Upon a bed of
sandy floodsoil I counted ninety-four sequoias, from one to twelve feet
high, on a patch of ground once occupied by four large sugar pines which
lay crumbling beneath them--an instance of conditions which have enabled
sequoias to crowd out the pines. I also noted eighty-six vigorous
saplings upon a piece of fresh ground prepared for their reception by
fire. Thus fire, the great destroyer of the sequoia, also furnishes the
bare ground required for its growth from the seed. Fresh ground is,
however, furnished in sufficient quantities for the renewal of the
forests without the aid of fire--by the fall of old trees. The soil is
thus upturned and mellowed, and many trees are planted for every one
that falls.
It is constantly asserted in a vague way that the Sierra was vastly
wetter than now, and that the increasing drought will of itself
extinguish the sequoia, leaving its ground to other trees supposed
capable of flourishing in a drier climate. But that the sequoia can and
does grow on as dry ground as any of its present rivals is manifest in
a thousand places. "Why, then," it will be asked, "are sequoias always
found only in well-watered places?" Simply because a growth of sequoias
creates those streams. The thirsty mountaineer knows well that in every
sequoia grove he will find running water, but it is a mistake to suppose
that the water is the cause of the grove being there; on the contrary,
the grove is the cause of the water being there.
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