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Engineering Marvels of the Silver State

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Monday, April 14, 2025

Imagine stepping onto the scenic Marlette Flume Trail, winding high above the shimmering blue expanse of Lake Tahoe. The crisp mountain air fills your lungs as you take in the panoramic views—but you may not realize you’re also standing on the remnants of a 19th-century engineering marvel. Beneath your feet was once an innovative wooden flume and pipeline system that helped channel water from Tahoe’s forests to Virginia City and the silver mines of the Comstock Lode.  The Marlette Flume was hardly Nevada’s only 19th-century engineering wonder: the Silver State’s rise was built on ambitious projects. To extract the vast wealth beneath the desert, environmental and logistical hurdles had to be solved with similar large-scale innovations.  The Comstock Lode: Supplying America’s First Major Silver Discovery  The 1859 discovery of the Comstock Lode—an immense silver deposit—was a turning point in American mining history. This rich vein of silver and gold, buried beneath the mountains of western Nevada, transformed the region into an economic powerhouse, drawing thousands of prospectors and engineers eager to stake their claim. At its height, the Lode produced hundreds of millions of dollars in silver, fueling the growth of Nevada and even financing the Union during the Civil War.   However, extracting silver from deep underground came with significant challenges. Virginia City—the Comstock Lode’s largest settlement—was built on a remote mountaintop in what was already a remote desert. This made supplying the town (and keeping its miners happy) a logistical nightmare. Critical resources like food, water and building materials were simply not available locally, which meant the city had to import pretty much everything it needed.   Today, visitors can take a 24-mile round-trip tour from Carson City to historic Virginia City aboard the Virginia & Truckee Railroad (V&T). Travel Nevada Most supplies came via an endless stream of wagon and mule teams that navigated the steep mountain passes. This included fresh water. But as Virginia City grew, officials knew they needed a more permanent solution to their water woes. The answer came in the early 1870s, when developers constructed an intricate flume and pipeline system. The Marlette Flume took fresh water on a 50-mile journey from Marlette Lake—located just above Lake Tahoe—down the slope of the Sierra Nevada, and then back uphill into mountains of The Comstock.   Additional supply relief came in 1869 with the completion of the Virginia & Truckee Railroad (V&T). Not only did rail make the Comstock much easier to supply, but its silver mines were finally connected to processing centers and markets across the country. The line ran supplies until 1950 before shuttering. In 1976, the V&T Railroad was revived as a heritage railroad, and today it still offers tourists the chance to ride the historic route from Carson City to Virginia City. Experience It Today: The Marlette Flume Trail (otherwise known as the Lake Tahoe Flume Trail) has been transformed into a world-renowned hiking and mountain biking route that offers breathtaking views of Lake Tahoe. Remnants of the original flume system are still visible along portions of the trail. The Flume Trail: A Water Slide That Fueled the Mines Although Comstock officials were able to solve logistical supply issues to keep the town running, building and maintaining the mines were an entirely different problems that required cutting-edge Wild West technology.  One of the biggest issues miners faced was that the silver was far below the earth—sometimes more than half a mile down. To extend (and support) mine shafts at that depth, new construction methods would need to be developed. One of those pioneering technologies came from German mining engineer Philip Deidesheimer. His system—known as square-set timbering—used interlocking wooden frames to stabilize the soft, collapsing rock, making deep mining not only possible, but far safer. The only problem was that this method required a significant amount of timber.   Timber was not abundant around the Comstock Lode. However, the dense forests surrounding Lake Tahoe were relatively nearby. To bring the lumber to the mines, developers had to build an advanced rail and flume system, today called the Incline Flume. This incredible feat of engineering brought trees harvested from the Tahoe basin to Incline Village. The timber was then winched up 35-percent grade incline railway to the top of the mountain then launched down the Sierra Nevada via a spectacular wooden flume system.  The Incline Flume—essentially a waterslide for logs— carried logs more than 30 miles using only the force of gravity. The wooden scaffolding snaked along cliffsides, through rugged canyons, and across vast expanses of desert terrain, delivering the timber necessary to keep the Comstock mines operational and structurally sound.   While it was an effective innovation, the Incline Flume helped accelerate deforestation in the Tahoe Basin, altering the landscape at the time. However, by the late 19th century, efforts to replant and conserve the region’s forests were already underway, and dedicated conservation initiatives continue to this day.  Experience It Today: Not to be confused with the more-popular Marlette Flume Trail above Lake Tahoe, portions of the Incline Flume are still accessible today via Mt. Rose Highway. Sutro Tunnel: A Game-Changer for Nevada’s Mining Industry  By the 1860s, mining operations in the Comstock Lode had hit a major obstacle: deep tunnels flooded with water, while stagnant air polluted with toxic gases combined to make working conditions treacherous. Miners often found themselves wading through knee-deep water, with ventilation shafts struggling to supply fresh air throughout their shifts. Enter Adolph Sutro, a Prussian-born engineer with a radical idea: an underground tunnel that would drain the mines, improve airflow, and create a safer passage for miners and supplies.  Sutro envisioned a 4-mile drainage tunnel running beneath the Comstock Lode, diverting floodwaters and allowing mining operations to continue at even greater depths. Construction began in 1869, employing thousands of workers who blasted through rock with dynamite—an innovation at the time. Progress was slow, however, and by the time the tunnel was completed in 1878, the silver boom had begun to decline.  Entrance to the Sutro Tunnel site today. Travel Nevada [/] A historic photo of the Sutro Tunnel site circa 1870. Courtesy of Friends of Sutro Tunnel [/] A photograph of an early entrance to the Sutro Tunnel. Courtesy of Friends of Sutro Tunnel [/] Despite this, the Sutro Tunnel proved valuable, remaining in use for decades as a critical drainage system for nearby mines. While debates persist over whether it was worth the effort, its engineering impact was undeniable. The tunnel influenced later mining operations and set a precedent for large-scale infrastructure projects in Nevada and around the world.  Experience It Today: The Sutro Tunnel is currently being restored, and expert-guided tours offer visitors a rare glimpse inside this ambitious engineering project. Today, explorers can walk along the same underground pathways that miners once used to navigate the depths of Nevada’s silver industry. The Lasting Legacy of Nevada’s Silver Boom  Nevada’s history is deeply intertwined with engineering innovation. The breakthroughs of the 19th century shaped the state’s economy and influenced mining technologies in other Western states and beyond. Today, remnants of these once-cutting-edge feats can still be explored—no longer as functioning infrastructure, but as part of Nevada’s rich and proud heritage. Ongoing preservation efforts are helping to restore and protect these historic landmarks, ensuring they remain accessible for future generations. From trail access along the Flume Trail to the restoration of the Sutro Tunnel to guided tours of Virginia City and more, historical tourism plays a vital role in keeping Nevada’s mining legacy alive today. Plan Your Visit  Whether hiking the Flume Trail, touring the Sutro Tunnel, or walking the streets of Virginia City, visitors can experience Nevada’s rich industrial heritage firsthand. These historic sites invite travelers to step into the past, engage with the stories of grit and innovation, and support the ongoing conservation of the state’s most iconic engineering landmarks. Plan your trip to stunning Nevada to experience the nation’s proud history of engineering and innovation. 

