National Wildlife Federation/ San Diego County

Who speaks for the chaparral?

By Richard W. Halsey

I live in San Diego County's wildland-urban interface, the fuzzy boundary between civilization and the natural landscape. I awaken each morning to a view of old-growth chaparral coating a nearby mountain like a carpet of green velvet.

The recent heavy rains have inspired an explosion of manzanita and ceanothus flowers to powder the hillsides. The first sound I usually hear is that of the wrentit, a secretive, little bird with a descending whistle that mimics the beat of a bouncing Ping-Pong ball.

This is my home, not in terms of ownership, but by providing a sense of place. Chaparral is distinctly Californian. It is our own native wilderness and defines who we are. Both the landscape and our lifestyle have been shaped by the same natural forces, drought and fire.

Yet many of us have unconsciously disconnected from the land in which we live because our hectic lives leave little room for such things. Hours on the freeway and trying to deal with everyday demands of civilization buries our innate love of nature with mountains of unfinished tasks, increased emotional tension and a sense of isolation.

Consequently, chaparral, our region's most characteristic wilderness, is viewed as something unknown, unimportant, and because of the 2003 fires, dangerous and in need of removal. The pejorative description of chaparral used in recent news stories reflects this perspective.

According to some reports, despite the large 2003 fires, "San Diego County still has tens of thousands of acres of brush and dead trees that could fuel wildfires." Funding from the so-called Healthy Forests Restoration Act would go to communities threatened by wildfires, "including chaparral-choked areas of San Diego County." Old-growth chaparral stands are referred to as "decadent" or "scrub-invested savannas."

It is time for all of us to get out of our cars, throw a rock through the television set, get outside and look around. Our landscape is being misrepresented and condemned. We need to come to its defense. This is not about hugging trees; it is about planning for the future.

Forget politics for the moment, and how you may view preservation efforts by environmental groups. Ask yourself, how much natural, Southern California heritage do we want remaining 100 years from now? Is the wildfire problem really about native shrubs or poor land planning? Do we really want to grind up and remove tens of thousands of acres of native landscape or do we need to help citizens understand they have a personal responsibility in maintaining a low-fire risk environment around their homes?

To answer these questions it is important to understand the truth about chaparral. Old-growth chaparral in excess of 100 years old is not trash. It remains a productive, dynamic ecosystem. There is no scientific evidence to support the notion that native shrublands have become "decadent" or unhealthy due to overgrowth. In fact, seeds of many chaparral plants actually require 30 years or more worth of accumulated leaf litter before they will successfully germinate. Yes, many chaparral plant species require some fire cue for germination, but their seeds will survive in the soil until the next blaze, be it 30 years or 100 years from now.

The idea that "chaparral-choked areas" are responsible for causing large fires is related to one of the most repeated misconceptions regarding the system: past fire suppression efforts have allowed an "unnatural" accumulation of brush. This belief is based on the misapplication of studies relating to dry ponderosa pine forests that have nothing to do with California shrublands.

There are seven major types of chaparral in San Diego County, each with its own growth cycle. The accumulation of dead and living plant material varies significantly between each type. Mixed chaparral on north-facing slopes can accumulate more plant mass in 10 years than a stand of chamise chaparral will on drier, south-facing slopes in 80 years. Shrubs grow. It is a natural process. Those that die are replaced by others.

Fire suppression is not responsible for this pattern and fires have not been excluded in the chaparral of Southern California. In fact, not only has the amount of acreage burned here per decade remained relatively unchanged for the past century, but fire frequency has been increasing in lockstep with population growth. This process is threatening to convert many of our native shrublands to desolate patches of non-native weeds.

Although sponsors of the Healthy Forests Restoration Act promoted the notion that dying trees fueled the 2003 fires, this was not the case. Of the total acreage burned in the 2003 firestorms, only 5 percent involved forested land. With 88 percent of the Cleveland National Forest composed of chaparral and related shrublands, the preserve is obviously misnamed. There is no question chaparral is extremely flammable, especially during dry weather conditions. It is a byproduct of the Mediterranean-type climate we enjoy so much.

However, the wildfire discussion needs to be refocused. We must begin to embrace the fact that we are part of nature. Our homes burn because we've allowed ourselves to forget our connection to the natural world. The chaparral is seen as the enemy when in fact it remains our last chance to reclaim Southern California's wildness and preserve the quality of life made possible by the region's natural, open spaces.

When we don't know someone, it is easier to create prejudicial caricatures. Dismissive generalities are easy. However, once we actually meet them, know their name and spend some time understanding their place in the world, it becomes impossible to ignore them as individuals. The same applies to learning about places we are unfamiliar, places like the chaparral.

Take some time this spring, which begins in California while much of the rest of the country is snowbound, and follow a trail into our local foothills. Learn some of the names and habits of our region's wild citizens. Take a deep breath and smell the sage-flavored air. Sit quietly and listen. Better yet, bring along someone under 12 years old. Little people have an uncanny ability to help us remember what is really important.

Welcome home.

Reprinted from the San Diego Union Tribune, January 14, 2005, with permission of Richard W. Halsey, field ecologist.

To Learn More about our Chaparral

Southern California Chaparral Field Institute
Chaparral: A Forgotten Habitat
Common Plants of the Chaparral (San Gabriel Foothills)
Mission Trails Regional Park
Sycamore Canyon Open Space Preserves
Chaparral Info from Las Pilitas Nursery