Geology

It happens too often that a six-year old whom I'm nannying asks me something like, "Where does lightning come from?" and I shamefully respond, "Uhhh... it's, you know, it comes from the air... and it's electricity.... something like that." It's exactly like in these Calvin and Hobbes cartoons:

Eventually you start giving answers like these:

So I've decided to write a series of entries that will modestly explain various natural processes. This is not merely to improve my reputation among curious six year-olds, but also to help anyone out there who needs a review of this material, as well.

This entry is about geology. I'll start with a startle: a reminder of our place in geologic time. See the diagram below...

We all know that there are three main geologic layers to our planet: the crust, mantle, and core. The crust is less than 1% of the Earth's mass and consists of oxygen, magnesium aluminum, silicon calcium, sodium potassium, and iron. The mantle is a solid casing and makes up 70% of the Earth's mass. It's made of silicon, oxygen, aluminum and iron. The core is 30% of the planet's mass and consists of iron and nickel. The outer core is liquid and the inner core is solid.

Now for the most important factor in geology: rocks. There are three main types of rocks: igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic, and they all partake in the "rock cycle," by taking form, wearing down, and forming again. Igneous rock is formed by solidified magma (hence it's name, meaning formed by heat). It's shaped how we normally think of a rock-- as a boulder, stone, or pebble. For example, this quartz rock:

Here comes a fork in road, where the igneous rock can either become sedimentary rock or metamorphic rock. If it becomes sedimentary, then with erosion by wind or water it will break down into sediment. That sediment compacts over time into sedimentary rock, which usually contains a good amount of fossils. Seventy-five percent of the crust's rock is sedimentary. Have a look at the layers of sedimentary rock in my Grand Canyon photos from this summer:

If the igenous' destiny be metamorphic, it will be affected by heat and pressure and subsequently have its mineral content transformed. But whichever road that little igneous takes, he still has the opportunity to walk the road not taken, as sedimentary rock can be affected by heat and pressure to become metamorphic rock, and metamorphic rock can be exposed to erosion and redeposited as sedimentary rock. Moreover, all three types of rock can return to their birthplace, as their re-melting produces magma from which new igneous rocks can form. 

But what exactly is a rock? Is it always naturally formed and composed of minerals? Nope. Man makes rock, such as concrete or brick. And many rocks don't contain a trace of minerals, such as coal, obsidian, or the aforementioned concrete. Now I'm hearing that six year-old saying, "what's a mineral?" The short answer is that it is something natural, solid, and not resembling life in the least (aka without carbon compounds). There are three thousand different types of minerals in the world. Most rocks are made of more than two types of minerals.

Some photos of common types of rocks and minerals: 

Minerals

Feldspar

Calcite

Quartz

Iron

Igneous rocks

Granite (contains feldspar, quartz, and mica): 

Carving Mount Rushmore out of granite

Basalt is the most common rock on Earth. It is formed by rapidly cooling lava:  

Columnar Basalt in Turkey

Diorite is found all through the Sierras and contains feldspar and one or more dark minerals, with the feldspar dominant:

Gabbro contains feldspar and one or more dark minerals with the dark mineral dominant:

Periodotite makes up majority of Earth's mantle and contains mostly iron:

Pumice is formed when lava dries containing air bubbles. It is the only rock that floats:

Sedimentary Rocks

Coal does not contain minerals, but rather consists of carbon. It forms in areas where many decomposed plants and fossils are present. For example, there is a lot of coal and other natural fuels in Canada because a large sea once covered that area and the climate was tropical. 

Shale is hardened clay. It often breaks off into large flat sections.

Sandstone is a soft stone that is usually deposited as many different beautiful layers of sand.

Limestone contains calcium carbonate and lots of fossils, often seashells. This is prevalent in my seaside hometown of Santa Cruz, the most important limestone mining and processing area in the United States during the 19th century.

Metamorphic Rocks

Slate is transformed shale.

Marble is transformed limestone.

 Quartzite is a very hard rock.

Some interesting facts:

• Feldspars make up almost 50% of the Earth's crust. 
• Gold is so malleable that you can roll an ounce of it into a hair-thin wire 50 miles long.