Discover the 19th-century innovations that put Nevada on the map

Imagine stepping onto the scenic Marlette Flume Trail, winding high above the shimmering blue expanse of Lake Tahoe. The crisp mountain air fills your lungs as you take in the panoramic views—but you may not realize you’re also standing on the remnants of a 19th-century engineering marvel. Beneath your feet was once an innovative wooden flume and pipeline system that helped channel water from Tahoe’s forests to Virginia City and the silver mines of the Comstock Lode. 

The Marlette Flume was hardly Nevada’s only 19th-century engineering wonder: the Silver State’s rise was built on ambitious projects. To extract the vast wealth beneath the desert, environmental and logistical hurdles had to be solved with similar large-scale innovations.  

The Comstock Lode: Supplying America’s First Major Silver Discovery 

The 1859 discovery of the Comstock Lode—an immense silver deposit—was a turning point in American mining history. This rich vein of silver and gold, buried beneath the mountains of western Nevada, transformed the region into an economic powerhouse, drawing thousands of prospectors and engineers eager to stake their claim. At its height, the Lode produced hundreds of millions of dollars in silver, fueling the growth of Nevada and even financing the Union during the Civil War.  

However, extracting silver from deep underground came with significant challenges. Virginia City—the Comstock Lode’s largest settlement—was built on a remote mountaintop in what was already a remote desert. This made supplying the town (and keeping its miners happy) a logistical nightmare. Critical resources like food, water and building materials were simply not available locally, which meant the city had to import pretty much everything it needed.  

Engineering Marvels of the Silver State
Today, visitors can take a 24-mile round-trip tour from Carson City to historic Virginia City aboard the Virginia & Truckee Railroad (V&T). Travel Nevada

Most supplies came via an endless stream of wagon and mule teams that navigated the steep mountain passes. This included fresh water. But as Virginia City grew, officials knew they needed a more permanent solution to their water woes. The answer came in the early 1870s, when developers constructed an intricate flume and pipeline system. The Marlette Flume took fresh water on a 50-mile journey from Marlette Lake—located just above Lake Tahoe—down the slope of the Sierra Nevada, and then back uphill into mountains of The Comstock.  

Additional supply relief came in 1869 with the completion of the Virginia & Truckee Railroad (V&T). Not only did rail make the Comstock much easier to supply, but its silver mines were finally connected to processing centers and markets across the country. The line ran supplies until 1950 before shuttering. In 1976, the V&T Railroad was revived as a heritage railroad, and today it still offers tourists the chance to ride the historic route from Carson City to Virginia City. 

Experience It Today: The Marlette Flume Trail (otherwise known as the Lake Tahoe Flume Trail) has been transformed into a world-renowned hiking and mountain biking route that offers breathtaking views of Lake Tahoe. Remnants of the original flume system are still visible along portions of the trail. 

The Flume Trail: A Water Slide That Fueled the Mines

Although Comstock officials were able to solve logistical supply issues to keep the town running, building and maintaining the mines were an entirely different problems that required cutting-edge Wild West technology. 

