FollowDrought—a bland, one-syllable word with a slightly drawn out sound, lasts for less than a second before evaporating into the more substantial parts of our sentences.
Drought is a state of being, holding the implication that it is only temporary.
The word is deceivingly infinitesimal.
At an environmentally-aware institution such as Cal, located in one of the nation’s most water-sensitive regions, I’ve heard the word “drought” thrown around more times than I can count. Water restrictions in California are tightening, and Berkeley, among other schools, is taking considerable measures to reduce water consumption.
We are going through all the motions, but to what depth do we, particularly as students, truly understand the word’s connotations? Nothing quite prepared me to witness with my own eyes what this drought really means for California, wildlife and plant life, and our planet.
In anticipation of a trip to Yosemite National Park this summer with my family, I naturally searched images of the well-loved nature expanse. As expected, Google showered me with picturesque shots of Half Dome, Glacier Point, and Tuolumne Meadows, complete with alluring lush greenery, cascading waterfalls, and snowcapped mountains. I couldn’t wait to see for myself the sights that have captured the eyes and hearts of visitors, artists, and scholars alike for generations, instilling wonder among figures such as John Muir, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Theodore Roosevelt.
A week later, we were on our way to Yosemite, our ears popping with each sharp turn of the car bringing us away from the Bay and further up the mountainside. Within hours, Highway 120 transported us to countryside towns of the Chuck Norris film variety, dotted with saloons and hardware shops.
These shops gave way to farms and vast swaths of crops, orchards, and grazing fields. Our car was enveloped in the branches of orange and apple trees as we drove past miles of rich, fertile soil.
This wealth of agriculture, we soon learned, was an illusion.
The highway took us right to the edge of Mariposa County’s steepest mountains, and we peered over the unrailed cliffs into the cuts of deep valleys, densely hidden by forestry. There it was—the heart of Yosemite Valley, from an altitude so great that a thumb on the car window could cover the entirety of a lake.
Yosemite welcomed us with wildflowers and outreaching boughs.
Bare boughs, many of them dry while others were scorched by wildfire. How strange, my mom said. For the past thirty miles, most of the visible trees we’ve seen are dying or burnt.
This was true—a dry orange hue, characteristic of a dying tree, seeped downwards from the sequoias and pines, slowly curling each limb outward. Others had passed the stage of discoloration and fallen, with their great roots ripped from the soil. Although wildfires are commonplace in large forests, the dryness foreshadowed telling signs that were less natural.
We drove further into the Valley, and the disconcerting sight was temporarily forgotten.
El Capitan and Half Dome loomed in the horizon, gray monoliths shrouded in the afternoon’s golden light. They stood grounded and sure, visible from any part of the Valley. If you didn’t look closely, you’d miss the lower Yosemite and Bridalveil Falls flowing between mountain crevices.
With water bottles and maps in tow, we ventured on. We found beauty in its purest forms. From our vantage points, I could hardly tear my gaze away as the horizon seemed to disappear and melt into the haze resting on the shoulders of Yosemite’s mountains. Glacier Point, Tunnel and Valley View, Sentinel Dome—even before visiting the park, you will involuntarily fall in love with those sensationalized destinations, and take for granted their infinite beauty.
So naturally, I had expectations in mind. Imagining a glossy and clear Mirror Lake where I could see sharp reflections of the landscape on the horizon line, I found instead wetland and the beginnings of a meadow. Mirror Lake no longer exists, at least not in the form it was formerly revered.
In the place of formerly turbulent white-water rapids, rumored to collide so audibly that your hearing was momentarily impaired, were miles of worn stones and boulders—the last remaining trace of great creeks, which overflowed with vitality only years ago.
The Yosemite immortalized by John Muir’s writing and made accessible to the public by photographer Ansel Adams continues to inspire and attract people of diverse backgrounds, and lives through its legacy.
However, while literature and photographs may be timeless, our planet and its inhabitants are not.
The reality is that our landscape has been drastically changed by the combination of human interference and the world’s natural cycles. Yosemite is still intrinsically beautiful, but much of it is in danger.
Yosemite’s changing climate and landscape reflect the state’s worsening drought conditions. Between 2013 and 2014, California had the lowest level of precipitation on record, and 2014 was the driest year in California’s history.
A third of California’s water supply is sourced from the Sierra Nevada snowmelt. This year, snowmelt totaled less than 12 percent of its normal average. The Merced River, which provides water to the Nevada and Vernal Falls and Yosemite Valley, is predicted to go dry within the month — two months earlier than usual.
These five photos of Half Dome speak volumes on the drought’s tangible impacts. Each picture is taken the third week of March from 2011 to 2015, and depicts the drastic reduction in the snowpack’s size within only five years.
Photo Source: ABC News.
A Los Angeles Times article observes current conditions at Yosemite, confirming that California’s drought has shown the worst effects in its fourth year: compared to the average rainfall of 37 inches by July in Yosemite Valley, the area received only 12 inches by the end of this year’s rainy season.
In addition to scarce water, the Sierra Nevada range is predicted to have larger wildfires due to infestations of western pine bark beetles, which thrive in drought conditions. Dehydrated trees are unable to utilize sap to control the beetle population, leading to a vicious cycle of low tree mortality when combined with factors such as excessive heat, drought, and insects. Further, a study conducted by UC Santa Barbara’s National Center for Ecological Analysis and Synthesis expects these numbers to increase paralleling climate change.
William Anderegg, postdoctoral researcher at Princeton Environmental Institute, examines factors contributing to high tree morality rates: “These massive forest die-offs that we are starting to see are a sign that climate change is already having major impacts in our backyard.”
Shielded in the comfort of our energy-powered homes and abundant water supply, we tend to overlook what we cannot immediately see.
Hearing the word “drought” on the morning news doesn’t hold quite as much weight as the sight of scorched and fallen trees for miles, formidable waterfalls reduced to mere streams, and expanses of lush plant life and grass gone completely dry.
The word “drought” slips off the tongue, and falls like a solitary drop of water onto cracked desert ground.
It goes unseen and unheard.
Hear this: NASA predicts that by 2016, California’s state water supply may be completely depleted.
“Right now the state has only about one year of water supply left in its reservoirs, and our strategic backup supply, groundwater, is rapidly disappearing,” NASA senior water scientist Jay Famiglietti writes in the Los Angeles Times. Famigletti urges leaders to tackle the pressing urgency of the drought, calling for the implementation of new management policies and water rationing across the board: from domestic use to notoriously excessive agricultural irrigation.
As dire conditions worsen, the state faces an enormous obstacle in balancing the wellbeing of its citizens, environment, and economy. Undeniably, the drought severity requires government policy-making and reform on a large scale—decisions often out of reach for the general public.
However, the last thing we should be doing as individuals is distancing ourselves from the prevalent issue and the responsibility we hold in conserving water and our environment. Regardless of whether your geographic location is directly impacted by the drought, take measures to conserve in a world where our resources are slipping with each day.
Saving water is a simple step we can all take to do our part on a daily basis. If you’re unsure on where to start, use this interactive guide provided by Save Our Water. By rethinking how we use water within and outside our homes, not only will we minimize consumption but we can reform and improve the way we utilize natural resources.
A major step towards addressing the drought is recognizing that individual efforts are not futile. The idea isn’t for each individual to sacrifice their way of living—but for small change to happen on a massive scale.
It’s time we take action, and keep California Golden.
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Image Source: Reuters
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