Chaparral and fire - a sensitive relationship

The next time you travel the slopes of Mount Diablo, hike the trails of Mount Tamalpais State Park, or explore the ridgeline between Santa Cruz and Santa Clara Counties, you will be experiencing California's most extensive and misunderstood ecosystem, the chaparral. Once the favored habitat of the California grizzly bear, chaparral is distinctly Californian. A drought-tolerant plant community dominated by hardy shrubs and tenaciously territorial wildlife, chaparral helps define who we are. Both the landscape and our lifestyles have been shaped by the same Mediterranean-type influences: mild, wet winters, long seasonal droughts, and inevitable wildfires.

If you are lucky enough to live near a patch of beautiful old-growth chaparral, you can awaken each morning to a view of nature coating nearby hillsides like a carpet of green velvet. You can witness how winter rains inspire an explosion of manzanita and ceanothus blossoms, decorating the hillsides like sprays of colorful powdered sugar. You will become familiar with the ever-present voice of the wren-tit, a secretive little bird with a descending whistle like the beat of a bouncing Ping-Pong ball. While the redwoods certainly inspire, and oak woodlands provide magnificent vistas, it is the chaparral that is truly California's home, not in terms of ownership, but by providing a sense of place; chaparral can be found in every county in the state.

Unfortunately, many of us have unconsciously disconnected from the land in which we live. Hours on the freeway and the everyday demands of civilization bury our innate love of nature with mountains of unfinished tasks, increased emotional tension, and a sense of isolation. Consequently, nature, and chaparral in particular, is viewed as something unknown, unimportant, and because of recent wildfires, dangerous and in need of removal. The pejorative description of chaparral often used in the media reflects this perspective.

Old-growth chaparral stands are referred to as "trashy, scrub-infested savannas". Funding from the so-called Healthy Forests Restoration Act is available to communities threatened by "chaparral-choked" canyons and hillsides. And wildfires are incorrectly blamed on "unnatural" and dangerous concentrations of "decadent brush".

It is time for all of us to get outside, look around, and reconnect to the land in which we live. California's most extensive, native landscape is being misrepresented and condemned. We need to come to its defense.

Is the wildfire problem really about native shrubs or poor land planning? Do we want to grind up and remove tens of thousands of acres of native vegetation, or do we need to help the public understand that all of us have a personal responsibility for minimizing fire risk around our homes? Do we want to continue to risk the lives of wildland firefighters, or should we demand that local governments stop permitting developments in areas of high fire risk?

To answer these questions it is important to understand the truth about chaparral.

Old-growth chaparral is not trash. Such areas, 100 years old and more, remain productive, dynamic ecosystems. There is no scientific evidence to support the notion that native shrublands become "decadent" or unhealthy due to overgrowth. In fact, seeds of many chaparral plants actually require 30 years or more 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 several centuries 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: that 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 many types of chaparral in California, each with its own growth cycle. The accumulation of dead and living plant material varies significantly among types. Mixed chaparral on north-facing slopes can accumulate more plant mass in 10 years than 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. In fact, fire frequency in low-elevation regions throughout the state has generally increased with population growth. This process is threatening to convert many of our native shrublands to desolate patches of non-native weeds.

The natural fire-return interval for many stands of chaparral was once centuries, not decades. This allowed magnificent forests of manzanita to grow with trunks waist-wide and thicker, the perfect place to find a grizzly. With the appearance of humans, however, and our penchant to light fires, few of these old-growth stands exist any more. Most of those that do are in remote regions in the northern part of the state; they are all but gone in the south. While some suggest that we should mimic the burning practices of Native Americans, this would only accelerate the elimination of chaparral by adding more fire to a system that generally suffers from too much. Just because a stand of chaparral hasn't burned for a while doesn't mean it needs to be torched.

There is no question that chaparral is extremely flammable, especially during dry weather. It is a by-product of the Mediterranean-type climate we enjoy so much. The wildfire discussion, however, needs to be refocused. We are part of nature, and 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 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. Once we actually meet them, know their name, and spend some time understanding their place in the world, we can't ignore them as individuals. The same applies to learning about unfamiliar places, places like the chaparral.

Take some time this year and follow a trail into our local foothills. Learn some of the names and habits of the chaparral'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.

By Richard W. Halsey

Richard W. Halsey coordinates research and education efforts through the California Chaparral Institute and is a trained wildland firefighter.