One of the biggest issues miners faced was that the silver was far below the earth—sometimes more than half a mile down. To extend (and support) mine shafts at that depth, new construction methods would need to be developed. 

One of those pioneering technologies came from German mining engineer Philip Deidesheimer. His system—known as square-set timbering—used interlocking wooden frames to stabilize the soft, collapsing rock, making deep mining not only possible, but far safer. The only problem was that this method required a significant amount of timber.  

Timber was not abundant around the Comstock Lode. However, the dense forests surrounding Lake Tahoe were relatively nearby. To bring the lumber to the mines, developers had to build an advanced rail and flume system, today called the Incline Flume. This incredible feat of engineering brought trees harvested from the Tahoe basin to Incline Village. The timber was then winched up 35-percent grade incline railway to the top of the mountain then launched down the Sierra Nevada via a spectacular wooden flume system. 

The Incline Flume—essentially a waterslide for logs— carried logs more than 30 miles using only the force of gravity. The wooden scaffolding snaked along cliffsides, through rugged canyons, and across vast expanses of desert terrain, delivering the timber necessary to keep the Comstock mines operational and structurally sound.  

While it was an effective innovation, the Incline Flume helped accelerate deforestation in the Tahoe Basin, altering the landscape at the time. However, by the late 19th century, efforts to replant and conserve the region’s forests were already underway, and dedicated conservation initiatives continue to this day. 

Experience It Today: Not to be confused with the more-popular Marlette Flume Trail above Lake Tahoe, portions of the Incline Flume are still accessible today via Mt. Rose Highway. 

Sutro Tunnel: A Game-Changer for Nevada’s Mining Industry 

By the 1860s, mining operations in the Comstock Lode had hit a major obstacle: deep tunnels flooded with water, while stagnant air polluted with toxic gases combined to make working conditions treacherous. Miners often found themselves wading through knee-deep water, with ventilation shafts struggling to supply fresh air throughout their shifts. Enter Adolph Sutro, a Prussian-born engineer with a radical idea: an underground tunnel that would drain the mines, improve airflow, and create a safer passage for miners and supplies. 

Sutro envisioned a 4-mile drainage tunnel running beneath the Comstock Lode, diverting floodwaters and allowing mining operations to continue at even greater depths. Construction began in 1869, employing thousands of workers who blasted through rock with dynamite—an innovation at the time. Progress was slow, however, and by the time the tunnel was completed in 1878, the silver boom had begun to decline. 

Entrance to the Sutro Tunnel site today. Travel Nevada

[/]

A historic photo of the Sutro Tunnel site circa 1870. Courtesy of Friends of Sutro Tunnel

[/]

A photograph of an early entrance to the Sutro Tunnel. Courtesy of Friends of Sutro Tunnel

[/]

Despite this, the Sutro Tunnel proved valuable, remaining in use for decades as a critical drainage system for nearby mines. While debates persist over whether it was worth the effort, its engineering impact was undeniable. The tunnel influenced later mining operations and set a precedent for large-scale infrastructure projects in Nevada and around the world. 

Experience It Today: The Sutro Tunnel is currently being restored, and expert-guided tours offer visitors a rare glimpse inside this ambitious engineering project. Today, explorers can walk along the same underground pathways that miners once used to navigate the depths of Nevada’s silver industry. 

The Lasting Legacy of Nevada’s Silver Boom 

Nevada’s history is deeply intertwined with engineering innovation. The breakthroughs of the 19th century shaped the state’s economy and influenced mining technologies in other Western states and beyond. 

Today, remnants of these once-cutting-edge feats can still be explored—no longer as functioning infrastructure, but as part of Nevada’s rich and proud heritage. Ongoing preservation efforts are helping to restore and protect these historic landmarks, ensuring they remain accessible for future generations. From trail access along the Flume Trail to the restoration of the Sutro Tunnel to guided tours of Virginia City and more, historical tourism plays a vital role in keeping Nevada’s mining legacy alive today. 

Plan Your Visit 

Whether hiking the Flume Trail, touring the Sutro Tunnel, or walking the streets of Virginia City, visitors can experience Nevada’s rich industrial heritage firsthand. These historic sites invite travelers to step into the past, engage with the stories of grit and innovation, and support the ongoing conservation of the state’s most iconic engineering landmarks. Plan your trip to stunning Nevada to experience the nation’s proud history of engineering and innovation. 

Read the full story here.
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Doug Peacock, the real ‘George Hayduke,’ Looks Back on 50 Years of The Monkey Wrench Gang

Now a famed grizzly conservationist, Peacock served as Edward Abbey’s inspiration for the novel’s most pivotal, piercing character. The post Doug Peacock, the real ‘George Hayduke,’ Looks Back on 50 Years of The Monkey Wrench Gang appeared first on The Revelator.