• There are some trails left by sliding rocks in Death Valley, California. How these rocks move is still a mystery, but the favored theory is that wind pushes them along the desert floor. 
• The biggest pure-gold nugget was found in Australia in 1869 and weighed 156 pounds.
• Platinum is so rare that two million pounds of ore may contain only one pound of metal. 
• A geode is a dull piece of igneous or sedimentary rock on the outside with beautiful crystals on the inside. 
• The Taj Mahal is made entirely out of marble. 
• Quartz is the most common mineral on Earth. 
• Sand becomes soil when plants start to sprout in it. In other words, soil is sand mixed with decomposed carbon material. Clay, dirt, mud, silt, dust, and humus are all types of soil.

Hope you learned a bit about the things we encounter every moment of the day... for me, the more educated I am on natural processes, the more I appreciate what I see. I went on a run on the beach after writing this entry and thought about all the waves that have crashed and eroded all those stones and all the lives those stones lived as different species of rock and how far they traveled to get to that beautiful little shell-shaped beach in San Sebastián, Spain. 

Next up, trees!

Granite Moraine

"Strange to say, these boulders lying so still and deserted, with no moving force near them, no boulder carrier anywhere in sight, were nevertheless brought from a distance, as difference in color and composition shows, quarried and carried and laid down here each in its place; nor have they stirred, most of them, through calm and storm since first they arrived. They look lonely here, strangers in a strange land,--huge blocks, angular mountain chips, the largest twenty or thirty feet in diameter, the chips that Nature has made in modeling her landscapes, fashioning the forms of her mountains and valleys. And with what tool were they quarried and carried? On the pavement we find its marks. The most resisting unweathered portion of the surface is scored and striated in a rigidly parallel way, indicating that the region has been overswept by a glacier from the northeastward, grinding down the general mass of the mountains, scoring and polishing, producing a strange, raw, wiped appearance, and dropping whatever boulders it chanced to be carrying at the time it was melted at the close of the Glacial Period. A fine discovery this." -John Muir


Moraine is any glacial debris of soil or rock. It can be as small as silt or as large as the granite monoliths of Yosemite.

Silt moraine in Yosemite provides some of the best soil in the world. John Muir sums up the process: "As for the forests we have been passing through, they are probably growing on deposits of soil most of which has been laid down by this same ice agent in the form of moraines of different sorts, now in great part disintegrated and outspread by post-glacial weathering."

And enormous moraine boulders in Yosemite are the largest granite monoliths in the world: "The great Tissiack, or Half-Dome, rising at the upper end of the valley to a height of nearly a mile, is nobly proportioned and life-like, the most impressive of all the rocks, holding the eye in devout admiration, calling it back again and again from falls or meadows, or even the mountains beyond,--marvelous cliffs, marvelous in sheer dizzy depth and sculpture, types of endurance. Thousands of years have they stood in the sky exposed to rain, snow, frost, earthquake and avalanche, yet they still wear the bloom of youth."

Muir had quite a bit to say about the moraines of stunning Tenaya Lake: 

"All is bare, shining granite, suggesting the Indian name of the lake, Pywiack, meaning shining rock. The basin seems to have been slowly excavated by the ancient glaciers, a marvelous work requiring countless thousands of years."

"Arriving early, I took a walk on the glacier-polished pavements along the north shore, and climbed the magnificent mountain rock at the east end of the lake, now shining in the late afternoon light. Almost every yard of its surface shows the scoring and polishing action of a great glacier that enveloped it and swept heavily over its summit, though it is about two thousand feet high above the lake and ten thousand above sea-level. This majestic, ancient ice-flood came from the eastward, as the scoring and crushing of the surface shows. Even below the waters of the lake the rock in some places is still grooved and polished; the lapping of the waves and their disintegrating action have not as yet obliterated even the superficial marks of glaciation. In climbing the steepest polished places I had to take off shoes and stockings. A fine region this for study of glacial action in mountain-making."

I'm almost positive this is the mountain he is speaking of. It's hard to see at this distance, but there was incredibly wavy scoring in the rock face.

"There is another rock, more striking in form than this, standing isolated at the head of the lake, but it is not more than half as high. It is a knob or knot of burnished granite, perhaps about a thousand feet high, apparently as flawless and strong in structure as a wave-worn pebble, and probably owes its existence to the superior resistance it offered to the action of the overflowing ice-flood."

