surrounded by the dead trees, we discuss the federally endangered pine’s options: relocation or staying put. Either way, the trees are running out of time. The blister rust and mountain beetle that threaten them have already devastated the pine’s population and the bird species, the Clark’s Nutcracker, that relies on them.
As we sit there, two Clark’s Nutcrackers fly past, chattering between themselves. We all jolt to our feet, looking in awe at the birds. Soon enough, they fly away, leaving nothing but a lasting impression behind.
As we leave, I stop to take a picture at a nearby whitebark pine – already wasting away from blister rust – and know that I might never see any of these pines again. At the base of the tree, the ever present blueish-white flowers thrive.
Grabbing my backpack, a line from one of our readings passes through my mind, “…those who have never experienced these communities will not miss them.”
I am concerned that this will be the case, that as climate change and disease devastate this rare alpine tree, it will be forgotten in the coming crisis.
I hope I am wrong.