Half a century ago, a lyrical and passionate philosopher named Edward Abbey published a novel that would help define a generation. The Monkey Wrench Gang supercharged a secretive movement to preserve the remaining American wilderness from devastating overdevelopment and corporate exploitation through targeted acts of violence against machines. The book, which remains painfully relevant to the ongoing environmental crises facing the planet, has recently been re-released in a commemorative anniversary edition. “A 50th anniversary of The Monkey Wrench Gang couldn’t be timelier,” says Abbey’s friend and colleague Doug Peacock, who inspired the character of George Washington Hayduke in the novel. “Our American wilderness, Ed’s and my favorite shared value, has never been in greater peril, and so the book’s theme of challenging authority at every turn really hits the bullseye. We live in a scorching era of biological extinctions. Climate change by itself could take everything out.” Now 83 years old, Peacock wrote the introduction to the new edition of the novel. A distinguished author, filmmaker, and conservationist, he has dedicated his life to the preservation of grizzly bears and the “trophic cascade” of spiraling ecological benefits the bears provide throughout their constricted range. (Disclosure: Funk worked as communications director for Peacock’s former startup, Save the Yellowstone Grizzly.) A Fictional Character Birthed in Genuine Trauma Peacock met Abbey in 1969, shortly after his discharge from the Green Berets during the Vietnam War. “I saw a lot of Ed Abbey in Tucson back then,” Peacock reflects. “I wasn’t a writer yet, but I was a character.” Such a character, in fact, that Peacock immediately stood out in a crowd. His anarchic instincts, incited by his combat experiences and coupled with his having partially recovered from post-traumatic stress disorder through profound encounters with grizzly bears in the wild, made him a unique persona — one that would fit perfectly into what would become The Monkey Wrench Gang. In the novel, four contrarians band together and suppress their differences for a shared and singular mission: thwarting the unchecked destruction of their beloved desert landscapes. Led by the furious and untiring Green Beret medic George Hayduke, the gang plans a sweeping campaign of industrial sabotage in desert country. Abbey’s novel is largely built around this singular character, who eagerly puts the violent wrench into the gang’s monkey business. Hayduke’s struggles with what later became known as PTSD were mirrored in Peacock. “Looking back,” Peacock reflects now, “Abbey probably did me a favor in creating a caricature of myself whose dim psyche I could penetrate when my own seemed off-limits. Ed painted the ex-Green Beret Hayduke with precise brushstrokes as caught in an emotional backwater, an eddy out of whose currents I wanted to swim. The only thing worse than reading your own press was becoming someone else’s fiction.” The other three members of the gang, says Peacock, were also based on friends of his in the Southwest: Seldom Seen Smith was built around the late activist and river runner Ken Sleight. Doc Sarvis “is mostly as far as I’m concerned Ed Abbey, especially when he spouts out his philosophy and little nuggets of wisdom — that’s really Ed.” Bonnie Abbzug was modeled after Ingrid Eisenstadter, a recent contributor to The Revelator, whom Peacock notes “was a handful, not just in fiction. That was really her.” Peacock later recounted his own story in the harrowing 1990 book Grizzly Years: In Search of the American Wilderness. In 2009 The Atlantic released a short documentary about him under the same title: ‘Wilderness Is the Glue’ After returning from Vietnam, Peacock says, he went straight into the wilderness. “I didn’t want to work for anyone or have troubles with the authorities, so I lived in the woods,” Peacock recalls. “I like autonomy and I took it to the extreme when I got back from Vietnam.” He spent most of his time in Yellowstone and Glacier national parks, “and you absolutely could not find me. I lived the life of an outlaw, far from any authority, and took anarchy to the extreme, hidden in the wilderness. I love freedom, and my feelings fit right into Abbey’s rather formal libertarian philosophy that permeates The Monkey Wrench Gang.” They found particular common ground on environmental issues. “Defending the wilderness is really the glue that cemented me with Ed.” Peacock’s insular need for a kind of absolute personal liberty, begun as an aching promise to himself while serving overseas, happened to fit neatly with Abbey’s own philosophical beliefs. Abbey wrote his master’s thesis at the University of New Mexico on anarchy, that ultimate expression of chaotic self-governance, and dedicated The Monkey Wrench Gang to the late 18th-century English reactionary and later Romantic icon Ned Ludd, who launched a populist sabotage campaign against the encroaching Industrial Revolution. In his novel Abbey makes the reader confront and question assumptions about the kinds of people behind the current economy’s ultimate, inevitable toll on our communal natural landscapes. And to bring the fight to them. Radical Rebirth The Monkey Wrench Gang was published in a time of social unrest and political turmoil that somehow seems minor compared to today’s unceasing partisan mayhem. But it struck a chord at the time, and many young people took this novel’s message to heart. Readers have credited the book with sparking the creation of Earth First! and other “radical environmentalist” groups who deflated industrial truck tires to stymy commerce, burned billboards to restore the natural view, spiked trees to prevent logging, and otherwise did what little is possible to take some kind of stand against blind, rampaging overdevelopment. “It was the beginning of radical environmentalism,” Peacock tells me. A Message That Still Resonates Peacock, who has spent a lifetime writing books and making documentaries about his dedication to preserving grizzly bears, sees our present political moment of absolute and almost fanatical obedience to the wishes of ultrarich oil, gas, coal, and timber industries as the tragically perfect time for this reintroduction to an unlikely cabal that refused to let the world die around them. Indeed, the sycophantic corporate atmosphere we’re living in today is different from any other in modern U.S. history. From handing over public lands to private extractive interests to ignoring scientific realities on climate and aggressively seeking to remove vital protections for endangered species, the Trump administration proudly proclaims its unprecedented contempt for what allows the United States to be what it was founded to be — wild and free. The categorically contrasting but equally devoted characters of The Monkey Wrench Gang embody the American belief in pushing past seemingly impenetrable boundaries by working together, by risking it all for common ideals, and by regularly squabbling and then reconciling. Out of a shared sense of duty. This book reminds us today that when all else fails, there’s always the option of rebellious attempts at sabotage to cut through the agitprop and draw attention to an enduring and genuinely apolitical value: preserving what remains of our wilderness. Together. After all, as Peacock says, “The principles and anger behind The Monkey Wrench Gang are still with us, and still with me.” Previously in The Revelator: In Understory, An Ecologist Reflects on the Grief of Losing Nature The post Doug Peacock, the real ‘George Hayduke,’ Looks Back on 50 Years of The Monkey Wrench Gang appeared first on The Revelator.