I am 100% positive this is the rock he is referring to at the head of Tenaya Lake. Today you can see people adventurously climbing it:

Yosemite must be one of the best places in the world to study moraine geology. It's really the foundation for everything that makes Yosemite magnificent and unrivaled.

Murmuration of Starlings

The Black Ant

"When I contemplate this fierce creature so widely distributed and strongly intrenched, I see that much remains to be done ere the world is brought under the rule of universal peace and love." -John Muir

I'm trying to picture carrying something twice the size of me and up to 20 times my weight with only my mouth...

"One is almost tempted at times to regard a small savage black ant as the master existence of this vast mountain world. These fearless, restless, wandering imps, though only about a quarter of an inch long, are fonder of fighting and biting than any beast I know. They attack every living thing around their homes, often without cause as far as I can see. Their bodies are mostly jaws curved like ice-hooks, and to get work for these weapons seems to be their chief aim and pleasure. Most of their colonies are established in living oaks somewhat decayed or hollowed, in which they can conveniently build their cells. These are chosen probably because of their strength as opposed to the attacks of animals and storms. They work both day and night, creep into dark caves, climb the highest trees, wander and hunt through cool ravines as well as on hot, unshaded ridges, and extend their highways and byways over everything but water and sky. From the foothills to a mile above the level of the sea nothing can stir without their knowledge; and alarms are spread in an incredibly short time, without any howl or cry that we can hear. I can't understand the need of their ferocious courage; there seems to be no common sense in it. Sometimes, no doubt, they fight in defense of their homes, but they fight anywhere and always wherever they can find anything to bite. As soon as a vulnerable spot is discovered on man or beast, they stand on their heads and sink their jaws, and though torn limb from limb, they will yet hold on and die biting deeper. When I contemplate this fierce creature so widely distributed and strongly intrenched, I see that much remains to be done ere the world is brought under the rule of universal peace and love. 

On my way to camp a few minutes ago, I passed a dead pine nearly ten feet in diameter. It has been enveloped in fire from top to bottom so that now it looks like a grand black pillar set up as a monument. In this noble shaft a colony of large jet-black ants have established themselves, laboriously cutting tunnels and cells through the wood, whether sound or decayed. The entire trunk seems to have been honeycombed, judging by the size of the talus of gnawed chips like sawdust piled up around its base. They are more intelligent looking than their small, belligerent, strong-scented brethren, and have better manners, though quick to fight when required. Their towns are carved in fallen trunks as well as in those left standing, but never in sound, living trees or in the ground. When you happen to sit down to rest or take notes near a colony, some wandering hunter is sure to find you and come cautiously forward to discover the nature of the intruder and what ought to be done. If you are not too near the town and keep perfectly still he may run across your feet a few times, over your legs and hands and face, up your trousers, as if taking your measure and getting comprehensive views, then go in peace without raising an alarm. If, however, a tempting spot is offered or some suspicious movement excites him, a bite follows, and such a bite! I fancy that a bear or wolf bite is not to be compared with it. A quick electric flame of pain flashes along the outraged nerves, and you discover for the first time how great is the capacity for sensation you are possessed of. A shriek, a grab for the animal, and a bewildered stare follow this bite of bites as one comes back to consciousness from sudden eclipse. Fortunately, if careful, one need not be bitten oftener than once or twice in a lifetime. This wonderful electric species is about three fourths of an inch long. Bears are fond of them, and tear and gnaw their home-logs to pieces, and roughly devour the eggs, larvæ, parent ants, and the rotten or sound wood of the cells, all in one spicy acid hash. The Digger Indians also are fond of the larvæ and even of the perfect ants, so I have been told by old mountaineers. They bite off and reject the head, and eat the tickly acid body with keen relish. Thus are the poor biters bitten, like every other biter, big or little, in the world's great family." John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra

Such a great writer he is....

Below are some black ant facts to pack in your pocket:

• If a man could run as fast for his size as an ant can, he could run as fast as a racehorse.
• The average life expectancy of an ant is 45-60 days.
• Some queen ants can live for many years and have millions of babies.
• Adult ants cannot chew and swallow solid food. Instead they swallow the juice which they squeeze from pieces of food.
• The abdomen of the ant contains two stomachs. One stomach holds the food for itself and second stomach is for food to be shared with other ants.
• Each colony of ants has its own smell. In this way, intruders can be recognized immediately.
• The common Black Ants and Wood Ants have no sting, but they can squirt a spray of formic acid. Some birds put ants in their feathers because the ants squirt formic acid which gets rid of the parasites. 
• When the queen of the colony dies, the colony can only survive a few months. Queens are rarely replaced and the workers are not able to reproduce.
• Ants don’t have lungs. Oxygen enters through tiny holes all over the body and carbon dioxide leaves through the same holes.

