20 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY january 5-11, 2023 www.montereycountyweekly.com The letter also makes the case not just for the geological record the park protects, but the cultural one. “It would preserve a place that, over the centuries, Native Americans, early Spanish settlers, homesteaders from the East, and Basque sheepherders have considered home, offering an important series of perspectives on the larger sweep of American history.” Pinnacles, due to strident advocacy by locals, became a national monument under then-president Teddy Roosevelt on Jan. 16, 1908, making it the 13th national monument in the nation. Two monuments that preceded Pinnacles for national monument designation in that same week were Muir Woods and the Grand Canyon. National monuments became possible under the Antiquities Act of 1906, which allows a president, with a stroke of a pen and no act of Congress, to preserve historic landmarks, structures, “and other objects of historic or scientific significance.” It’s language with latitude. But the history of the landscape goes back some 23 million years, when the signature spires at Pinnacles were formed by volcanic activity in what are now the Tehachapi Mountains southeast of Bakersfield—Pinnacles is just west of the San Andreas Fault, and every year the formation shifts north about 1.5 inches, which adds up in geologic time. But for as much is known about the geology of the park, the history of its first human inhabitants has mostly been lost, as the histories were passed down orally, and the Spanish prohibited Indigenous people from speaking in their native languages. That said, the archaeological record shows the Chalon people, who occupied the Salinas Valley for millennia, never settled in the western Gabilan Range— though they traversed it—as the climate was dry, and the soil shallow. But the Chalon and Amah Mutsun tribes both had settlements around the eastern part of the park, where the soil is deeper and holds more water. The founder of Pinnacles as a park was a rancher in Bear Valley— on the eastern side of the park, along the San Benito River—named Schuyler Hain, who would later be called “Father of the Pinnacles.” Starting in the 1890s, he led an effort to make Pinnacles a national park on account of its spectacular rock formations. Part of how that happened was that in 1893, a Stanford professor of Hain’s cousin, who was attending the university, spent the Easter holiday in Pinnacles and reportedly said, “I have traveled in South America and Alaska, visited Yosemite and climbed the Matterhorn. But for the variety of the scenery and beauty of coloring I have never seen the equal to this on the same area.” That’s when Hain realized it could be more than a local attraction—it could be a national one. In terms of biodiversity and geology, Pinnacles is a singular place. It’s an ecosystem where endangered California condors nest—two condor chicks fledged at Pinnacles in 2022—and which is home to more than 500 species of native bees, the highest known density of bee species of any place on Earth. It’s also home to nine prairie falcon nests and four peregrine falcon nests, and several other species in the animal kingdom, including butterflies, California Far left: The northern part of the High Peaks Trail features a steep descent—or climb—with steps cut out for only one of two feet. Left: Visitors walking along a road in the campground on the park’s eastern side. The Bear Gulch Reservoir, just above the cave, is a popular spot for lunch or snack. “When you create a national park, it’s forever.” karen Loutzenheiser karen Loutzenheiser karen Loutzenheiser
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