Graeme Samuel calls for Labor to ditch ‘national interest’ workaround for environment laws

Former ACCC chair condemns proposed exemption allowing minister to approve projects that don’t comply with lawGet our breaking news email, free app or daily news podcastThe former competition watchdog chief Graeme Samuel says the government should axe its proposal to allow the environment minister to make decisions in breach of national laws if it is deemed in the “national interest”.Samuel, who led a 2020 review of the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation (EPBC) Act, also argued a loophole that effectively exempts native forest logging from the laws “shouldn’t be there”. Continue reading...

The former competition watchdog chief Graeme Samuel says the government should axe its proposal to allow the environment minister to make decisions in breach of national laws if it is deemed in the “national interest”.Samuel, who led a 2020 review of the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation (EPBC) Act, also argued a loophole that effectively exempts native forest logging from the laws “shouldn’t be there”.In his written submission to the inquiry, Samuel said “national interest” should instead be incorporated as a consideration in new national environmental standards.He made the comments to a Senate committee examining the Albanese government’s bills to reform national nature laws, which Labor hopes to pass before parliament rises for Christmas.Samuel was also concerned the legislation retained a loophole that effectively exempts native forest logging covered by a regional forest agreement (RFA) from national environmental laws.“I hate the RFA exemption. It shouldn’t be there,” Samuel told the committee.He said if the government did retain it, the agreements “should be governed by a very tough national environmental standard”.Sign up: AU Breaking News emailThe former Howard government environment minister Robert Hill – who introduced the original act – said tighter regulation of land-clearing should be the “highest priority” of the reforms.In his submission to the inquiry, Hill also said that there was “no credible argument” for retaining the logging exemption.What does net zero emissions actually mean? And is it different to the Paris agreement? – videoWhile welcoming the bills as achieving “80% of the aspirations” of a consultative group formed during the review process, Samuel said the government’s proposed national interest exemption could lead to the abuse of the power vested in the minister.Adopting similar language to the former treasury secretary Ken Henry, Samuel warned the exemption could lead to lobbyists seeking favourable decisions.The proposed exemption would allow the minister to approve projects that do not comply with environmental laws if the approval was considered in the national interest.“There’ll be a conga line of lobbyists that will be outside their door saying, ‘Well, look, you just use the national interest exemption’,” he said.“So I would take it out of the legislation and simply say it is now a balancing matter that ought to be taken into account in determining approvals and assessments.”Hill, in a submission co-written with Atticus Fleming, a former deputy secretary of the New South Wales National Parks and Wildlife Service, wrote that the “primary shortcoming” of the existing laws had been their failure to address the impact of land-clearing on Australia’s biodiversity.“Given the impact on biodiversity, and the failure of state governments, the effective regulation of land clearing must be the highest priority for the EPBC Act,” the submission states.Hill and Fleming suggested changes including provisions that would require land-clearing above certain thresholds to be assessed for impacts on threatened species and ecosystems.They also said “there is no credible argument for maintaining a blanket exemption for the logging of native forests” and the bills should be amended to remove it.“Logging operations should be subject to the same rules as mining, agriculture, urban development and so on,” they wrote.

Conservationists Make An (Intentional) Mess In Mendocino

And coho salmon love it. The post Conservationists Make An (Intentional) Mess In Mendocino appeared first on Bay Nature.