We have sci-fi grade, alien-like creatures right at our feet... 

Mountain Hemlock

At the summit of Mount Hoffman, John Muir stood to admire not only the wide view, but also the mountain hemlock right beside him: "The hemlock (Tsuga Mertensiana) is the most beautiful conifer I have ever seen; the branches and also the main axis droop in a singularly graceful way, and the dense foliage covers the delicate, sensitive, swaying branchlets all around. It is now in full bloom, and the flowers, together with thousands of last season's cones still clinging to the drooping sprays, display wonderful wealth of color, brown and purple and blue. Gladly I climbed the first tree I found to revel in the midst of it. How the touch of the flowers makes one's flesh tingle! The pistillate are dark, rich purple, and almost translucent, the staminate blue,--a vivid, pure tone of blue like the mountain sky,--the most uncommonly beautiful of all the Sierra tree flowers I have seen. How wonderful that, with all its delicate feminine grace and beauty of form and dress and behavior, this lovely tree up here, exposed to the wildest blasts, has already endured the storms of centuries of winters!"

The fully-clothed guy on the left of the slope is the sturdy hemlock mountaineer.

A few months after the early summer bloom of the hemlock, Muir made his way up Cathedral Peak to find "two-leaved pine, mountain pine, albicaulis pine, silver fir, and the most charming, most graceful of all the evergreens, the mountain hemlock." 

You can see he was a huge fan of the mountain hemlock. What I found most beautiful about this tree and what makes it stand out against the other pines, is the way its soft, full wings droop at the ends. It looks like the most inviting and cozy tree to embrace: all the tree-huggers out there take note. I've noticed a few of the European hemlocks here in Spain, and their elegance impresses me every time. It truly is one of the most beautiful trees on the globe. 




"We are air exhaled by hemlocks..." -Kathleen Dean Moore

Silver Fir

Silver fir, the perfect little Christmas tree

"The principal tree for the first mile or two from camp is the magnificent silver fir, which reaches perfection here both in size and form of individual trees, and in the mode of grouping in groves with open spaces between. So trim and tasteful are these silvery, spiry groves one would fancy they must have been placed in position by some master landscape gardener, their regularity seeming almost conventional. But Nature is the only gardener able to do work so fine. A few noble specimens two hundred feet high occupy central positions in the groups with younger trees around them; and outside of these another circle of yet smaller ones, the whole arranged like tastefully symmetrical bouquets, every tree fitting nicely the place assigned to it as if made especially for it; small roses and eriogonums are usually found blooming on the open spaces about the groves, forming charming pleasure grounds. Higher, the firs gradually become smaller and less perfect, many showing double summits, indicating storm stress. Still, where good moraine soil is found, even on the rim of the lake-basin, specimens one hundred and fifty feet in height and five feet in diameter occur nearly nine thousand feet above the sea. The saplings, I find, are mostly bent with the crushing weight of the winter snow, which at this elevation must be at least eight or ten feet deep, judging by marks on the trees; and this depth of compacted snow is heavy enough to bend and bury young trees twenty or thirty feet in height and hold them down for four or five months. Some are broken; the others spring up when the snow melts and at length attain a size that enables them to withstand the snow pressure. Yet even in trees five feet thick the traces of this early discipline are still plainly to be seen in their curved insteps, and frequently in old dried saplings protruding from the trunk, partially overgrown by the new axis developed from a branch below the break. Yet through all this stress the forest is maintained in marvelous beauty." John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra

Although the silver, white, and red firs are all different types of trees, their names are often used interchangeably. For example, John Muir calls the silver fir both Abies concolor and Abies magnifica, while biologists today dub the concolor "white fir" and the magnifica "red fir." The silver fir is more commonly known as the Abies Amabalis, though Muir never mentions this Latin name. I had a very difficult time distinguishing between the three and eventually gave up and decided to refer to them all as silver firs, as does Mr. Muir.