Photographs by Christie Hemm Klok. This story was produced by High Country News, hcn.org, with support from Bay Nature. Conservationists restoring salmon along California’s North Coast have a mantra: A good coho salmon stream looks like a teenager’s bedroom—if teenagers discarded logs and branches instead of dirty clothes. Surveying a stretch of the Navarro River one morning last spring, Anna Halligan, a conservation biologist with Trout Unlimited, was delighted. “This is exactly what we want,” she said, examining the debris-filled water. The twigs, dirt and branches around a fallen redwood had slowed the river to a crawl and carved out a deep, sun-dappled pool underneath the trunk. In September 2020, Trout Unlimited’s partners spent days selecting a redwood and then carefully maneuvering it into the river to make it more coho-friendly. That tree has now vanished—crushed under this much larger redwood, likely carried downriver by this winter’s rains. The collision has created even more of a “mess” than Halligan could have planned. Halligan climbed down for a closer look. Within minutes, a young, silvery coho flashed into view in the new pool.  The North Fork of the Navarro River is chock full of restoration projects implemented by Trout Unlimited with federal funding from NOAA. (Christie Hemm Klok) Coho salmon, which migrate between freshwater creeks and the open ocean, have nourished people, plants and animals along the Pacific Coast since time immemorial. Fred Simmons, an environmental technician for the Cahto Tribe of Laytonville Rancheria, recalled growing up along coho runs “jammed up so thick that you could go out there any time of evening and just get whatever you needed for your family.” But logging, development and climate change have devastated the coastal streams, and Simmons—now in his 60s—has seen coho pushed to the brink. The population in and around Mendocino County, toward the southern end of the species’ range, was declared threatened by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in 1996 and endangered in 2005.  That young coho in the Navarro River was part of a resurgence: For two years now, conservationists have watched the species return to the coast in notably large numbers. For the first time, “recovery seems possible,” said Peter Van De Burgt, a restoration manager with The Nature Conservancy. “We’re on the right track.” Fred Simmons and Anna Halligan. (Christie Hemm Klok) The first attempts to restore Mendocino’s streams for coho and other salmon began in the 1960s. Decades of logging in the area’s old-growth forests left woody debris in stream channels, creating miles-long barriers. Well-intentioned state conservationists decided to remove it. “They had this Western concept, like sweeping the floor,” said Anira G’Acha, environmental director for the Cahto Tribe of Laytonville Rancheria. They left behind hundreds of miles of tidy streams—simplified channels like bowling-alley lanes filled with fast-flowing water. And fish kept dying. “It’s hard to be a salmon,” said Van De Burgt. Everything wants to eat you—birds, otters, even other fish. Without fallen logs to slow their flow, streams lack the overhanging banks, woody debris and deep pools that young salmon need to hide from predators. Gradually, researchers realized that salmon needed the shelter provided by logjams. By the time coho salmon populations were protected by the Endangered Species Act, the California Department of Fish and Wildlife “basically did an ‘Oops’ and said, ‘Well, let’s put them back in again,’” said John Andersen, a California forester and policy director of the Mendocino and Humboldt Redwood Companies. Along the Albion River in Mendocino County, California Conservation Corps members put wood back into the river. Because the location is so remote, all the work is done by hand, with a pulley system to place the logs. (Christie Hemm Klok)Historically, fire helped fell the trees salmon needed. “Stream habitat evolved around fire for thousands of years,” said Ron Reed, a Karuk tribal member who is a cultural biologist and dipnet fisherman. But as the logging industry grew, so did wildfire suppression. Conservationists had to cut down some trees to create new logjams.  In the late 1990s, Mendocino Redwood and other logging companies began partnering with Trout Unlimited to restore coho back to the land they owned; soon, The Nature Conservancy and other groups, supported by state and federal grants, began restoring streams elsewhere in the region. Halligan noted that an “ecological system” of collaborators has sustained this work, directing millions of dollars to local contractors and rural economies.   But creating logjams is harder than clearing them. Projects initially went through the same state environmental permitting processes required for conventional logging projects, despite their substantially different goals. Some took more than a decade to see through.  Other challenges were more practical. “We learned very quickly,” said forester Chris Blencowe, who consults on Nature Conservancy and Trout Unlimited projects. Blencowe initially relied on second-growth redwoods but noticed that when they toppled into a streambed, they would “often just break like an overweight watermelon.” He’s since switched to Douglas fir for many of his projects.  Blencowe has also learned to wedge logs between standing trees so that the wood doesn’t wash away in the winter rains, as it did in the early years. The Nature Conservancy has come to rely on a machine that uses vibrations to sink logs into the sediment, since the sound of a power hammer could stun or kill nearby fish.  Even after 20 years, not everything goes according to plan. Van De Burgt said this unpredictability is a feature, not a bug: “We want to implement projects that create chaos in the river.” The more chaos, the more places young coho will have to live and survive—and the more coho will make their way downstream to the ocean.   The projects can benefit other salmon and steelhead species, too, as well as the streamside forests. Felling nearby second-growth trees for logjams “encourages understory plant relatives to grow,” Marisa McGrew, a Karuk and Yurok woman and assistant natural resources director for the Wiyot Tribe, said over email. “Stream restoration and forest restoration go hand in hand.” Bay Nature’s email newsletter delivers local nature stories, hikes, and events to your inbox each week. Sign up today! On the 10 Mile River in Mendocino County, biologists Lydia Brown and Evan Broberg insert PIT (Passive Integrated Transponder) tags into the underside of juvenile coho salmon, which allows them to track its growth for its lifetime. (Christie Hemm Klok)In the winter of 2023-2024, 15,000 coho salmon returned to spawn along the Mendocino coast, the highest number recorded by the California Department of Fish and Wildlife in 16 years of monitoring the population. Last winter, according to preliminary estimates, that number nearly doubled. “I think we got the perfect alignment,” said Sarah Gallagher, who leads the agency’s monitoring program. Good ocean conditions, a reprieve from several years of drought, and hundreds of miles of restored streams have combined to foster a flush of coho.  Still, this recovering population represents a fraction of historic runs. Once, hundreds of thousands of coho returned to California streams each year. But chinook and steelhead continue to dwindle. In mid-April, the interstate Pacific Fishery Management Council extended its ban on ocean salmon fishing for a third year. And hundreds more miles of North Coast streams still need wood. “Sometimes, when you look at it on a map, it looks like we’ve barely done anything at all,” said Halligan of Trout Unlimited.  Even as this year’s population is tallied, its habitat’s future is uncertain. Earlier this year, the Trump administration proposed deep cuts to the budget of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, whose Pacific Coastal Salmon Recovery Fund has supported much of the restoration work along with Gallagher’s coho monitoring.  Meanwhile, Northern California conservationists are exploring alternatives, such as the $10 billion for climate resilience projects in Proposition Four, which California voters approved last November. With recovery underway, they’re determined to continue bringing coho back. The coho “are realizing this is their homeland where they were born,” Simmons said. “It seems like they’re trying to heal.”   Christie Hemm Klok is a San Francisco-based photojournalist. She is passionate about storytelling that highlights the relationship between nature and humans. This story is part of High Country News’s Conservation Beyond Boundaries project, which is supported by the BAND Foundation.  Water reflections on the Navarro River, in the dappled light of the forest. (Christie Hemm Klok)