"The silver firs (Abies concolor and Abies magnifica) are exceedingly beautiful, especially the magnifica, which becomes more abundant the higher we go. It is of great size, one of the most notable in every way of the giant conifers of the Sierra. I saw specimens that measured seven feet in diameter and over two hundred feet in height, while the average size for what might be called full-grown mature trees can hardly be less than one hundred and eighty or two hundred feet high and five or six feet in diameter; and with these noble dimensions there is a symmetry and perfection of finish not to be seen in any other tree, hereabout at least. The branches are whorled in fives mostly, and stand out from the tall, straight, exquisitely tapered bole in level collars, each branch regularly pinnated like the fronds of ferns, and densely clad with leaves all around the branchlets, thus giving them a singularly rich and sumptuous appearance. The extreme top of the tree is a thick blunt shoot pointing straight to the zenith like an admonishing finger. The cones stand erect like casks on the upper branches. They are about six inches long, three in diameter, blunt, velvety, and cylindrical in form, and very rich and precious looking. The seeds are about three quarters of an inch long, dark reddish brown with brilliant iridescent purple wings, and when ripe, the cone falls to pieces, and the seeds thus set free at a height of one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet have a good send off and may fly considerable distances in a good breeze; and it is when a good breeze is blowing that most of them are shaken free to fly...The other species, Abies concolor, attains nearly as great a height and thickness as the magnifica, but the branches do not form such regular whorls, nor are they so exactly pinnated or richly leaf-clad. Instead of growing all around the branchlets, the leaves are mostly arranged in two flat horizontal rows. The cones and seeds are like those of the magnifica in form but less than half as large. The bark of the magnifica is reddish purple and closely furrowed, that of the concolor gray and widely furrowed. A noble pair."

Young silver firs gathered round a lodgepole pine

It also turns out that silver firs make for quite cozy sleeping material:

"Have got my bed made in our new camp,--plushy, sumptuous, and deliciously fragrant, most of it magnifica fir plumes, of course, with a variety of sweet flowers in the pillow."

Lastly, I hope you enjoy these poetic expressions with a bit of silver fir interspersed throughout...

"The pale rose and purple sky changing softly to daffodil yellow and white, sunbeams pouring through the passes between the peaks and over the Yosemite domes, making their edges burn; the silver firs in the middle ground catching the glow on their spiry tops, and our camp grove fills and thrills with the glorious light. Everything awakening alert and joyful; the birds begin to stir and innumerable insect people. Deer quietly withdraw into leafy hiding-places in the chaparral; the dew vanishes, flowers spread their petals, every pulse beats high, every life cell rejoices, the very rocks seem to thrill with life. The whole landscape glows like a human face in a glory of enthusiasm, and the blue sky, pale around the horizon, bends peacefully down over all like one vast flower...

Probably more free sunshine falls on this majestic range than on any other in the world I've ever seen or heard of. It has the brightest weather, brightest glacier-polished rocks, the greatest abundance of irised spray from its glorious waterfalls, the brightest forests of silver firs and silver pines, more star-shine, moonshine, and perhaps more crystal-shine than any other mountain chain, and its countless mirror lakes, having more light poured into them, glow and spangle most. And how glorious the shining after the short summer showers and after frosty nights when the morning sunbeams are pouring through the crystals on the grass and pine needles, and how ineffably spiritually fine is the morning-glow on the mountain-tops and the alpenglow of evening. Well may the Sierra be named, not the Snowy Range, but the Range of Light."

Black-Tailed Deer

"In the thick woods between camp and the river, among tall grass and fallen pines, I discovered a baby fawn. At first it seemed inclined to come to me; but when I tried to catch it, and got within a rod or two, it turned and walked softly away, choosing its steps like a cautious, stealthy, hunting cat. Then, as if suddenly called or alarmed, it began to buck and run like a grown deer, jumping high above the fallen trunks, and was soon out of sight. Possibly its mother may have called it, but I did not hear her. I don't think fawns ever leave the home thicket or follow their mothers until they are called or frightened." John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra

Though I didn't try my hand at snatching up the fawn, I did get close enough to snap a decent picture. Of course, getting within this proximity is probably a million times easier to do now than it was for John Muir, as the deer in Yosemite Valley (where this photo was taken) are that much more accustomed to human presence and free snacks these days...