Jane Goodall, an extraordinary life well-lived (1934 – 2025)

Jane Goodall, a pioneering primatologist, conservationist and peace advocate, died On October 1, 2025. She was 91 years old. The post Jane Goodall, an extraordinary life well-lived (1934 – 2025) first appeared on EarthSky.

You can watch the memorial service for Jane Goodall on Wednesday, November 12, 2025, at the National Cathedral in Washington D.C., in the player above. The service begins at 11 a.m. EST. Jane Goodall was a trailblazing scientist who revolutionized the study of wild chimpanzees, revealing their complex emotions, tool use and social behaviors. She was a conservationist who founded the Jane Goodall Institute and the Roots & Shoots program, dedicated to wildlife protection, youth empowerment and environmental advocacy. Goodall passed away at age 91 on October 1, 2025, leaving behind a legacy of compassion, scientific discovery and hope for a more harmonious relationship between humans and nature. Jane Goodall lived an extraordinary life Jane Goodall was a pioneer in the study of wild chimpanzees, as well as a much-loved conservationist and UN messenger of peace. On October 1, 2025, she passed away in her sleep in Los Angeles, California, while on a speaking tour. She was 91 years old. On Wednesday, November 12, 2025, her family and friends will gather to honor her at a memorial service at the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. You can join in the remembrance by watching the live broadcast on YouTube, at 11 a.m. Eastern Time. Despite not having an undergraduate degree, Goodall completed her PhD at Cambridge University, England, in 1965. While she made her mark as a trailblazer in primate research early in the 1960s, she also went on, in her later years, to be a powerful advocate for young people and conservation. In addition, she was a prolific author and spent most of her time traveling around the world speaking about conservation and peace. Goodall founded the Jane Goodall Institute in 1977, initially to support research on chimpanzees in Gombe, Tanzania, Africa. Later, it evolved into a wider effort to operate diverse conservation projects around the world. One of those notable projects is Roots & Shoots, created to encourage young people of all ages to bring about positive changes in their communities. Jane Goodall is survived by her son, Hugo Eric Louis van Lawick (nicknamed Grub) and her three grandchildren, Merlin, Angel, and Nick. This photo of Jane Goodall is from 2022, when she visited the U.S. Embassy in Uganda. She’s holding a stuffed “chimpanzee” that she took with her on her travels. She called him Mr. H, after Gary Haun, a U.S. Marine who lost his eyesight in a helicopter crash. Goodall carried Mr. H with her to honor Haun, whom she regarded as an inspiration. Image via U.S. Embassy Uganda/ Flickr. (CC by 2.0) A dream come true of studying wildlife in Africa As a child, Goodall dreamed of going to Africa to study animals. Later, in interviews, she often joked that Tarzan had chosen the wrong Jane for his adventures! Goodall worked as a waitress to save enough money for travel to Africa. Her dream finally came true when, in 1957, she set sail for Kenya. There, she met the famed anthropologist Louis Leakey, well-known for his ground-breaking work on early human fossils, and began working as his secretary. Leakey had obtained grant money for a study of chimpanzees. He had hoped that observations of this species, closely related to humans, would yield new insights into our human ancestors. In 1960, he asked Goodall to travel to Gombe, Tanzania, to study chimpanzees. She said, in a documentary she narrated for National Geographic: I had no training, no degree. But Louis did not care about academic credentials. What he was looking for was someone with an open mind, with a passion for knowledge, with a love of animals. And with monumental patience. This touching video from the Jane Goodall Foundation is about the release of a rehabilitated chimpanzee, named Wounda, to a sanctuary island. Jane Goodall’s work with wild chimpanzees Prior to Goodall’s work at Gombe, little was known about wild chimpanzees. Goodall undertook her field work alone, from dawn to dusk, rain or shine, looking for chimpanzees. At first, she could not get close to them because they kept running away. But she stubbornly persisted. After five months, there was a breakthrough. Goodall saw an adult male that she had seen before, and this time, he did not run away. He was the dominant male in the chimpanzee community. She named him David Graybeard, for the distinctive white hair on his chin. Soon, the other chimps also accepted her, and she was able to get closer to them. Goodall learned to identify them and gave them names. Among them was Flo, an older female with a young daughter. Subsequently, these chimps became the focus of her groundbreaking work on their behavior. A new perception of chimps In the early 1960s, many scientists thought that only humans had minds and were capable of rational thought. But in the chimpanzees, Goodall saw beings capable of joy and sorrow, fear and jealousy. They were, she noted, so much like us, in so many ways. She said, in the documentary: Staring into the eyes of a chimpanzee, I saw a thinking, reasoning personality looking back. For the first time, she documented the use of tools in a species other than humans. Prior to that, scientists thought that only humans were capable of making and using tools. But she watched David Graybeard break off leafy twigs, strip out the leaves, and insert them into holes in termite mounds to fish for the insects. Goodall also observed other behaviors never seen before: She saw chimpanzees eating meat. And interestingly, she observed male chimpanzees doing dances in the rain. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Jane Goodall Institute ?? (@janegoodallcan) Flo, an influential chimpanzee in Jane Goodall’s research Flo was a notable chimp in Goodall’s studies. She was the top-ranking female in the community. And one day, Goodall became the first person to document the mating behavior of chimpanzees. Flo did not pick one mate. Instead, she allowed all the males that followed her to mate with her. After some months, Flo gave birth to a son thar Goodall named Flint. It was a unique opportunity for Goodall to observe an infant with its mother. In the documentary, an interviewer asked Goodall: What was it about Flo that you admired? She said: Well, she was all things that a chimp mother should be. She was protective but not overprotective. She was affectionate, she was playful but being supportive. That was the key. And of course that’s what my mother was. She supported me. And there’s no question that those first contacts with Flo and her family were very important to my own development. It was just so amazing to have this sort of relationship. Sadly, several years later, Flo died as she crossed a stream. She was about 50 years old. Goodall observed Flint, by then an adolescent, intermittently approach her, as if begging to be groomed and comforted. He eventually left, seemingly depressed, stopped eating and became isolated. Then, he fell sick and about 3 weeks after Flo died, Flint passed away. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Dr. Jane Goodall (@janegoodallinst) A dark side of chimpanzee society After Flo died, the community dynamics changed. They divided into smaller factions. Then, vicious fights broke out, and one faction was killed by others. Goodall said: I thought they were like us but nicer than us. I had no idea of the brutality that they can show. It took me a while to come to terms with that. War had always seemed to me to be a purely human behavior. I had come to accept that the dark and evil side of human nature was deeply embedded in our genes, inherited from our ancient primate ancestors. Reflecting on her work with chimpanzees Today, the research station that Goodall and van Lawick started in 1960 is still active, operating in Gombe National Park. In the documentary, Goodall reflected on her work in Gombe: Louis Leakey sent me to Gombe with a hope that a better understanding of chimpanzee behavior might provide us with a window on our past. Our study of chimpanzees had helped to pinpoint not only the similarities between them and us, but also those ways in which we are most different. Admittedly, we are not the only beings with personalities, reasoning powers, altruism, and emotions, nor are we the only beings capable of mental as well as physical suffering. But our intellect has grown mightily in complexity since the first true man branched off from the ape man stock, some two million years ago. And we, and only we, have developed a sophisticated spoken language. For the first time in evolution, a species evolved that was able to teach its young about objects and events not present, to pass on wisdom gleaned from the successes and the mistakes of the past. With language, we can ask as can no other living being those questions about who we are and why we are here. And this highly developed intellect means, surely, we have a responsibility towards the other life forms of our planet, whose continued existence is threatened by the thoughtless behavior of our own human species. Jane Goodall embarked on raising hope later in life In her later years, Goodall traveled widely, 300 days a year, as a passionate advocate for conservation, young people and world peace. She felt strongly that her biggest purpose was to instill hope in people during dark times. She has left a rich and lasting legacy, inspiring millions with her groundbreaking scientific work, her conservation efforts, her compassion and advocacy for world peace. This clip is from a documentary, aired after her death, by Netflix. Jane Goodall left a final message to all of us. Bottom line: Jane Goodall, a pioneering primatologist, conservationist and peace advocate, died On October 1, 2025. She was 91 years old. Via Jane Goodall: An Inside Look (Full Documentary) | National Geographic Via Remembering Jane Read more: Chimpanzees wear blades of grass in their ears and rearsThe post Jane Goodall, an extraordinary life well-lived (1934 – 2025) first appeared on EarthSky.

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