It's taken some self-persuasion for me to think this way, but this animal's occasional interaction with humans does not make the black-tailed deer any less arresting or thought-provoking. For some of us, it takes discipline to stop viewing wild yet available animals as being boring or unfit for observation. For me that was always critters like blue jays, ground squirrels, and seagulls; I used to ignore them, but I'm just now learning to see all of them, along with black-tailed deer and humans ourselves, as an equally intriguing and integral facet of wilderness as are mountain lions and humpback whales. And it's precisely this kind of poetic prose from John Muir that conveys such a regard and wonder for all creatures...

"A fine specimen of the black-tailed deer went bounding past camp this morning. A buck with wide spread of antlers, showing admirable vigor and grace. Wonderful the beauty, strength, and graceful movements of animals in wildernesses, cared for by Nature only, when our experience with domestic animals would lead us to fear that all the so-called neglected wild beasts would degenerate. Yet the upshot of Nature's method of breeding and teaching seems to lead to excellence of every sort. Deer, like all wild animals, are as clean as plants. The beauties of their gestures and attitudes, alert or in repose, surprise yet more than their bounding exuberant strength. Every movement and posture is graceful, the very poetry of manners and motion. Mother Nature is too often spoken of as in reality no mother at all. Yet how wisely, sternly, tenderly she loves and looks after her children in all sorts of weather and wildernesses. The more I see of deer the more I admire them as mountaineers. They make their way into the heart of the roughest solitudes with smooth reserve of strength, through dense belts of brush and forest encumbered with fallen trees and boulder piles, across cañons, roaring streams, and snow-fields, ever showing forth beauty and courage. Over nearly all the continent the deer find homes. In the Florida savannas and hummocks, in the Canada woods, in the far north, roaming over mossy tundras, swimming lakes and rivers and arms of the sea from island to island washed with waves, or climbing rocky mountains, everywhere healthy and able, adding beauty to every landscape,--a truly admirable creature and great credit to Nature." 

Lodgepole Pine (Pinus Contorta)

The pinus contorta is an appropriate title if only because of the confusion it causes for those trying to identify it. Even some of Yosemite's most knowledgeable explorers mistook it for a different type of tree. Yet it is the most prolific tree in the Sierra, found in many different levels of altitude. John Muir described its abudance:

"I find the two-leaved pine (Pinus contorta, var. Murrayana) forms the bulk of the forest up to an elevation of ten thousand feet or more--the highest timber-belt of the Sierra. I saw a specimen nearly five feet in diameter growing on deep, well-watered soil at an elevation of about nine thousand feet... a brave, hardy mountaineer pine, growing cheerily on rough beds of avalanche boulders and joints of rock pavements, as well as in fertile hollows, standing up to the waist in snow every winter for centuries, facing a thousand storms and blooming every year in colors as bright as those worn by the sun-drenched trees of the tropics."

The lodgepole pine grows from 130 to 160 feet on average, with needles and cones of about 1.5 to 3 inches in length. It generally grows a straight trunk and so was used by Native Americans for teepee lodges, hence the name lodgepole pine. The exception to its perfectly vertical nature occurs when the snow puts so much pressure on a weak sapling that it becomes permanently bent:

It is often mistaken for the Tamarack pine because of its two-needle fascicles. These are the only trees in the Sierra with needles in groups of two as opposed to three or four. John Muir commented on the misleading name of Tamarack Flat in Yosemite: 

"The flat is named after the two-leaved pine (Pinus contorta, var. Murrayana), common here, especially around the cool margin of the meadow. On rocky ground it is a rough, thickset tree, about forty to sixty feet high and one to three feet in diameter, bark thin and gummy, branches rather naked, tassels, leaves, and cones small. But in damp, rich soil it grows close and slender, and reaches a height at times of nearly a hundred feet. Specimens only six inches in diameter at the ground are often fifty or sixty feet in height, as slender and sharp in outline as arrows, like the true tamarack (larch) of the Eastern States; hence the name, though it is a pine." 

If only we could communicate with these pines, we could gain a breadth of knowledge into every walk of life and each varied landscape of the vast Sierra mountain range. In the Mammoth Lakes area, where we stayed, the lodgepole pine can be found residing lakeside, in a meadow, rising up between granite boulders, by a stream, and along mountain slopes. It stands as a reminder to those who take interest in identifying the life around them, that it's worth doing so just to have someone familiar greet you every place you visit.